“He should not be in the human realm,” he stated firmly, and I was quick to counter.
“And yet, there he was. Existing,” I said, gesturing vaguely with one hand toward the door.
“That does not make it permissible.”
I scoffed at this.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize Hell ran on such strict corporate policies,” I said, my voice dripping with exaggerated politeness, making his brows draw together slightly.
“Corporate policies?” he repeated with a frown, and I hated how good his biceps looked when they tugged at the material of his jacket as he crossed his arms.
“You know, the big, powerful boss at the top deciding which employees are allowed on which floors of the building.”
“That is actually quite an acute comparison,” he replied, and the calm way he said it actually made me pause.
“You’re… you’re serious?” I stammered.
“Entirely.”
I stared at him for a moment after he finished speaking, now trying to process the strange hierarchy he had just described as though it were the most normal thing in the world. The longer I thought about it, the more absurd it sounded.
“That is the most ridiculous supernatural hierarchy I have ever heard in my life,” I said at last, offended on behalf of all demons he deemed lower down the food chain than Mr. High-and-mighty here. But Oblivion didn’t react to the insult. He simply watched me with that same steady, unreadable focus before speaking again. His tone was as calm as usual, and enough to suggest he had already moved on to the part of the conversation that actually mattered to him.
“This demon, the one you are foolish enough to call a friend, was manipulating you.”
My head snapped up immediately.
“No, he wasn’t,” I defended, despite not knowing for certain whether he was right or not.
“He attached himself to you,” he continued, the words delivered with a quiet confidence, as though this was not a suspicion but a fact he had already decided upon.
“He didn’t attach himself,” I corrected sharply, shifting my weight where I stood.
“He just… appeared.”
Something in his expression sharpened slightly at that, the faintest narrowing of his eyes betraying his interest.
“Explain,” he said.
The word landed with more weight than it should have, and suddenly the memory of how Bo had actually arrived didn’t feel nearly as ridiculous as it had earlier days ago.
“You’re going to think this sounds stupid,” I muttered, glancing briefly toward the floor before looking back at him again.
“I already think many things about this situation, none of them stupid but all of them serious,” he replied calmly.
“Comforting,”I muttered on a sigh.
His lips twitched as if he were fighting a grin but not willing to give me one. Not until he had, obviously, gotten what hewanted, which was how Bo came to be here. But regardless, he didn’t push me to continue, but the quiet expectation in his gaze made it very clear that the explanation wasn’t optional.
So, I took a deep breath and let it out after walking to the couch, deflating into it before admitting,
“It was the dress.”
“The dress?” he repeated, the faint lift of his brow turning the words into a quiet question. I hesitated for a moment before continuing, exhaling slowly as if the memory alone was exhausting.
“Nothing seemed to go right that day,” I said.
“First, some jerk spills coffee all over me on the way to work, then I arrive at the office looking like something between a disaster and a gothic wannabe on the same day I’m supposed to pitch my first real campaign.”
