Page 99 of Married to the Devil

Ihum along with the elevator music as I ascend toward the top of a popular business tower in Philadelphia’s downtown.

I like elevator music, or muzak, or whatever you want to call it. There’s something comforting and bland about it, which is the point. The sound is mostly noise, or atmospheric, and there’s a beauty in that. How do you make music that blends into the ceiling? There’s got to be some artistry behind it.

The doors ding open and I’m disappointed I don’t get to listen for a few more seconds.

Denning’s lobby is sparse and bland, a lot like the muzak. A youngish pretty girl sits behind the receptionist’s desk and squints at me as I approach.

“Hello, sir, do you have an appointment today?”

“Based on the state of this place, I suspect there haven’t been any appointments in a while.”

She glances down at something, cheeks pinkening. “I’m sorry, if you don’t have an appointment⁠—“

“Tell Doug that Rafe Corvino is here to see him.”

I could storm back to his office. I doubt there’s anyone in this place that would stop me. Denning has been hanging on by a thread for years now, barely making a profit each quarter, their stock price slowly dropping. That’s exactly why I want to buy them, like a vulture circling a kill.

The receptionist dutifully buzzes the big boss. I gaze upon white walls and uncomfortable chairs. This area was not built for comfort and it sure as hell isn’t welcoming. It’s pure utilitarian.

I love it.

“Uh, Mr. Corvino? You can go right back. Do you need me to escort you?”

“I’ll find my way.” I stride past her and down a hall that skirts along the edge of a cube farm.

Most desks are empty. Even a few of the offices look like they’ve been ransacked. A light flickers and nobody seems bothered. It gives distinct end of the world vibes, like the only reason people are still here is because the mutated zombies haven’t gotten to them yet.

Doug Denning has an office in the back corner. He’s waiting for me at his door with a big, confused smile. His face is baby-soft and freshly shaved, and I try not to smirk at his baggy jeans and his sweatshirt. He’s in his early forties, but he looks like he’s trying to hang on to his twenties still, and it’s a sad state of affairs.

“Mr. Corvino, I didn’t know you were coming today,” he says and blanches at the sight of me. He glances at himself, and I know what he’s thinking.

I’m in a black designer suit that fits me like a glove.

He’s looking like a frat kid on spring break.

“No, you didn’t. It’s good to see you, Doug.” I offer him a hand. This conversation will only go downhill from here, but it’s best if I put him at ease, at least to begin with.

He shakes, still looking uncertain. “Please, come in. To what do I owe the pleasure? You got sick of talking to my lawyers?”

The joke doesn’t land. I sit casually in front of his desk. The office is well appointed and neat. I spot photographs of Doug with his family: four young kids, a pretty wife.

“You can guess why I’m here.”

Doug beams at me. It’s a good-old-boy smile. “Honestly? I haven’t the slightest idea. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to see you. The deal has been on hold for too long. Maybe if we discussed terms, we could loop in the lawyers⁠—“

He reaches for his phone. I hold up a hand to stop him. “We’re not looping in anyone else.”

His eyes dart to the closed door. “Me and you then. I don’t mind one bit, Rafe.”

“No. You will call me Mr. Corvino. I will continue to call you Doug.”

“Well, that doesn’t seem very fair, but⁠—“

“What isn’t fair, Doug, is the way you’ve treated me and my associates for the past few weeks. What isn’t fair is the way poor Theodora’s been running around the city trying to figure out what’s going on with you.”

Doug Denning sits back and stares at me. He’s got spine though, I’ll give him that. He doesn’t go running and screaming. He doesn’t start apologizing. But clearly something’s wrong. His eyes keep cutting to the phone, to the window, to the door behind me.

Like he’s afraid of something.