Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54626 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54626 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
MF is her name? As in motherfucker? He hoped not. Terrible name.
Damien shook her hand. “A pleasure.”
“What’s with the butler getup, dude?” MF asked.
Damien glanced in the mirror mounted on the wall to his side. Clean shaven, neatly combed light brown hair, immaculately pressed white shirt, and black slacks. Today he had on a vintage olive-green tie with golden paisleys to match his hazel eyes. Hardly a butler. More inconspicuous cursed tailor with a dark past and a proclivity for violence. But who’s judging?
Apparently, MF was. Rude.
“What is with the bitch getup?” he replied bluntly.
The sound of snorting exploded from the other room. Demons loved conflict.
MF snarled and looked at Cimil. “I’m not working for this sad bag of dicks.”
Butler or bag of dicks? Make up your mind, woman. “I see you attended etiquette school in a public bathroom, which is why you and I are in agreement, MF. You cannot look after my shop.”
He turned his attention back to Cimil. Had he persuaded her to bark up someone else’s tree? Because there wasn’t a chance in hell he would be taking this job.
“Give us a sec, MF,” said Cimil, waving her out of his workshop.
“I’ll go pet that cute little dog.” MF headed to the front of the store.
Yes, you do that. She’d soon find herself with a splitting headache and a craving for chocolate—the result of having one’s endorphins leached from their body.
Damien stared at Cimil expectantly, aware that he had to hold his ground but tread carefully. Cimil was not known for being a kind goddess, and she got downright nasty when she didn’t get her way.
“I didn’t come here just because of your background, Greystone. I know about your curse.”
How had Cimil found out? He thought no one knew except for himself and the woman who’d cast it. “All right. And?”
“And it wasn’t your fault, you know. She made her choices. Which is why if you do this one favor for me, I’ll help you end the curse.”
Damien did not want to discuss “her” or what had led to his curse. It wasn’t anyone’s business but his own.
Besides, he knew Cimil was full of shit. He’d spent years researching his curse. There was no cure, and even if there were, he deserved his fate: immortality. But not the fun kind. Watching the world move on while he remained alone, frozen for all eternity, was maddening.
“Well,” he said, “I thank you for the offer, but I am not interested, so I will politely decline. May I interest you in a new pair of lederhosen while you are here?” He hoped this would distract her.
“No. I have fifty pairs already, and my hubby, Roberto, banned me from adding more to my collection. Closet’s getting full. You know, with all the shoes, dresses, and people-pets I have shoved in there.”
People-pets? He cocked a brow. “A shame.”
“Well, marriage is like life: it’s all about compromise. Which is why you’ll do as I say.”
“That is not a compromise.”
“Isn’t it?” Cimil folded her camo-covered arms. “I agree not to send you to the Underworld, where Minky my unicorn will use you like a blow-up sex doll in the pokey-pokey room, and in exchange, you will find out how to bring back all the immortals who were banished from Earth in the blast.”
Pokey-pokey room? That sounded unpleasant. Especially because he suspected he would not be doing the poking.
She added, “And before you give me another one of your excuses, Greystone, I know about the demon.” She flashed a cold smile. “Take the job, or I’ll tell my brethren you’ve been breaking our no-demon rule.”
Fuck. He dropped his head, forcing himself to maintain his gentlemanly façade. There was no use fighting her now. She had him by the cufflinks.
“I will do this favor, Cimil; however, I want something in return. I want you to find a mate for Bonbon.” Cimil and her brother Zac, the God of Temptation, used to run a dating agency for immortals. They weren’t particularly good at it, but Cimil had a way of making things happen.
“You don’t want your curse broken?” Cimil asked. “I think even she would have forgiven you by now. Maybe you should try the same.”
Maybe you should butt the hell out of my life. “Bonbon is getting quite old, and I would hate to see him live out his final years in my shop. Also, he pisses on the floor. And wants to be held all the time.” Not really Damien’s cup of tea.
“You are one complicated hombre, D-Man, but okay. It’s a deal.”
They shook hands.
“Where would you like me to start?” he asked.
“I would say start with you, but I already know why you were unaffected by the blast. So start with the demon. Nothing happened to him. Why?”
Damien wanted to ask why his curse hadn’t been affected, but Cimil never did anything for free, including giving information. Always strings. Always.