Beelzebub Girl (4 page)

I laughed at Kinky. "What?" Talk about taking things slowly.

"It'd be fun to skip the dating part." His eyes shone, drawing me in. I was intrigued.

I cupped his face and lowered my voice to a mere whisper. "Who says you're even my type? And who knows if we'll ever date?"

He winked. "We've got chemistry, and that only means one thing."

"What?" My pulse raced faster. He recognised our bond and wasn't backing off.

He flashed me his movie star smile, all gleaming white teeth.

"It's only a matter of time." He was so cocky I couldn't fight the attraction.

"You're—" I peered into his eyes, searching for a give-away sign that he was joking, or making fun of me, but there was none. I nodded, a hot flush of excitement washing over me again. Something pulled me forward until my lips almost brushed his. He was the one, I knew it. Dad would go bonkers. I was in big trouble, but as usual I couldn't resist causing drama. "Let's do it."

Grabbing my hands, he planted a kiss on the corner of my mouth. "I'll pack tonight. Your place looks bigger than mine."

My heart still fluttered twelve hours later when Dallas arrived with countless bags and boxes, all stacked up in my little hallway.

Saying goodbye the previous night felt awkward and surreal. But I was glad it happened because it gave me a whole night to think about the whole situation. Aunt Krista had been right; the flu symptoms magically disappeared, but I had other worries now. How could I agree to him moving in? Apart from Mum and Dad, I'd never lived with anyone else, let alone a guy. Where was he supposed to sleep?

Dallas wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me close, gazing into my eyes. "So, where's my room?"

Using every ounce of my willpower, I eased away with a big grin. "Not where you're thinking."

He arched a brow. "And how would you know what I was thinking?"

Good question. No way was I telling him the truth, that I kind of sensed it because reading minds was part of my fallen angel abilities.

"Good intuition." I pointed at the living room and hoped he'd be happy settling for the sofa. He might be a hot guy, but I wasn't doing anything with a miniature angel and devil watching the live performance from their first row seats.

He shrugged. "I guess I can settle for the couch."

The boxes started to pile up in the hall, taking so much space I could barely squeeze through to reach the kitchen, tumbling over an old rugged baseball with some faded scribbling on it. I held it up to Dallas. "Want me to toss this out?"

His expression changed to horror for a moment, waves of dread wafted from him. "Hell, no. I had to jump pretty high to catch that one. I actually knocked drinks all over some guy, but he let me off the hook because I was ten."

Sports? Seriously? I grumbled as I caught a glimpse of a white, plastic helmet inside another box. How much stuff did the guy have? If he continued this way I doubted I'd be able to find my few belongings among all his clutter.

"Why do you have so many things?" I muttered.

Dallas groaned under the weight of what resembled a huge casket. From the looks of it, it might as well be a coffin. And there I thought I was the strange one.

"What did you say, babe?" he asked.

"Nothing. Ever thought about opening a shop? You’d be rich in no time."

Dallas stopped his carrying stuff around, grinning. "Yeah, I might one day. I always figured I have amazing management and organisational abilities."

I shook my head, realising that was exactly why people shouldn't move in together before knowing each other for a few months. But he did look handsome in his jeans and shirt, bulging arms peeking from underneath cotton sleeves. Besides, it was a new experience. As part fallen angel, I thrived on excitement.

It was midday when he finally finished carrying stuff around.

The stocking and tidying up hadn't even started yet. I tried to ignore the cardboard boxes in every corner as I ordered pizza and let Dallas foot the bill.

He peeked inside the cartons. "You got cheese crust, right?"

"I'm more the thin-crust girl." I shot him an apologetic glance as I tossed a slice of salami and pepperoni on a plate, then handed it to him.

"That's my favourite." As though to prove his point, he took a bite and choked on the spicy stuff.

I giggled even though I shouldn't, but his red face screamed drama and drama was the very essence of my being.

The phone rang. I hurried to answer without giving it much thought until it was too late.

"Cass, you should've been here an hour ago." Dad didn't sound too pleased. "How are you supposed to take over the family business when you can't ever make it on time?"

I groaned and slumped down on the floor, pressing my back against the wall. "Sorry, Dad. Something came up."

His voice turned all concerned. "What happened? Do you want me to pop over?"

"No!" I shook my head. "Don't come. It's nothing. Just women's troubles, that's all."

"Want me to send one of your aunts over?"

What was it with my parents and their inability to understand after spending twelve months in London and fending for myself, I was perfectly capable of dealing with an emergency or two? Particularly if that emergency involved a hot guy moving in and the need to keep it a secret.

"I don't think they could help," I said. "Besides, I'd rather talk to Mum."

"Oh." He paused for a moment. I could picture him covering the voice piece while he heated up hot stones under some poor soul's feet. Yeah, hearing Mum's name did that to him. Last time they met for coffee he caused an earthquake in Alaska. "I don’t see how she could possibly help you," Dad said, slowly.

"Dad, don't even go there. I'll be right over, okay? See you in ten." I hung up and went in search of Dallas to tell him I might be away for a couple of hours, or days, depending on what Dad had in store for me.

Ten minutes later, I stood in the hall and took out my phone to open the portal when I realised I was in a relationship now, basically living with someone, so I'd have to be more careful how I used my phone.

I drove the SUV a few miles to a nearby shopping centre parking lot and parked there. Stepping out, I whipped out my phone and punched in the code to open the portal. The air crackled; tiny, almost invisible bolts of thunder cut through the air inches from my face, waiting for me to squeeze through. Just as I took a step forward and pushed my hand in, a lady with thin, snow-white hair pulled into a bun, and deep wrinkles across her forehead, appeared around the corner, holding a leash. Thick glasses sat tight on the bridge of her nose, so she probably couldn't see a lot. But her little poodle, complete with pom-poms and colored ribbons, started to bark like crazy, pulling at his leash in my direction. The woman shot me a glare as though I had just maltreated the yapping, little thing. I shrugged and stepped through, noticing her eyes widen as I vanished into a yellow burst of light. The poor woman would probably end up thinking she had a screw loose in her head. Under normal circumstances, I would've waited until she disappeared, but not today. Dad needed me.

Better not keep him waiting and risk him sending one of his demons to get me. He couldn't yet find out about Dallas.

My room was on the first floor of Dad's mansion, a huge place with marble floors and minimalist furniture. I made a beeline for the wall-to-wall walk-in cupboard to change into my one and only black business suit before joining Dad in his mahogany office. He rocked back in his leather chair, staring out the large window to the high lava mountains in the distance, steam rising from the geysers below.

"Dad?" I entered, only then knocking on the door. "What's up?"

He turned slowly, his green eyes burning with tiny flames, just like mine when I was angry or soaking in a bit of drama. His hair was combed back, giving his wrinkle-free face a strict impression.

"Look at this, kiddo." He pulled out his remote control and switched on the hidden plasma screen on the opposite panelled wall. I hopped on the polished table, minding the letter holder in the shape of a pitchfork, and peered at the images scrolling on the screen: candles spread across a stone floor next to countless unmoving bodies.

The picture changed to a newspaper report blaming faith and a belief in the end of the world for a rise in suicides.

I shook my head. "So?"

"Of course, you wouldn't know." Dad groaned and switched off the screen. "I keep forgetting you're not old enough to understand what's happening out there." Dad started drumming his fingers on the table. "In my time, I was a feared man. Nowadays, mortals no longer believe I even exist."

"Why do you want them to fear you? They'll find out you exist soon enough."

"You don't understand, Cassie." He ran a hand through his thick, black locks I used to admire for hours as a child. "It's not the same once they're dead. Their lack of interest in my existence makes me feel insignificant."

Frowning, I inched closer. Was he depressed? Did he have a midlife crisis? Mum hinted something last time I visited her in Heaven, but the bright light gave me a headache, made worse by the constant choir music, so I didn't really pay attention to her chatter. I realised I should've. I laughed nervously. "Well, there's nothing you can do about it, so why don't you just forget it? Or even better, talk to a therapist."

"See, that's where you're wrong." Dad's lips curled into a huge smile, white teeth flashing as he pulled out a brown folder from a drawer and tossed it toward me. I caught it in mid-air, wondering whether he had come up with the idea of causing a few more catastrophes until mortals started to take him seriously again.

"What's this?" I peered at the folder, but didn't open it.

"That, my beloved daughter, is the answer to our problems."

Who said
I
had a problem? "And that would be?"

Dad laughed, eyes glinting. "Take a look."

I wasn't keen on it, but I opened the folder and skim the papers nonetheless, my eyes almost falling out of my head. Not literally, of course. "An advertising campaign is your big plan? You can't be serious."

"Why not?" His smile vanished. I had to tread carefully here. If he was depressed, thrashing his hopes might not be the best attempt at therapy.

My brain kicked into gear as I tried to come up with the least upsetting answer. Where did I even begin? "Because advertising is employed to sell a product. What exactly are you selling? A week of all-inclusive torture?"

He inclined his head. "You don't think that's an attractive offer?"

I threw my hands up. "Dad! This is a bad idea. You don't have a product or service. You don't need advertising, PR more likely. Why don't you hire a PR guru to
raise awareness
, improve your image, or whatever it is that you want to achieve?"

"Mm." He nodded, considering my advice for a moment. "I like that. I'll have both, advertising and PR. I'm thinking huge billboards and lots of media coverage."

I rolled my eyes because he didn't get anything I said. What was the point in explaining anyway when he was stubborn like a mule?

"How are you going to get the media coverage, Dad? It's not like journalists will queue out the door to interview you, will they?" He laughed as though I'd just recited the joke of the century. I narrowed my gaze, my sixth sense telling me he was up to something. "What's so funny?"

He kept guffawing; a tear ran down his cheek. I'd heard of bipolar disorder. Maybe, after years in this heat, he had turned bipolar, sobbing one moment, and suffering from hysteria the next. I waited until he'd calmed down enough to speak. "You should've just seen your face. Sorry." He cleared his throat. "The job's perfect for you to get accustomed with the family business."

"What?" I gaped. He couldn't be saying what I was thinking.

Clearly, he didn't just suffer from bipolar disorder; he was also delusional.

Dad squeezed my shoulder. "Don't worry, we're not making you a mere
employee
. You're going to be the
project manager
. You will be running the whole operation, planning, implementing and evaluating our progress. How about that? Isn't that exciting?"

I was still gaping. How could he possibly think making Hell popular was exciting? "That’s—" I scanned the floor, searching for words.

"No need to thank me. You've earned it. All the hard work's paid off, eh, kiddo?" He raised his brows, face glowing with pride. "I was thinking we could call it,
Looking for Fire, Thrills and Excitement?

Why The Hell NOT
? Inventive, I know."

"More like corny," I mumbled. "Listen, what makes you think I have the necessary qualifications to bring your little project to fruition?" I regarded him intently as he bobbed his head slightly, the tiny glint from before returning.

"Well, you're smart and you know a lot about humans since you've chosen to live among them." He paused, grimacing for a moment. "Granted, I wasn't happy about it for a long time, but I see your point now. And, lastly, you work for that company."

"Skylife?"

He nodded.

I frowned because I couldn't make sense of his logic. "How does being with Skylife qualify me to lead a huge propaganda campaign?"

Dad shrugged. "You sell stuff to customers."

"I don't
sell
stuff," I yelled. "Dad, how many times do I have to tell you, working in customer service involves answering questions, not persuading someone to part with their money." I jumped from the table and walked to the window to put some space between us. The geysers outside spewed hot water into the sizzling air.

"I'm sorry. I keep forgetting." He looked so earnest, I instantly regretted my outburst. The truth was, even after so many centuries he was still excited about the whole Hell business and would've been better off having a child who shared the same enthusiasm. I wished I could make him proud the way he deserved. For a moment, silence ensued between us and we avoided each other's gaze. Dad talked first. "You don't have to—"