Free Temping Is Hell by Cathy Yardley Page B

with her wild hair and her don’t fuck with me expression. He’d always preferred cool, demure women—blondes, like Elizabeth. And he’d never been attracted to a woman who snarled at him. Apparently it had been too long a time since he’d, ah, blown off some steam.
    But damn, she did look good.
    “Consider me warned.” He nodded at her purse. “So what’s with the flash drive?”
    He could see her freeze, the sudden tension. Wonder what that’s about?
    “Extra-curricular project,” she said.
    “You’re in school?”
    “No.”
    He stared at her. “Okay,” he said, waiting for her to expand on it. She didn’t.
    “Right. See you at work,” she said, then turned, heading for the parking garage.
    “Say, Kate?”
    She turned, her hip tilted, glancing over her shoulder like a pin-up model. “Yeah?”
    “I’m glad he’s not your boyfriend.”
    She stared at him. Hell, he would’ve stared at himself if he could have. The words popped out before he could stop them, and he frowned.
    She sent him a slow, almost shy smile that did more for his libido than Maggie’s full naked displays. He was surprised by the punch of it, momentarily rooted to the spot.
    Then she took two steps… and walked smack into a parking sign.
    “I’m okay. I’m okay,” she said, waving him off when he went to help. She sounded flustered, and her pretty cream cheeks had blushed pink.
    His smile broadened as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. It was a good feeling.
    “See you tomorrow,” she repeated, then moved with the furious haste of someone embarrassed.
    Thomas was still grinning when he walked back into the restaurant.
    “What was that all about?” his dinner guest, Mr. Harlow Frederickson, asked with amusement.
    “Just a friend,” Thomas said, not wanting to go into details. The boy had gone, at least. And besides, Thomas was pretty sure Kate could handle him if he was stupid enough to go after her. “So. Shall we talk about the details of the merger? I’d love to add your advertising agency to Fiendish Enterprises.”
    “Sure. Although I bumped into a friend, too, while you were outside,” Harlow said, gesturing to someone else. Still buzzing from his weird little exchange with Kate, Thomas looked over… and his heart stilled in his chest. It felt like his whole body had been dropped in a vat of liquid nitrogen.
    Harlow was oblivious. “Thomas, I’d like you to meet Cyril. Cyril Roman.” The man was tall, thin, his hair a pale corn-silk blond. He smiled, holding out his hand.
    Thomas stared at it. Yup. Even the scar was still there, just over the wrist.
    “Nice to see you again, Thomas,” Cyril said, barely contained mirth in his voice.
    “Oh, do you two know each other?” Harlow said, sounding delighted.
    Thomas ignored the proffered hand. “I didn’t realize you two knew each other,” he said instead, frowning at Harlow.
    “Fairly recent acquaintance,” Harlow said, “but we’re becoming fast friends.”
    “We’re working on a deal of sorts, too,” Cyril said. “I was a little disappointed that you hadn’t stopped by, Thomas, now that you’ve moved into my neighborhood, as it were. Maybe we could schedule a lunch or something. Catch up. It’s been, what, seven years since we’ve had a decent conversation?”
    Thomas narrowed his eyes. “I was too busy trying to stab you three years ago,” he agreed. “So yeah, seven sounds about right.”
    Harlow’s eyes widened. Then he let out a nervous crack of laughter. “Guess you two have history.”
    “You could say that,” Thomas said, his voice tight as he glared at the man who had given him the contract—and was even now waiting to take his company and his soul.
    Number thirteen , Thomas thought, the dagger hidden in his suit jacket almost burning him. If I could just…
    But it wouldn’t work. He’d tried before. Killing Cyril without killing the twelve people who had agreed to protect him—the twelve powerful souls who had signed on