Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109033 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109033 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Even if what they had wasn’t simple and shallow, she wouldn’t have easily told him about her real source of income. Luka wouldn’t frown upon the illegal elements of her career path—he didn’t exactly show much respect for the law—but she preferred to keep it private.
It occurred to her that if he were to uncover it, he mightn’t be comfortable with the idea. Luka seemed to be protective by nature. While there was no danger in being a ghost artist, there were risks. Risks that she’d be caught painting replicas or creating fake lost paintings, or that she’d be hounded by clients like Stefan.
The mere thought of that idiot made her demon’s mouth tighten. At least it seemed that Stefan had given up on trying to sniff out her identity. She hadn’t seen or heard anything more from the PI, and Tobe hadn’t been contacted by him either. A good sign.
Mentally setting the subject aside, Naomi made her way into her bedroom and through to the en suite bathroom, where she shucked her paint-streaked clothes. She hadn’t yet informed Tobe or anyone else about her involvement with Luka. As she’d told him, it was none of their business. Why tell them only to have them attempt to talk her into exiting what was proving to be a very enjoyable arrangement?
Due to how busy he was, she hadn’t seen Luka every night over the past week. When she did have him here, he was often called away at some point to deal with this or that. It was only to be expected, considering he was a Prime who also ran an actual demonic criminal empire. It didn’t at all bother her that so much of his time was taken up, because it gave her the space and privacy she needed to paint.
In sum, things were going as well as she’d hoped.
After showering, styling her hair, and slapping on a little makeup, Naomi pulled on one of the black dresses she considered work attire. Finally ready to leave, she dropped her cell into her purse, activated her alarm system, and then exited the house.
The multi-lane traffic was calmer than it tended to be during daytime hours, as was the area itself. Not many pedestrians could be seen strolling along the sidewalk. But she spotted some of her neighbors pottering around. One was taking out the trash, another was unloading shopping bags from her car, and a third was walking his Labrador.
This particular street was home to several of her lair, as were many of the ones nearby. Demons didn’t have territories, but they often grouped together. It gave them better protection.
As she crossed the road, an itch built between her shoulder blades, giving her that familiar feeling of being watched. Frustration tightened her jaw.
Without breaking stride, she peeked over her shoulder. There didn’t appear to be anyone around, but she didn’t think her imagination was simply going wild. Someone was definitely watching her—her demon felt equally certain of it.
Iain, maybe? Or that damn PI she’d just been thinking had left the picture?
Her lips thinning, she faced forward again and shook her head. Whoever it was, they’d better keep out of sight or they were going to end up with her foot up their ass.
Arriving at the pizzeria, she pushed open the door and breezed inside. “Hey, all. Sorry I’m late.” The place wasn’t yet open—wouldn’t open for another five minutes—but she should have gotten here earlier.
Alfie looked up from behind the open kitchen. “Girl, I’ll swear you are blind to the passing of time.”
Well . . . yeah. That fit.
Naomi hurried to her locker in the breakroom, locked her purse away, and then took up position at the hostess station.
Donna sidled up to her with a pretty smile. “So, are you going to show me your new tattoo or what?”
“Not right here—it’s high up on my thigh. I’ll show you later, when we’re alone.”
“I’m thinking of getting one myself, but something small. At least the first time.”
“The girls at Urban Ink have a waiting list, so get on it as soon as you can.” Hearing the door creak open, Naomi looked over . . . and felt every muscle in her face freeze.
Iain gave her a tremulous smile as he entered. “Naomi,” he whispered, so much reverence in his tone that nausea gripped her gut.
Fuck.
Ignoring the low curses coming from Alfie and Donna, Naomi watched the psi-demon carefully as he took slow, shuffling steps toward her—his eyes hazy, his skin clammy, his cheeks red and blotchy.
Her demon gritted its teeth, exasperated beyond belief with this guy. The entity wasn’t familiar with empathy, so it gave not one measly shit that he was in the grasp of a siren song.
“I did it,” he said with a proud smile.
Naomi felt her brow crease. “Did what?”