All I Want For Christmas Is a Reaper Page 10

  I patted his arm. “They don’t care.”

  The mayor chuckled. “Miss Kriesmas is too blunt. We care. I’m sure the movie will be wonderful and we’re happy to have Cozy Studios in Chicago doing well.” His smile was picture perfect, but it never touched his eyes. The mayor cared about the money Slasher and Cozy brought to the city, but nothing more.

  That was fine. Trying to picture Delilah curled up watching a Cozy romance made my head spin. Some things were just not meant to be.

  Behind the mayor, a man with a teal tie appeared, searching for someone with increasing desperation.

  “Delilah, the man in the green tie—”

  She closed her eyes in resignation. “Intern for a lobbyist. Alan’s almost done with his second term as mayor and there’s a push for him to move to the state level. Or national. We’ve been dodging them all evening.”

  “Do you need me to run interference?” I couldn’t magic away Delilah’s political problems, but she was a friend of sorts. She’d helped me when I’d arrived in Chicago, made sure the worst of the pictures of me were scrubbed from everywhere on the internet,[29] and had given me a mentor-figure, if not a friend.

  “If I need help from Chicago’s favorite Grim Reaper, I’ll give you a call. But for now”—Delilah glanced back at the crowd—“I think we’ll stick to our script.”

  “I can now say no in over thirty languages,” the mayor said with only a hint of a laugh. “I’m not leaving Chicago any time soon.”

  “Good luck,” I said, lifting my glass. “Scream if you need me.”

  Delilah winked as she and her husband turned, bearing down on the helpless teal-tied fool with all the weight of Chicago behind them.

  “Fun couple,” Patrick said in a slow, careful way. “Grim Reaper. Is that a street name? Or nickname? Or did you just plot murder with the mayor?”

  “Only as a joke.” Mostly as a joke. “The kind of damage I’d do would all be financial. I don’t actually kill-kill people. Just their careers. And reputations. And hidden slush funds.”

  I loved finding hidden slush funds. The screams of trustfund children realizing that they wouldn’t be inheriting Mommy and Daddy’s ill-gotten loot are delicious.

  “You’re terrifying,” Patrick said.

  “Ellen didn’t really prep you for this introduction, did she?” I finally gave him my full attention.

  Patrick Miles was a generic white American actor: tall, fit, good hair, nice smile. He looked like the other thousand or so actors hired every year because he fit the current definition of masculine beauty and gave the general impression of being slightly smarter than a doorknob.

  I narrowed my eyes, trying to divine why Ellen—sweet, loveable, innocent Ellen—would throw Patrick Miles to a monster like me. Did she want me to destroy him? I knew she couldn’t think I’d like him.

  Patrick’s smile wavered under my scrutiny. “Ellen told me you were her best friend and that you’d handle anything if I couldn’t find her. What else did I need to know?”

  “Nothing, I suppose.” I changed my smile to warm and friendly. Seth might have noticed the tension in my jaw or the glare in my eye. Patrick missed it. Or didn’t care. “What are you up to tonight?”

  “Trying desperately to remember how to interact with people.”

  One of the waitstaff passed with a tray full of drinks and Patrick grabbed one, knocked it back in a single, panicked gulp, and put the empty glass back on the tray.

  “I’ve been up at my ranch in Wyoming since September. We, ah, provide emergency medical care for the wild horses. It’s great if you love wide open vistas.”

  Oh dear heavens, I was going to kill someone in public.

  That would ruin the hem of my dress. And then Ellen would pout. Where was Ellen?

  I scanned the crowd as Patrick droned on about horses.

  Black tuxes.

  Bright pink hair, that was Alisson.

  Lots of red dresses.

  Plenty of blues and greens.

  Where the flippity-flopping-fluffy-tailed duck was Ellen?

  A small group of socialites in towering, spiked heels and elegantly manicured hands parted and I saw Ellen in the middle, looking down at everyone’s chins and twisting her skirt around her fingers like she did before every school play. Someone had scared Ellen.

  Okay, well that cleared up my evening’s To Do list. People were going to die.

  Patrick froze midsentence. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said in a perfectly polite tone as my jaw clenched.

  “You went very still. And cold.” He cleared his throat nervously. “Is—is there an ex over there?” He turned, trying to see what I was looking at.

  “Patrick,” I drew his name out as I ticked through my options, “what do you think of Ellen?”

  “She’s amazing!” It was such an enthusiastic response I took a split second to look at his face and make sure he wasn’t lying. His smile was Oscar-worthy. “I love working with her. She’s so generous on set. So clear with what she wants and what she needs with us. Best director I’ve ever had.”

  “Good. So, you’d be willing to help Ellen?”

  He beamed. “Of course!”

  Excellent. I smiled.

  Somewhere, the king of Hell trembled in fear.

  “Here’s the plan. I’m going to walk over and break up the flock of vultures currently trying eat Ellen alive. It’ll be enough to get them to step back. Let Ellen answer two questions, and then show up with a drink for her and— this is the important part—eyes only for her. You are going to spend the rest of the night pretending Ellen is the only other person at this party. You two are getting your own little pocket universe.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  Again, I had to look up to see his face.

  Patrick was smiling softly as he watched Ellen, completely entranced.

  Surreptitiously, I sniffed the wine in my glass. It didn’t smell drugged.

  I felt fine. It was just the rest of the universe that was being weird. Sure, the Hollywood Hunk had a crush on the sweet little Black girl from Galen, Illinois.

  The Cozy Curse was strong.

  A shiver of disgust ran up my back. I had to get Seth’s accounts wrapped up and passed off before someone tried to convince me to tour suburbia with him, or live on a horse ranch. I side-eyed Patrick hard, finished my probably-not-tainted wine, and set the glass on a passing tray.

  “You ready?”

  “Always ready,” Patrick said.

  I put on a dazzling smile that would make the sun sink in shame, and strutted into the center of everything like I could make the world spin around me.

  I drew attention like I was owed it in my contract.

  I made heads turn like it was my job.

  The sheer social force of my advance was enough to slam into the socialites and knock them all back with belligerent frowns. They huffed, exchanging whispered remarks as they tried to identify me and regroup.

  But it was far, far too late for that.

  Like the last rays of the sun before a final solar flare ripped apart the planet, I brightened. “Ellen!” I took her arm. “There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you.” Leaning back to cut off the first counter-attack, I looked at her outfit. “I love this dress on you! The purple is your color. Ever the empress.” I gave her a quick air kiss.

  Ellen’s eyes went wide in confusion and surprise. “Hello to you too.”

  “Why don’t you introduce me to your friends?” I held her hand and snuggled close to her shoulder. The extra height of my heels didn’t get me on the same level as the gatekeepers of Chicago’s high society, but it gave me almost an inch over Ellen and enough leverage to bring them down to my level.

  “We’re not exactly friends,” Ellen said in the strained yet polite tone that had signaled she was overwhelmed, unconfident, and surrounded by ferals ever since second grade when Olivia Watkins had taken her friendship bracelet back and publicly uninvited Elle
n from her birthday party because she didn’t like Ellen having the same backpack as her.

  If there’d been a soundtrack, the fight music would have started playing.

  Instead we got the orchestral arrangement playing something light, and airy, and probably composed for another RPG from the early twenty-first century, with a background addition of rainforest sounds.

  The occasional scream from a fake macaw really set the tone.

  The lead vulture stepped forward, her blonde hair moving as a set piece. “Kandace Arbutum, Arbutum Financial.”

  Ellen’s worried expression turned to a small, knowing smile. My best friend had seen this drama play out before and she knew how it was going to end.

  Miss Arbutum, alas, did not know she was about to be destroyed. “I’m sure you have a reason for not knowing me,” Kandace said with sarcastic smugness that made her friends titter in amusement.

  Ooo. Scary. Shots fired.

  I didn’t roll my eyes because my mama brought me up better than that. But, really, if Kandace wanted to bring the thunder, she needed better than ammo than that.

  “Merri Kriesmas,” I said with a smile as I unsnapped my clutch and held out a card. “When your company moves to the big leagues, give me a call.”

  A quick cough covered Ellen’s laugh as she suddenly found her shoes fascinating beyond compare.

  Kandace took the card and fell back, taking two of the other vultures with her. Three down, five to go.

  “Kriesmas?” An intelligent-looking brunette smiled down at me. “Chicago’s own Wicked Witch.”

  It took me a minute to place her face. “Bexley Bekstrum, of Bekstrum Realty? And how is your brother?”

  Her artificially plumped lips zipped into a thin, angry line.

  “It’s good your family wears orange so well.”

  “Merri!” Ellen pinched my arm.

  “Oh, fine, I’ll play nice,” I promised her. “I assume they all came to see who the new girl on the playground was?”

  “We were introducing Miss Berry to some of the finer points of Chicago society,” said a woman with naturally tanned skin, dark brown hair, and the faintest hint of a Manhattan accent. Her jade-green dress was two seasons out of style, but her shoes were from the Ligantii fall line, shimmering, liquid gold.[30]

  I smiled at Miss Manhattan. “It’s rather silly to tell a trendsetter what’s in fashion. You should be asking.”

  The gaggle scoffed.

  “She’s not a trendsetter,” Miss Manhattan said.

  “Ellen.” I smiled. “What’s everyone going to be wearing for New Year’s?”

  I knew my friend well. She closed her eyes as she mentally cataloged what Cozy was offering. “Periwinkle satin will be the must-have item of the year, paired with emeralds and gold. Ultramarine and silver are the hot colors for winter weddings. Shoes will be”—she glanced at Miss Manhattan’s feet—“not those atrocities.”

  “I like them,” I whispered.

  “You have terrible taste in shoes,” Ellen said, not quite quietly enough to be missed. Louder, she continued, “Holiday wear will be winter pastels, red is out, and cold whites are in. Also look for stunning, metallic blacks. The Little Black Dress is going to be over-shadowed by the Long Black Dress for all sizes and shapes before Thanksgiving.”

  I looked at the mob’s array of autumn colors. In April, no less. And I smirked. A well-placed smirk can do wonders.

  Just before I verbally eviscerated their egos, Patrick called out. “Ellen!” He showed up like a knight in a shining, seasonally appropriate, three-pieced suit.

  “Ellen...” Patrick took a breath as he looked her up and down, eyes widening in appreciation. “You look amazing.”

  “Oh.” Ellen’s blush ran up her cheeks to her ears. “Thank you.”

  A dainty, white hand with bold blue nail polish reached for Patrick.

  “Excuse me, are you Patrick Miles?”

  Clearly I hadn’t done my job as Grim Reaper well enough, because one of Bexley’s entourage was sizing the movie star up like a sushi dinner. I shouldn’t have worn white shoes; the blood stains were going to show.

  “There’s the cute couple.” Alisson sauntered in wearing an angular black leather crop top and a flowing black skirt that would have looked terrible on me but only accented Alisson’s feminine beauty. Even her spiky pink hair looked effortless flawless. Not that I was jealous.[31] “Ellen, Patrick’s been looking all over for you.” She leaned in to give Ellen air kisses over her cheeks and stab Miss Blue with a look that promised a slow, painful death.

  “Oh?” Ellen looked up at Patrick with a worried, adoring expression that made her absolutely precious. Ugh. I’d forgotten how adorable my friend was. If Patrick didn’t make a move, he was a fool. “I thought you weren’t coming until later.”

  “I showed up a little early so I could see you.”

  Patrick’s smile was going to make Cozy so much money come December.

  Alisson sighed as she lifted her champagne glass to her lips. “Ah. Love.”

  “You could call my sister,” I reminded her.

  The socialites were wavering, torn between trying to get the attention of Patrick—who was playing his role of devoted boyfriend to perfection—and the very sensible urge to run away from Alisson and me.

  My future sister-in-law was studying me. “This is a good look for you.”

  “Thanks. It is.”

  Behind us the music changed to a waltz. I saw the Delilah and the mayor moving onto the dance floor and other couples followed.

  “Do you dance?” I asked Alisson.

  “Not with you.” She gave me an enigmatic look. “Seth and I have a strict No Poaching rule.”

  “Seth’s not around.” I hadn’t seen him since he’d entered, and I needed a reason to step away from Ellen and Patrick asap. If Ellen had another Plus One, I was free to go home to my sorely missed bed.

  A dark shadow fell across me with the scent of sandalwood soap. “Who’s not around?” Seth winked at Alisson, who rolled her eyes. “I almost missed you, Red Hot.” He slipped his arm around my waist and pulled me close with a smolder that was hot enough to start the second great Chicago fire.

  Good googly-moogly, I’d thought I known what a well-fitted black suit looked like before, but I’d been sorely, sinfully mistaken. I took a half-step back so I could appreciate the pure art of the dark silver shirt that hugged Seth like a lover, and the shadowy black jacket and pants that fit him as if tailored by God himself. Seth was breathtaking... and color coordinated with me like we’d planned it.

  If I didn’t have the full focus of the would-be queens of Chicago before, I did now. Patrick Miles was generically handsome. Seth Morana was striking, charismatic, and drop-dead gorgeous. And right now his dark eyes were focused on me.

  “Do you dance?” Seth asked.

  “With you? Yes.” Anyone else would have had their arm broken by now.

  Seth looked around, not at the socialites, but at the crowds beyond them. “You sure? The news sites all have drones, and the event’s people are taking photos. We can go find a corner to lurk in if you want.”

  Faceless photos on Seth’s social media was one thing; full pictures were something altogether different. I’d be seen.

  Without my brightly colored armor.

  Without layers of work for insulation.

  Without filters, or fades, or hidden face shots.

  With Seth.

  I smiled. “Let’s go dance.”

  We swayed in three-four time, the music leading the assembly in slow circles.

  “You’re glaring,” Seth whispered as we made another loop past the buffet table. “That’s not usually the reception I get.”

  I shot him a quick glare. “I’m trying to keep track of Ellen.”

  “Mmm.” Seth deftly turned us around so I could have a full view of my friend in the center of a growing pool of people captivated by Patrick’s smile. “She’s fine. Alisson is on stand-by to swoop
in if either of them need rescuing.”

  “Did you know Patrick doesn’t like crowds?”

  “Ellen brought it up when I suggested the cast coming tonight. We were going to make an excuse for him, but he said he’d be fine if Ellen were here.”

  I glowered at the actor. “He latched onto her fast. If he hurts Ellen—”

  “I will personally burn his career to ash,” Seth promised.

  “You say the sweetest things.” I smiled up at him and forgot about friends, actors, and crowds for a moment. His dark eyes were warm and soft. “And you are an amazing actor. You play the role of devoted boyfriend perfectly.”

  In his arms, I felt like I could breathe again. Shed a layer of armor. Steal a moment of happiness.

  Right. Happiness.

  That’s what I was planning to steal from Seth. Not a kiss.

  Not a single kiss.

  Maybe a lot of kisses though.

  Seth smiled like he could read my thoughts. Taking my hand, he led us off the dance floor as the music changed to another insipid holiday song. He slowed next to a table, but then kept going, leading me away from the noise and to a quiet, dark hall where the only sound was our heavy breathing.

  The wall at my back was cool and smooth. It felt like the only solid thing in the room. My whole body was burning with need. It had been so, so long since I wanted anyone this much. Wanted to feel their skin against mine. Wanted to be wanted. I licked my lips and tried to come back to reality; not exactly an easy task with Seth leaning over me, arm braced against the wall.

  His eyes were dark and hungry and I wanted everything his look promised.

  If only. “You don’t need to act tonight.” The words came out breathier than I’d planned. I had to give him the out. Had to break this spell before he broke me.

  “I’m not acting.” His voice was low and tantalizing. “I’m behaving. This is an exercise in impulse control.”

  “Really?” Hope was such a delicate thing before, and now it felt like a monster that might destroy my heart.

  Seth came closer, lips almost on mine. “What I want might be more PDA than you’re comfortable with.”

  I smiled, gripping the lapels of his jacket. “Really?”