Page 26 of Gluttony (Seven Deadly Sins #4)

Chapter Nineteen

Bowie

This whole week has been a mindfuck.

Just the idea of staying cooped up in the penthouse a minute longer was enough to make me doubt my sanity.

Going back to work a week ago, mere days after I was attacked, may have been a bit premature but I regret nothing.

Weird shit is happening with the guys and I need the stability of the office to keep my head in the game.

On the plus side, my physical body may be battered and bruised but my mind is clear for the first time in my life.

With Mickey’s admission the other night, a weight lifted off my shoulders when I decided I was done with him.

Done with the snark, done with the violence, done with the criminal activities and this con as a whole.

Most of all, done being dependent on a man who clearly has no respect for me.

Just…done. I expected regret or sadness but so far, all I feel is relief.

My only worry is that my past is still there and could blow up in my face at any time. But for now, I’m going to let my body heal and enjoy this time with the guys, no matter how strange they’re acting.

After meeting up with Mickey last weekend, I thought I’d get a tongue lashing from at least Orion, who seems to have the role of worrying about those around him.

At one point I thought he might, with his jaw set like he was fighting the urge to put me over his knee and spank the rebel out of me, I expected a verbal dressing down.

All I got was a quick “You okay?” and when I reassured him that everything was fine, he simply nodded, then went to his room, clicking the door closed and leaving me out in the hall like a welcomed intruder.

He’s barely spoken ten words to me since.

That’s not even the weirdest part. What has my entire body on high alert is Hayes and the sudden “please” and “thank yous” he’s been throwing my way all week. Short of a frontal lobe lobotomy, nothing could justify this complete one-eighty.

Case in point, the man himself is at my desk this very minute asking—not demanding—for his weekly schedule.

The same one I sent over by email two hours ago.

He’s seen it, there’s no doubt about that, because Hayes Beckett is nothing if not anal retentive, which means his inbox is neat and organized and his push notifications go straight to his phone and tablet.

This begs the question…why the fuck is he here, again?

The fact that this is the second time he’s been to my office doubles his number of visits since I started working here.

If only his presence were the only alarming thing about this whole scenario, but it’s not.

The thing I can’t wrap my head around is the polite questions and the charming smiles.

That’s never happened. Not once. Not even before I started working for them and his suspicions of me were on high alert.

This is next level freaking me out.

“Did you not get my email? Sometimes I forget to hit send and it stays in draft mode.” I don’t ever do that and I know I didn’t this time, either.

“Yup, got it, but was hoping for a hard copy.” I narrow my eyes at him, not even pretending he’s not acting suspiciously.

“Something wrong with your printer?” Nothing is wrong with his printer, I can guarantee that.

“No, of course not. But there’s no need to print again if you have it already. You know, save the planet and all that.” There's that wolfish grin again. It’s equal parts terrifying and sexy enough to make me question every previous life decision.

“Right, the planet.” I keep my eyes on him as I reach for the drawer, slide it open and pick at the first sheet of paper on the pile.

My hawk stare doesn’t destabilize him in the least. He’s just here, grinning and leaning against the door jamb like he’s got all the time in the fucking world.

Experience tells me he doesn’t. The man is a working machine, first in and last out.

Standing here waiting for me to give him a hard copy of his weekly schedule is so far beneath him, it makes this entire situation that much more ridiculous.

Without a word but with my skepticism on high alert, I extend my arm with the schedule at the tips of my fingers. Hayes plucks it out of my grasp, letting his skin linger on mine for a fraction of a second too long. I hate that I notice but at the same time, I can’t regret feeling him again.

Bringing his face closer, he darts out his tongue before spreading his lips into a mesmerizing smile that fries my brain cells for a second too long.

“Thanks, Diamond.” His whispered words, meant for only the two of us, may have changed me on a molecular level. It’s impossible, yet…here we are.

By the time I shake off the shock, he’s gone and I’m left wondering what the fuck happened to the universe and why do I like this upside down world so much?

The rest of the morning is uneventful and goes by in a flash, mostly because I’m swamped. It’s no surprise that working with bruised ribs isn’t all roses and rainbows, it’s a big old break to my normal routine, slowing me down at every turn.

“Hey, Bowie, how are you getting along here?” When I look up at almost noon, Ginny is at my door with cupcakes in hand. Ha! I knew it was her. She’s the sweetest ever and I love that she’s thinking of me.

“To be honest, it’s not that bad.” On instinct, my hand rises to my lip where the cut is slowly healing. Maybe if I stopped licking it all moments of the day, it would have time to close up and leave me alone. Then again, I’ve never listened to my inner voice so…there’s that.

“Well, I had strict instructions to bring this one straight to you.” Ginny takes the two steps necessary to reach my desk and places the vanilla cupcake on my desk. “All the chocolate ones disappeared so I hope you’re not disappointed.” Is she kidding?

“These are the best, I love them.” I’m so hungry I wouldn’t be opposed to stuffing half a dozen in my mouth.

Alas, I’ll have to be happy with one. Taking a monster bite, I chew a couple of times before swallowing the sugary goodness down with my water bottle.

“I can’t figure out if it’s vanilla or white chocolate—” I barely finish my phrase before the phone rings.

Ginny finger waves and steps back out, leaving me to the rest of my day where I eat lunch at my desk while putting out continuous fires. Who knew being an executive assistant to music producers could be such busywork?

The next time I look up, Orion is at my door, a box filled with documents that look suspiciously in disarray in his arms.

“Bowie, we need you to review these contracts, do a first listen to the tapes, then deliver them to us in order of what you prefer.” Well, this is new. I wonder what brought this on…

Still, I’m not going to let the opportunity pass me by. Fuck that. I’ll be the best fucking first listener that ever existed. But first…

“What exactly am I looking…or, you know, listening for?” Music is subjective, what if I have shitty taste in music? I mean, Orion is American but the twins are British. What if our countries have different definitions of good music?

“You’re looking out for something catchy. Summer will be here soon, we need a single that’ll be all over the radio and number one in downloads.”

I snort. Yeah, right.

“Maybe you should just get the queens of pop to sign on. Everything they release is gold.” Everyone knows about the QP3; three single artists who respect each other so much that they release music at intervals so they’re not stealing each other’s spotlight.

On any given date, one of the QP3 is at the top of the charts.

The only time they’re ever dethroned is when Rayne Over Knights releases a single.

It’s like watching legends in real time and as a woman, they’re fucking empowering as hell.

“We tried, believe me. They produce their own stuff and aren’t too keen on signing with an all-male-owned production company.” He shrugs like he doesn’t care but I can tell it bugs him.

“Well, maybe you should have a woman’s touch at the top. Different perspectives and all that jazz.” With narrowed eyes, Orion stares for longer than is comfortable before setting the box on the desk and tapping his fingers on the side of the cardboard like he’s finalizing the transaction.

“Get us something gold out of this pile of shit.” No smiles, no encouragement, no lingering looks that make my panties spontaneously combust.

With a salute like I’ve just gone through boot camp, I grin. “Yes, Sir!”

That earns me a groan, and like the horrible employee I am, I beam inside at the thought that one simple word gets these guys worked up.

“Get to work.”

Who knew there was so much crappy music out there?

I’m not a genius but even I can tell when autotune is a singer’s only saving grace.

At first, I listened to the demos all the way through, then decided I’d wasted enough time and put the tapes in the garbage pile after only thirty seconds.

Thanks to that technique, I was able to sort out a third of the box.

Plus, I still had all my regular work to do so I’m counting it as a win.

When I notice I’ve already got almost two hours of overtime for tonight, I decide to start my shutting down ritual, which means I gather my things then go to the bathroom so I can make it back to my apartment without peeing myself.

And yes, I’m also giving my nightly visitor time to put a cupcake and an origami on my desk. It’s like my little guilty pleasure and I’ll be damned if I miss out.