Devilishly Wicked Read Free Page B

technically her dog but also Tristan’s coconspirator, wandered to his doggy bed, watching the two of them. His doggy expression showed that he was no more pleased with Tristan than Finola was.
    Ah, another fun day at work.
    He gave her another look, this one filled with silent warning.
    “You are in my seat.”
    She made a face, one somewhere between a sneer and a smirk, but then slowly levered herself out of the white leather chair, making sure to keep her movements unhurried.
    Tristan waited, not giving her the satisfaction of showing any reaction whatsoever. That was one thing he’d perfected to an art during his time under her reign: utter indifference.
    Oh, he was irritated, sick of dealing with her insubordinate, often downright childish behavior, but she’d never get the satisfaction of seeing that. Because she would love it, if she could. She wanted to aggravate and annoy him. She wanted to make his life hell.
    Finola White had not taken losing her position well. She was furious. But that wasn’t Tristan’s problem. If she’d done her job correctly, Tristan wouldn’t have been able to usurp her position.
    But Finola had been more interested in herself, her indulgences, and living the high life than doing the work Satan wanted from her. Tristan wasn’t going to make the same mistakes.
    Oh, he was definitely all about taking advantage of the luxuries and status and worldly pleasures that being the editor-in-chief of a prestigious fashion magazine could offer him. But he was also going to make damned sure the demon realm was invading the human one as he did so.
    Finola had been a loose cannon, letting power go to her head. Tristan planned to stay grounded and focused, even while he was being decadent as hell. Which would definitely be a tricky balance for a demon of lust, but he’d figure out a way to handle his desires. A way to keep his focus on the task at hand.
    World domination.
    But the first thing he needed to do was get his insubordinate inferiors under control.
    He moved behind the desk and collapsed in the chair, making a show of basking in the comfort of the cushioned, supple leather.
    Finola grimaced again, but perched on the edge of a much less comfortable chair on the other side of the office.
    “So,” Tristan said, “please do explain how you’ve come to the conclusion that my mind has been lost.”
    Finola glared at him, and then finally leaned back in the chair, taking an indifferent stance herself.
    “You know full well what I’m talking about.”
    Tristan pretended to ponder the possibilities, and then widened his eyes with feigned realization.
    “Oh, you are referring to the fact that I’m relocating you to the mail room.”
    “I will not work in the mail room. In fact, I will not set foot in the mail room.”
    Tristan again pretended to consider her words.
    “Actually, you will. Because not only did I, your master, tell you that you have to work there. But I’m very certain that my master, the Prince of Darkness, will back me on this plan. After all, I’m not sending you down there just to make your life hell.” He smirked. “I have a very important job for you in the mail room.”
    Finola rose, her usually pure alabaster skin actually flushed in anger. Her hands were balled at her sides, and for a moment, Tristan thought she was going to stamp her foot like a bratty child not getting her way. Of course, that wouldn’t be the first time he’d ever seen her do that.
    But instead she said in a rougher tone, and her usually melodic voice took on a hissing quality, “This will never work. Don’t you think the mail room employees will be highly suspicious of the editor-in-chief of the magazine suddenly working down there?”
    “The ex editor-in-chief,” Tristan corrected. “And yes, I’m sure they will. But that suspicion might work in our favor, putting any traitors on edge and causing them to make a stupid mistake. We already know a demon slayer was working down there. We