The Demon in Me Read Free Page B

along with a pair of small diamond-stud earrings.
    At least the earrings had some value.
    When news reached Eden that half was hers, she’d just lost her job at Psychic Connexions—which meant she was officially looking for work again. She’d gone into Triple-A hoping what was behind the glass front door had more potential than the name of the place.
    What she’d found was two desks. Overflowing garbage cans. Peeling wallpaper. The stench of cigar smoke permeated the air. All of this luxury was next door to a coffee bar, also owned by Andy, called Hot Stuff.
    Andy wanted to buy Eden out, which was fine with her, but he didn’t have any money, which wasn’t fine by her. So, despite her gut instinct to walk away from the business completely, she moved to the city, rented a small apartment, and started to work there. She didn’t have a PI license and had no intention of getting one, so she instead helped out with paperwork, filing, typing, and answering the phone. She’d tried to get the smell of cigars out of the air and walls; however, Febreze could only do so much.
    She waited for Andy to get enough money together to pay for her half of the agency.
    It had been almost a month. She was still waiting.
    In the meantime, Andy did give her reasonable biweekly paychecks to help make ends meet. He wasn’t a total tightwad.
    “Eden,” Andy greeted her when she walked through the glass front door. “I’m glad you’re back.”
    “Trust me, after the day I’ve had, I’m glad to be back.”
    Andy was a man who’d definitely had the potential of being attractive and charming at one time, but life and circumstances had gotten in the way to make him pinched and squinty. An FBI agent until fifteen years ago, he was pushing fifty, still solidly built, pale blond hair and eyebrows, and warm and friendly green eyes.
    “How did the thing go?” he asked. “With the cop?”
    Well, he did ask. “I was attacked by a serial killer who said he was possessed by a demon. I almost died. A gorgeous cop who’s a dead ringer for Brad Pitt asked me out for dinner but then reneged and I’m not sure if I should call him. Do you think that would make me look like a stalker?” She sighed. “I may actually throw up at any moment. Just a warning.”
    He stared at her. “Are you serious about the serial killer?”
    “I’m not in a good enough mood right now to joke.”
    “But you’re all right? You’re not hurt at all, are you?”
    It was sweet of him to care. “I’m okay.”
    “That’s good to hear.” He pursed his lips. “Listen, I’d stick around for moral support or whatever, but I have to split. Are you staying long?”
    Well, maybe he didn’t care that much. “For a while. I’m trying to take my mind off what happened, actually. This place is oddly soothing, despite the décor.”
    “Well, if you’re looking for something to do… can you enter this all into the computer? I’d appreciate it.”
    Eden looked at the stack of files he had his hand on. Andy liked to handwrite everything. Eden was one of the only people in the world—she thought—who could decipher his penmanship. Typing was good mindless work and would definitely help her brain focus on something else before she went home. “Yeah, sure. No problem.”
    He grinned and actually patted her shoulder, placing the folders on top of her desk. “Super. You’re a peach, especially after everything you’ve gone through. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow, okay?”
    She nodded. “Sure. Have a good night.”
    He threw his coat over his shoulder and walked out the front door.
    Eden watched him get into his leased red Porsche and drive away. The sky was turning pink and purple and orange as the sun slowly began to sink beneath the horizon.
    She walked over to sit at her little desk, feeling oddly despondent about everything after her brush with death.
    If she was really 100 percent psychic, would she be able to see into her own future? What would it