nodded while my mother shrugged. “Besides, I’ve tried it already and it didn’t work.” She shook her head. “I don’t want anyone to doubt my new authority.” She motioned again to Cheryl, who promptly produced a BlackBerry and handed it over.
“I seriously doubt anyone would be that bold—” I started, but Mom waved off my opinion as she focused on her touch screen.
“Landon Parks
must
officiate at the ceremony.” She gave me a don’t-screw-this-up look. “His contact information is in my notes. He’s the chief demon of slavery and oppression, which means he’s the only one qualified to launch me into an eternity chained to Samael.”
My ma was such a romantic.
“He also occupies the body of a local judge, so the marriage will be legitimate both Down Under and in this realm.”
“Landon Parks,” I murmured. “Got it.”
“Oh, and throw in a bachelorette party and a few male strippers. Your grandfather’s ridiculous rules stipulate that I have to be faithful, otherwise it negates the union.” She eyed the screen and blew out an exasperated breath before handing the device back over to Cheryl. “If I’m going to commit myself for the rest of eternity, I want to have as much fun while I still can. Speaking of which, I have a massage scheduled in half an hour.” She cast a knowing glance at the tuxedo-clad groom standing outside the ballroom double doors, nervously checking his watch. She gave me a wink and a suggestive smile. “You’d better get to work.”
Ick.
Not that he wasn’t attractive. He was, but I was
so
over the spoiling-men phase of my existence. Plus, said groom was hopelessly in love with his bride. Her name was Mary Ann and she was a pediatric nurse and one of the nicest humans
ever
. She’d been a real trouper despite a hellacious mix-up with the invitations. She’d even given a beautiful quote to the magazine on my behalf.
I could never do such an awful thing to Mary Ann, and I should just confess as much to my mother. She would know the truth about me—that I’d turned my back on my birthright and gone legit—when the magazine came out anyway. No sense putting off the inevitable. My career was over and I was headed straight back to Hell.
“I’m on it,” I said instead.
What? We’re talking
Hell
.
2
“The groom’s uncle Jeffrey can’t sit next to his ex-wife,” I told Burke Carmichael a half hour after my mother had waltzed out of the hotel and left me to digest her request.
I was standing in the main ballroom where the reception would be held, staring in horror at the place cards set side by side on the pale-pink, linen-draped table. “They hate each other.” I plucked Uncle Jeffrey’s card and handed it to my assistant.
Burke and his identical twin brother, Andrew—the dynamic wedding duo—were two of the hottest guys I’d ever seen. Twenty-nine. Blond hair. Light-brown peepers. Broad shoulders. Six-pack abs. They were also heterosexually challenged, which made them the perfect assistants because their concentration centered solely on creating matrimonial bliss rather than on how to charm me out of my skinny jeans.
Female sexual demons ooze—you guessed it—sex appeal. With one glance we inspire the most lascivious thoughts in humans of the opposite sex. The average guy doesn’t stand a chance.
Unless said guy is attracted to men.
As if to prove the point, my gaze collided with Burke’s and an image popped into my head—Brad Pitt from
Legends of the Fall
, complete with long hair, tanned skin, and oodles of emotional torment.
As a sexual demon, I don’t just wow humans with my sex appeal, I can also read their deepest, most erotic thoughts. Bottom line, I can see the object of any human’s hottest fantasy.
Burke had always been a Brad man. While the details might change—Brad à la
Ocean’s Eleven
or Brad à la
Thelma & Louise
(my own personal fave)—he was always faithful to the überhot actor. A helpful tidbit if I’d still
“I seriously doubt anyone would be that bold—” I started, but Mom waved off my opinion as she focused on her touch screen.
“Landon Parks
must
officiate at the ceremony.” She gave me a don’t-screw-this-up look. “His contact information is in my notes. He’s the chief demon of slavery and oppression, which means he’s the only one qualified to launch me into an eternity chained to Samael.”
My ma was such a romantic.
“He also occupies the body of a local judge, so the marriage will be legitimate both Down Under and in this realm.”
“Landon Parks,” I murmured. “Got it.”
“Oh, and throw in a bachelorette party and a few male strippers. Your grandfather’s ridiculous rules stipulate that I have to be faithful, otherwise it negates the union.” She eyed the screen and blew out an exasperated breath before handing the device back over to Cheryl. “If I’m going to commit myself for the rest of eternity, I want to have as much fun while I still can. Speaking of which, I have a massage scheduled in half an hour.” She cast a knowing glance at the tuxedo-clad groom standing outside the ballroom double doors, nervously checking his watch. She gave me a wink and a suggestive smile. “You’d better get to work.”
Ick.
Not that he wasn’t attractive. He was, but I was
so
over the spoiling-men phase of my existence. Plus, said groom was hopelessly in love with his bride. Her name was Mary Ann and she was a pediatric nurse and one of the nicest humans
ever
. She’d been a real trouper despite a hellacious mix-up with the invitations. She’d even given a beautiful quote to the magazine on my behalf.
I could never do such an awful thing to Mary Ann, and I should just confess as much to my mother. She would know the truth about me—that I’d turned my back on my birthright and gone legit—when the magazine came out anyway. No sense putting off the inevitable. My career was over and I was headed straight back to Hell.
“I’m on it,” I said instead.
What? We’re talking
Hell
.
2
“The groom’s uncle Jeffrey can’t sit next to his ex-wife,” I told Burke Carmichael a half hour after my mother had waltzed out of the hotel and left me to digest her request.
I was standing in the main ballroom where the reception would be held, staring in horror at the place cards set side by side on the pale-pink, linen-draped table. “They hate each other.” I plucked Uncle Jeffrey’s card and handed it to my assistant.
Burke and his identical twin brother, Andrew—the dynamic wedding duo—were two of the hottest guys I’d ever seen. Twenty-nine. Blond hair. Light-brown peepers. Broad shoulders. Six-pack abs. They were also heterosexually challenged, which made them the perfect assistants because their concentration centered solely on creating matrimonial bliss rather than on how to charm me out of my skinny jeans.
Female sexual demons ooze—you guessed it—sex appeal. With one glance we inspire the most lascivious thoughts in humans of the opposite sex. The average guy doesn’t stand a chance.
Unless said guy is attracted to men.
As if to prove the point, my gaze collided with Burke’s and an image popped into my head—Brad Pitt from
Legends of the Fall
, complete with long hair, tanned skin, and oodles of emotional torment.
As a sexual demon, I don’t just wow humans with my sex appeal, I can also read their deepest, most erotic thoughts. Bottom line, I can see the object of any human’s hottest fantasy.
Burke had always been a Brad man. While the details might change—Brad à la
Ocean’s Eleven
or Brad à la
Thelma & Louise
(my own personal fave)—he was always faithful to the überhot actor. A helpful tidbit if I’d still
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