The Hollow Read Free Page A

contest because she picked the jerkwad’s drivers for him. I honestly don’t know what that last part means except for jerkwad.”
    â€œUh-huh. Well, interesting. I’ll call her.”
    â€œThen she cried.”
    â€œShit.” He still had a soft spot for animals, and had a spot equally soft for unhappy women. “I’ll call her now.”
    â€œNo, you’ll want to wait about an hour,” Layla said with a glance at her watch. “Right about now she’s getting hair therapy. She’s going red. She can’t actually sue her skanky, no-good ho of a sister for alienation of affection, can she?”
    â€œYou can sue for any damn thing, but I’ll talk her down from it. Maybe you could remind me in an hour to call her. Are you okay out here?” he added. “Do you need anything?”
    â€œI’m good. Alice—Mrs. Hawbaker—she’s a good teacher. And she’s very protective of you. If she didn’t think I was ready to fly solo, I wouldn’t be. Besides, as office manager in training, I should be asking you if you need anything.”
    An office manager who didn’t jump-start his libido would be a good start, but it was too late for that. “I’m good, too. I’ll just be . . .” He gestured toward his office, then walked away.
    He was tempted to shut the pocket doors, but it felt rude. He never closed the doors of his office unless he was with a client who needed or wanted privacy.
    Because he never felt quite real in a suit, Fox pulled off the jacket, tossed it over the grinning pig that served as one of the hooks. With relief, he dragged off his tie and draped it over a happy cow. That left a chicken, a goat, and a duck, all carved by his father, whose opinion had been that no law office could be stuffy when it was home to a bunch of lunatic farm animals.
    So far, Fox figured that ran true.
    It was exactly what he’d wanted in an office, something part of a house rather than a building , with a view of neighborhood rather than urban streets. Shelves held the law books and supplies he needed most often, but mingled with them were bits and pieces of him. A baseball signed by the one and only Cal Ripken, the stained-glass kaleidoscope his mother had made him, framed snapshots, a scale model of the Millennium Falcon, laboriously and precisely built when he’d been twelve.
    And, in a place of prominence sat the big glass jar, and its complement of dollar bills. One for every time he forgot and said fuck in the office. It was Alice Hawbaker’s decree.
    He got a Coke out of the minifridge he kept stocked with them and wondered what the hell he was going to do when Mrs. Hawbaker deserted him for Minneapolis and he had to deal with the lovely Layla not only as part of the defeat-the-damn-demon team, but five days a week in his office.
    â€œFox?”
    â€œHuh?” He spun around from his window, and there she was again. “What? Is something wrong?”
    â€œNo. Well, other than Big Evil, no. You don’t have any appointments for a couple of hours, and since Alice isn’t here, I thought we could talk about that. I know you’ve got other work, but—”
    â€œIt’s okay.” Big Evil would give him focus on something other than gorgeous green eyes and soft, glossy pink lips. “Do you want a Coke?”
    â€œNo, thanks. Do you know how many calories are in that can?”
    â€œIt’s worth it. Sit down.”
    â€œI’m too jumpy.” As if to prove it, Layla rubbed her hands together as she wandered the office. “I get jumpier every day that nothing happens, which is stupid, because it should be a relief. But nothing’s happened, nothing at all since we were all at the Pagan Stone.”
    â€œThrowing sticks and stones and really harsh words at a demon from hell.”
    â€œThat, and Gage shooting at it. Or Cal . . .” She stopped, faced Fox now. “I