Page 16 of Heart Over Heels

“You should apply,” she said.

I blinked. “Ma’am?”

“You heard me.” She gave a faint smile. “I could use eyes inside the Dollhouse. They might as well be yours.”

It took me a second to catch up. The implications came barreling at me, but none of them landed quite right. “Are you… are you firing me?”

She chuckled. “Of course not, Mister James. You’ll still be working for me, just in a different capacity.” Her gaze slid past me like she could already see the strings she intended to pull. “You made a connection. Use it. Apply for the job.”

I opened my mouth, but the words failed to exit.

This wasn’t a suggestion; it was a deployment. Antonella wanted me embedded behind enemy lines, walking into the Devil’s Dollhouse with a smile on my face and a knife behind my back. Spy on Luxe. Spy on the club. Then feed every whisper and weakness back to her.

What would happen if I got caught? I didn’t want to piss off a bunch of demons. If Antonella and her brood were bad, Hell’s forceshadto be worse.

“You seem hesitant,” the angel murmured, lips curving into a smile that felt more like a snare. “Would you prefer a formal reassignment? I’m sure we could find a place for you elsewhere.”

It was the illusion of choice. Say no, and she’d sideline me. Say yes, and I became her man on the inside.

Either way, I was already in.

“No, ma’am,” I said. “I’ll apply.”

“Good.” She nodded. “Let me know how your interview goes.”

CHAPTER

FIVE

Mercer

Calling Luxe to set up an interview felt like cashing in a favor I wasn’t owed, so I didn’t. Instead, I pulled my Victory High-Ball into the lot outside the Devil’s Dollhouse and parked. Then I sat. And sat some more.

The two-story building was made of black-painted brick and lacked much in the way of curb appeal. If not for the towering neon sign angled toward the Boulevard, I might have missed it entirely.

I’d printed a copy of my résumé at the Basilica before clocking out. It was stashed in my saddlebag, probably bent at the edges by now, but the information was still current, considering I’d used it to land the casino job a matter of months ago.

The setting sun was painting the pavement in gold, and I figured I had an hour or so before the club opened. Just enough time to catch a manager on-site. Preferably someoneotherthan the sharp-tongued little demon who might have been expecting my visit.

I swung off the bike and pulled my helmet free then stowed it in my saddlebag after pulling out my résumé. The paper was, indeed, a bit worse for wear, so I flattened it against my thigh to smooth out the worst of the wrinkles. Then I crossed the lot.

Since my return to Vegas, I’d avoided this side of the Strip, not wanting to explain to my bosses why I was rubbing elbows with hellish company. That feeling was exacerbated when I reached the Dollhouse’s doors and found them painted black and adorned with a demon’s bright red silhouette.

I scanned for an intercom or buzzer but found nothing. Just me and the devil’s front door. So I knocked.

If no one answered, I would take it as a sign. An excuse, at least, to give Antonella. To delay this until she changed her mind. But I’d barely waited a beat before the door cracked open and a blonde woman’s head popped out.

Winged eyeliner sharpened her gaze as she scanned me from head to toe.

“Bonjour,” she greeted.

“Bonjour,” I echoed.

Her brows shot up, and a glimmer of interest flashed across her face. “Parlez-vous français?”

“Oh… no,” I admitted while kicking myself mentally. My single year of high school French had not prepared me for anything resembling conversation.

“Ah.” As quickly as her interest had appeared, it evaporated. She leaned a little more into the doorway, unimpressed now. “What can I do for you?”