Page 41 of Heart Over Heels

I didn’t actually. I didn’t understand at all why Antonella Rossetti gave two shits about pretty demon boys stuffing dollar bills into their underwear.

Was it to do with Maslow? He didn’t look powerful enough to hold sway over an angel. He must have been working for Antonella, same as me, but my questions and assumptions failed to add up to answers.

“They’re loyal to Beck,” I said finally. “That’s what I’ve learned.”

Maslow drew sharply on the cigar then expelled the fumes through his clenched teeth. He crossed one arm over his chest, further collapsing the folds of his suit. “They used to be loyal tome,” he growled. “Awfully quick to change their tune. Though dogs are known to wag their tails for whoever holds the leash.”

The contempt in his words got my hackles up.

It wasn’t like that at all. The Dollhouse may have been established on sin and sex appeal, but there was a real heart at its core. The dancers were bonded. They teased and argued, rallied and laughed in a mess of chaos and closeness that remindedme of the guys in my squad. A brotherhood I missed more with every passing day.

Antonella didn’t press again, only watched, her wings hanging like drapes of white silk behind her.

But I had words for Maslow and a point to make. Maybe Ishouldtell them what I’d learned if for no better reason than to defend the sassy batch of demons I’d been entrusted with the care of.

“They’re also,” I said carefully, “well managed.”

“Well managed?” Maslow squawked. “By Beckett?”

“By Darby,” I corrected then smirked. I did that a lot when thinking of him.

Maslow scowled. “Luxe? Beckett put that whore in charge?” He laughed, a sharp, ugly sound. “I knew I should’ve gutted that frilly bitch.”

My hand curled tight at my side, causing my nails to bite my palm. I kept my face blank, but every word this foul creature spouted confirmed what Colette had said. Maslow was a problem. A poison.

Antonella didn’t reprimand him, and the lack of correction drew a line in the sand. She let him snarl unchecked, then tipped her chin toward me as though my reaction mattered more than his bile.

“I believe this failing is mine,” she said. “I assigned you to a post but gave you no mission. I have one for you now. Lucas Beckett has a document we need to review. A contract.”

I inched backward. “What kind of contract?”

Maslow dragged on his cigar again then flicked ash onto the immaculate floor. “That bastard swindled me, and he won’t get away with it. I have a business to run, and I can’t make product without my supply.” His sunken cheeks flamed, and the loose skin of his jowls made his scowl seem more severe.

Antonella tugged idly at a seam on her gown. “Lucas has a knack for inserting himself where he should not. Last time, it was his cock. This time, a contract.” Her smile spread thin. “I’d relish the chance to destroy both, but the paper’s less likely to bleed.”

My throat felt dry. Digging for documents and breaking and entering were not what I signed up for when I took this security gig.As I forced the words out, I hoped my reluctance wasn’t audible.

“Where should I look for it?”

“In the club, of course,” Antonella replied.

Maslow bent forward and jabbed his cigar in my direction, dropping more crumbles of ash. “Check my old office. He’s gotta have some files in there somewhere. That crafty asshole keeps everything.”

I swallowed hard, trying not to consider what Colette would do if she caught me sneaking around Beck’s office and pawing through his desk like a thief. I didn’t know much about hellhounds, but I was pretty sure betraying her trust wasn’t how I wanted to learn.

“Do you have a description of the contract?” I asked while unease continued to gnaw at me. “A picture? Something more specific? Because right now, I’m not entirely clear on what I’m looking for.”

Antonella’s flippant demeanor carried through. “The contract bears Maslow’s name and refers to a property on Fairmont Street. Look for heavy parchment, not common paper. It will be penned by hand. Distinct. You’ll know it when you see it.”

Maslow grunted bitterly. “It’ll reek of that bastard’s smugness, if nothing else.”

Their assurances failed to settle my nerves.A handwritten contract on fancy parchment sounded like a classic needle-in-a-haystack job—assuming I could even get into Beck’s office without raising suspicion. And if Colette found me? If she was waiting in the shadows? I might not get a chance to try again.

CHAPTER

TWELVE

Mercer