Page 9 of Heart Over Heels

“I don’t know what you look like.” The words were out before I could soften them, and I blanched as the demon’s expression grew stormy. “Sorry, that was?—”

“Rude,” he snipped.

“Yeah.” My ears burned, and I cut my glance away. “Yeah, it was.”

The demon gave a little hum as though approving of my shame before he turned away. I should’ve let him go, but something compelled me to call after him again.

“Wait!”

When he spun back, his jaw was tight and ticking.

“I may need to file a report,” I blurted. “About the incident. It could benefit from your statement. Would you mind if I followed up? Maybe with a phone call?”

The demon paused. He sized me up from my polished black boots and starched uniform to the Glock 19 holstered on my belt.

“You want my number?” he asked.

“For the report.”

He opened his mouth like he had something cutting to say then reconsidered. In the pause, his expression became almost amused.

Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a sleek metal card case. He popped it open, took a card, and handed it to me.

I hadn’t expected anything as official as a business card, and I certainly hadn’t expected this.

One side held a headshot—his, of course—with the wordLuxestamped across it in gold foil. The other side showed a black and red logo with a stylized demon silhouette and a name.

Devil’s Dollhouse.

I knew that place.

The demonic strip club had been the subject of plenty of chatter around the casino. More than usual in recent days. A good security officer was supposed to be seen, not heard, and preferably ignored. Which meant I overheard a lot.

When I glanced at the demon, Luxe, he was wearing a smirk.

“You work here?” I referenced the club logo. It was an objectively stupid question, but the only one I felt comfortable asking.

Luxe cocked one hip, drawing my gaze to the dramatic curve of his waist. Little wonder I’d been confused about his gender. He was like a chameleon; a creature made of shapes and soft lines I couldn’t reconcile.

It was impressive. Alluring.Attractive.

I was still staring when he replied, “I’m the manager.”

Manager. Of the Devil’s Dollhouse.

That meant this compact, sharp-tongued demon was either a stripper, a stripper wrangler, or something close to it. Did he ever take the stage? Shimmy out of his frilly clothes and bare his umber skin to the spotlight?

I stared again, blatantly this time, caught between curiosity and something I couldn’t name. I was so lost in it that I barely noticed Luxe pluck the card from my hand and tuck it into the breast pocket of my shirt. The pat of his palm against my chest startled a breath from me.

His red lips parted over teeth I half expected to be sharp. But they weren’t. He had a very human smile, warm and mild.

“Thanks for the save, sweetheart. And feel free to call me. For your report.” He winked, regaining an air of nonchalanceas he continued. “Or we could talk career moves. I doubt your coworkers appreciated your little intervention back there, and the Dollhouse happens to be hiring security staff.”

With another quirk of his mouth and a parting flutter of his fingers, he turned and walked off.

CHAPTER

THREE