Page 56 of Devils Don’t Deal

He glowered at me, so sultry and brooding. “Absolutely not. It’s your birthday. The deal is the deal. This is an opportunity to show my appreciation for how well you’ve cared for my soul. I insist that you think only on what you want, and nothing on what it costs.”

That wasn’t going to happen. I’d definitely think about the cost, but I’d try not to mention it. The devil had money, and I really had made his soul healthy.

We started with breakfast in the tea palace, and it was absolutely magical, with blooming roses dripping from the balcony surrounding the central fountain. Birds and butterflies fluttered without getting in my tea. I got the tea sampler, which was an entire parade of teas and matching delicacies to go with them.

It was absolutely delightful, but nothing was better than the man sitting on the other side of the table from me.

“I liked the black pepper and bear claw combination,” he said once we were finished, and he held out his arm for me like we were somewhere grand instead of in the department store.

I linked my arm with his and smiled up at him. “You like the smoke and the spice. I like the peppermint and the berry. Do you think it would be ethical to steal some of their combos?”

“I’m sure the owner wouldn’t mind.”

I laughed then looked at the server with a flutter of nerves. She gave me a sparkling smile like she’d never looked me up and down and said that I should take the weight test. “Come again, do!” Of course she’d be polite to me now. I was a paying customer, and we’d sat up in the balcony and ordered the most expensive combo in the place. I was feeling very, very nervous about how much money the devil was spending on me. It felt like commitment. Like we were tangled up heart and soul. Of course, he had no heart and only half a soul.

The mall proper was every bit as exalted as the tea parlor. The open central hall was filled with sculptures, this quadrant reflecting a floral theme to go with the tea and the seasons. He took me to the shop next door, one full of teacups and tea blends. I picked out a dozen adorable cups then the devil nodded and said to the cashier, “We’ll take two of all the floral designs.” Then he swiped his card through her machine and left the store with me and no cups.

“They’ll deliver everything later,” he said as we walked.

“You talked to them already?”

He flashed a smile. “Of course. For your birthday, you can’t carry anything but your loveliness.”

It was too much, but I only smiled. “Wow. But even then, the burden of so much loveliness might collapse me entirely.”

His brow furrowed. “We will be on guard against such tragedies.”

“And you could put me in your pocket and carry me away.”

“Could I? I’m not sure you’re big enough for any of my pockets.”

I sniffed. He hadn’t carried me since that night. Which was probably a good thing, but I was feeling like I wanted, no, needed more. And real. And permanent. Which was ridiculous. We weren’t really together. So why was he like this? It felt like we were together, and every forehead kiss had only pushed the point home.

“Let’s look at chef knives!” I dragged him into the cutlery shop before I could spiral about him and the complications that kindness brought to what should’ve been a simple deal.

Three hours later, I was having lunch in the most expensive restaurant in the place, both of us having perfect steaks, creamed root vegetables, and beautiful salads with the lightest, most delicate dressing I’d ever imagined.

I ate quietly, but it didn’t taste as good as the dinner he’d made in my kitchen.

“You aren’t enjoying this nearly enough,” he said quietly.

I quickly smiled brightly. “I love it. I just like your cooking better. And I guess I’m not the best shopper in the world. Do you mind if we don’t go to every single store in the place?”

“You’ve avoided clothing shops, but I do like the rugs you got for your room. Do you want me to go clothes shopping for you?”

“That’s not necessary. The dead mistress’s clothes are fine.”

“That’s a yes, then. I’ll take care of it.”

He snapped his fingers, and a man hurried over—none other than my old boss Roald Fern. “Good evening. What can I help you with?” he asked, smiling like he did at customers who’d spent so much money in one day.

My stomach twisted, and I gripped the table, my delightful steak turning to ashes in my mouth.

The devil’s voice was cool, rude even. “Do you have a personal shopper on the premises? My companion doesn’t want to spend time trawling through the racks.”

Mr. Fern looked at me for the first time, and the blanch, the shock, the horror when he realized who I was made me feel even worse.

He blinked and was back to his ever-so-charming host persona. “Of course, sir. Would you like to meet with her after your dinner? She’ll be waiting in the hall.”