Cursed Ever After by A. C. James Page A

jaw.
        “Like hell I can’t.”
        “She’s not here and I’m not supposed to let anyone go in.”
        “That’s not my problem.”
        I yanked the door open. A sexy redhead sat in an oversized chair in front of a desk that cost Tessa a pretty penny. She wore a short black skirt and a purple top that tied between her breasts and exposed her midriff. That meant she could only be here for one thing—a job. Her long curls spilled over her shoulders. Then she turned to me and her mouth dropped open as her cheeks flushed a betraying red. Her expression matched the surprised features of the man depicted on the timeworn piece of pottery that sat on Tessa’s desk. It was embellished with a homosexual erotic theme.
        Fuck.
        I could still hear someone screwing somewhere on this level but the scent of arousal was coming from the redhead. And I was pretty sure I knew why. Tessa had a special way of interviewing new employees at the club. Especially hot, little, numbers like this one. She shifted in her seat and winced. I arched my eyebrow, mildly curious as to why she appeared to be in pain.
        “Where’s Tessa?”
        “I don’t know. She said stay put. I’m sure she’ll be back in a few minutes.”
        Obviously, she had no idea how Tessa operated. Tessa Green had little regard for others and making people wait didn’t faze her in the slightest. I knew better than to expect her to be here even though she demanded a meeting with me. But maybe I could have a little fun with the pretty copper penny while I waited.
        “What’s your name?”
        She swallowed. “Isla.”
        “Isla, I can smell how wet you are from here. Tessa must be interviewing you thoroughly.”
        Her cheeks now matched the color of her curls as she looked down at her hands folded neatly in her lap. But she continued to shift uncomfortably in her seat. “Yes… Painstakingly.”
        “You’re getting off easy then. Tessa can be brutal with the new girls. Are you applying for a waitress position downstairs or as dancer upstairs?”
        “I’m a dancer over at the Pink Chimp on the weekends,” she said quietly.
        I shrugged. “They’re not bad.”
        They weren’t very good either. Strippers vied to dance in the very exclusive BDSM sex club that operated on the second floor. Hellfire Club made our kind blend in and with the exorbitant tips dancers made in our club, local strip joints paled in comparison. It was easy to see why they were banging down the doors to dance at HFC and I was curious to see just how far she’d go to get the job. I took a step toward her and closed the door to Tessa’s office behind me. Her security detail gave me a dark look as the door swung shut in his face. But obviously my fist smashing into his jaw got my point across because he didn’t give me any lip.
        “I’m Arie. And I have a lot of influence with Tessa.”
        “Oh?”
        She met my eyes tentatively but clearly understood my meaning. Her expression changed as a knowing smile curved her mouth. Isla looked me over appraisingly and I knew exactly what she saw. My lean muscular build with short, dark, curly hair and steel gray eyes along with my customary leather jacket made most women want me. I didn’t need to dazzle them to persuade them to my bed. They came willingly. And frequently.
        “Arie, would you like to interview me? I think you’d be good at it.”
        “After centuries of living there are two things I do well—fighting and fucking.”
        Two perfectly round puncture wounds marked her neck, and if she was looking for a job in our sex club, I knew one of our dancers must have referred her. The crimson flush returned to her face. I smiled. My statement had registered the proper and desired response.
        “Stand up.”
        It pleased me that my voice, a husky command, had her obeying without hesitation. I closed the short distance between us.