Dancing With the Devil (The Devil #2) by Heather C. Myers Page A
Authors: Heather C. Myers
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door opened… and a girl, no more than sixteen walked inside. Harleen released her breath, but still eyed the girl curiously.
“Oh,” the girl said with surprise, once she saw that Harleen was awake. “I wasn’t sure if you were up or not, ma’am. Would you like me to get you something to drink? Coffee, or maybe you prefer tea?”
“Um, no,” Harleen said, shaking her head. Didn’t maids usually knock before entering a room? And wasn’t it a little early for a maid to be cleaning the room? And did maids even offer guests drinks? Where had Andrew taken her? “No, no thank you.” She knew the next question she was going to ask would be embarrassing, but Harleen didn’t care. She needed to know where she was, especially if she wasn’t in Newport Beach anymore. “Um, I need to ask you something though.” The maid – girl – who hired sixteen year olds to clean up hotel rooms anyways? Wasn’t that illegal? – perked her brow, indicating that Harleen should continue. “Yes, well, I don’t seem to remember where I am, and any help you could give me would be… helpful.” Lame, Harleen. Very, very lame.
The maid smiled and even giggled a bit. “He said you might not remember,” she murmured to herself, but Harleen immediately caught what the young girl had said.
“Andrew?” she questioned. “Has Andrew talked to you? Where is he anyways?”
“Andrew?” the maid asked, arching a brow. “Oh, I know who you mean. Yes, Andrew is one of his many names.” She gave Harleen what she hoped friendly smile. “I am Amber, Your Majesty.” Harleen furrowed her brow at the odd title the girl gave her, but before she could question it, Amber continued. “This is going to take a lot out of you, Your Majesty. And you probably won’t believe me, but it is imperative that you do. You are in Hell. Andrew is the ruler here, the King. And in a manner of moments, he will be your husband.”
Harleen pressed her lips together in order to conceal a smile that was threatening to slide on her face. There was absolutely no way that that was possible, but this poor girl really did think that it was so. Well, Harleen didn’t want to offend the girl, especially if it turned out that this was one big dream. It probably was a dream anyways. How could it not be a dream? She was probably still at home, no doubt slumped over her desk, a half-written essay on The Grapes of Wrath on her laptop.
“I am going to have to dress you, Your Highness,” Amber said, glancing over at a grandfather clock tucked in a corner of the room. Harleen frowned; she hadn’t noticed that before now.
“Please,” Harleen began, holding up a hand. “I would prefer it if you didn’t address me as Your Highness or Your Majesty or anything like that. Just call me Harleen. Please.”
Amber furrowed her brow together, unsure if Harleen was giving her some sort of test. “All right, Your,” she began, but then cut herself off. “Harleen. All right Harleen.”
Harleen smiled and then nodded her head. If this was a dream – which it probably was – she had no qualms with staying here for a while. It was better than being at home with Edgar, trying to get some work done. And really, it wasn’t all that much of a stretch for her to dream that Andrew was, in fact, the devil.
“So, what is it that you need me to do?” Harleen asked, arching a brow as she returned her eyes to the young girl before her.
“I don’t need you to do anything, Harleen,” Amber explained, the word still foreign on her tongue. “I am here to take care of you while you’re here. But, as of right now, I need to start preparing you for your wedding. So if you don’t mind, I’m going to draw you a bath and we’ll start from there. Is that all right with you?”
“Hey, if you need to do it, I’m not going to get in
“Oh,” the girl said with surprise, once she saw that Harleen was awake. “I wasn’t sure if you were up or not, ma’am. Would you like me to get you something to drink? Coffee, or maybe you prefer tea?”
“Um, no,” Harleen said, shaking her head. Didn’t maids usually knock before entering a room? And wasn’t it a little early for a maid to be cleaning the room? And did maids even offer guests drinks? Where had Andrew taken her? “No, no thank you.” She knew the next question she was going to ask would be embarrassing, but Harleen didn’t care. She needed to know where she was, especially if she wasn’t in Newport Beach anymore. “Um, I need to ask you something though.” The maid – girl – who hired sixteen year olds to clean up hotel rooms anyways? Wasn’t that illegal? – perked her brow, indicating that Harleen should continue. “Yes, well, I don’t seem to remember where I am, and any help you could give me would be… helpful.” Lame, Harleen. Very, very lame.
The maid smiled and even giggled a bit. “He said you might not remember,” she murmured to herself, but Harleen immediately caught what the young girl had said.
“Andrew?” she questioned. “Has Andrew talked to you? Where is he anyways?”
“Andrew?” the maid asked, arching a brow. “Oh, I know who you mean. Yes, Andrew is one of his many names.” She gave Harleen what she hoped friendly smile. “I am Amber, Your Majesty.” Harleen furrowed her brow at the odd title the girl gave her, but before she could question it, Amber continued. “This is going to take a lot out of you, Your Majesty. And you probably won’t believe me, but it is imperative that you do. You are in Hell. Andrew is the ruler here, the King. And in a manner of moments, he will be your husband.”
Harleen pressed her lips together in order to conceal a smile that was threatening to slide on her face. There was absolutely no way that that was possible, but this poor girl really did think that it was so. Well, Harleen didn’t want to offend the girl, especially if it turned out that this was one big dream. It probably was a dream anyways. How could it not be a dream? She was probably still at home, no doubt slumped over her desk, a half-written essay on The Grapes of Wrath on her laptop.
“I am going to have to dress you, Your Highness,” Amber said, glancing over at a grandfather clock tucked in a corner of the room. Harleen frowned; she hadn’t noticed that before now.
“Please,” Harleen began, holding up a hand. “I would prefer it if you didn’t address me as Your Highness or Your Majesty or anything like that. Just call me Harleen. Please.”
Amber furrowed her brow together, unsure if Harleen was giving her some sort of test. “All right, Your,” she began, but then cut herself off. “Harleen. All right Harleen.”
Harleen smiled and then nodded her head. If this was a dream – which it probably was – she had no qualms with staying here for a while. It was better than being at home with Edgar, trying to get some work done. And really, it wasn’t all that much of a stretch for her to dream that Andrew was, in fact, the devil.
“So, what is it that you need me to do?” Harleen asked, arching a brow as she returned her eyes to the young girl before her.
“I don’t need you to do anything, Harleen,” Amber explained, the word still foreign on her tongue. “I am here to take care of you while you’re here. But, as of right now, I need to start preparing you for your wedding. So if you don’t mind, I’m going to draw you a bath and we’ll start from there. Is that all right with you?”
“Hey, if you need to do it, I’m not going to get in
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