The Devil May Care (Bedeviled Book 2) by Meredith Spies

Author:Meredith Spies [Spies, Meredith]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Meredith Spies
Published: 2020-06-29T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

The holly and the ivy are giving me a rash

Rowan

"Rowan."

"Mmm?"

"I know I dozed off back there around the charming gas station with the doorless bathroom and highly suspect gentleman selling jerky from the back of his van, but we're still in Arkansas, right? We didn't, I don't know, somehow veer off into whatever the hell place Willy Wonka lived?"

I shook my head, unable to look away from the house in front of us. "Definitely Arkansas. This is...a lot."

"I didn't know they made green paint in that particular shade."

"You mean 'offensively green'? Yeah, no, that's...that is definitely unique to this house."

"Offensively green might be putting it kindly," Whitaker murmured. "I may have retina damage."

"If you slowly move your head from side to side, the house leaves tracers."

Nestled in a thick stand of bare-branched trees that would have been beautifully lush and less offensively green if the weather were warmer, the house was a neat little cottage that would have looked at home in any quaint English Faerie tale. Provided the Faerie tale involved a few doses of acid and one of those black light posters with a naked woman arched awkwardly over a mushroom or something. The only part of the house that wasn't acidly, virulently, painfully bright green was the shiny brass doorknob that gleamed sharply in the late morning sun.

Whitaker's phone vibrated in the cup holder like a horde of angry wasps, startling us both out of our verdant stupor. "Shit, it's Egon again."

He'd called so many times since we left the hotel that I was starting to wonder if he had some weird fixation on Whitaker and was flailing out of jealousy or something. I bit down on that line of thought and instead unbuckled and offered Whitaker a pained smile. "If you want to talk to him, I'll go in and do this real quick. It won't take long."

The phone rattled and buzzed again. Whitaker groaned and closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against the seat. "It's more of the same," he admitted. "Nothing's changed at all. He's just..." He made a flapping gesture with his right hand.

"Yes, I see now where you get your reputation for being so suave and well-spoken."

"Hey, I'm off the clock right now. Put me in front of a Council session, and I'll suave and well-spoken your socks off."

I raised a brow. "Last time I saw you in front of a Council session, you talked my pants down, but I recall my socks staying on."

His cheeks turned a pretty pink, and he looked anywhere but at me for a moment, finally sliding me a side-eye glance. "Well. I wasn't in front of the Council when your, um, clothing malfunctioned. And if you'd have paid attention to your footwear during my turn at the head of the table, you'd have noticed your socks trying to slip off and wiggle away. It's a good thing you wore close-toed shoes." His blush deepened, and he added, "I've only had one cup of coffee, so I'm more ridiculous than usual right now.

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