Lizzie looked as if she wanted to say something to defend J.B., but decided discretion was the better part of valor and picked up her headphones instead, nodding at me as she went back to work. A couple of minutes later Atwood came out looking white-faced. He passed me without a word and swept into the hallway. J.B. was right behind him.
The worst thing about J.B. wasn’t that he had the world’s crappiest personality. No, the real tragedy was that that personality had been shoehorned inside the face and body of a god. Well over six feet with the leanly muscled body of a long-distance runner, he had silky black hair cut ruthlessly short and green eyes that glinted like cut glass. If he’d had even a sliver of sweetness in him, he’d have had women sticking to him like flypaper. As it was, I didn’t think he’d been on a date as long as I’d known him.
But then again, neither had I, so I wouldn’t be throwing that in J.B.’s face anytime soon.
He stopped as he caught sight of me and smiled with shark’s teeth. “Black. Perfect. I need to speak with you about that soul you collected this morning. Get your ass in here.”
“Who talks like that?” I asked as I sauntered in behind him and closed the door. He sat down at his desk. “You sound like a police sergeant from a cop show.”
“Sit,” he said, ignoring my comment and shuffling things around on his desk.
The quantity of paperwork on his desk was unbelievable. It looked like there had been some kind of paperwork apocalypse. I think the only reason it wasn’t on the floor was that J.B. probably thought that paper on his desk made him look busy and paper on the floor made him look like a slob.
“What is it you’re looking for? I haven’t filed the paperwork yet. I was just filling it out when you called.”
I crossed my legs and caught a flash of blue. I noticed that I had never changed out of my fuzzy house slippers. That meant that I had shown the most beautiful human being I had ever seen in person around the apartment while wearing my crummy holes-in-the-soles slippers. And that I had come to work in them. And everyone I worked with must think I am either mentally ill or the world’s biggest ditz. I voted for ditz, myself.
J.B. noticed my footwear and raised an eyebrow. I stared brazenly back at him like it was completely normal to wear crappy slippers to work. After a few minutes of playing cowboy, he apparently decided to launch right in.
“What the hell happened with that pickup this morning, Black? And why were you doing it instead of Walker?”
“Patrick had a last-minute emergency,” I said, deftly avoiding the first question. “I was able to go instead, so I did. Not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal? Not a big deal?” J.B. said.
“I do understand English, you know. There’s no need to repeat yourself.”
“You lost the soul,” he said through gritted teeth. “Since when is that not a big deal?”
“Since when is a person’s choice judged null and void by you?” I snapped. “She didn’t want to leave her cats.”
“You weren’t there very long. I don’t think you tried particularly hard to change her mind.”
I stared at him. “How would you know that? Since when is it your job to monitor the length of time spent on each pickup?”
Something flickered in his eyes, but he pressed on as if I hadn’t spoken. “And I know all about Walker’s ‘emergencies. ’ If he thinks he can shirk his duties every time he hooks up with some new guy, he’s in for a big surprise. And if you keep covering for him, you’re going to be spending every Saturday from now until kingdom come in the file room.”
“How do you know how long I was at the Luccardi place?” I persisted. I was absolutely disturbed by the thought that J.B., or any other member of the management, was monitoring us that closely. More important, how could they do it? “Did you have some kind of magical LoJack installed on the Agents without our knowledge?”
“Your quota is dangerously low this month, Black. And Luccardi is going to count toward your numbers, not Walker’s.”
I stood up and put my hands on his desk. “I don’t know what you’re up to, J.B., but I swear, if I find out that you’re illegally monitoring Agents, I will personally ensure that you never get that corner office you want so much.”
He looked up at me, sparks in his eyes. “I think we’re finished here.”
“Not by a long shot,” I said, and turned to leave.
“And next time you come in to work, be sure to dress a little more professionally,” he added as I slammed the door shut.
“You’re lucky I remembered to take my apron off,” I muttered, and headed back to my desk to finish filling out the forms. When I got to my cubicle I looked at the forms, picked them up and then crumpled them into a ball. I wasn’t doing anything for J.B. until I found out how he knew I’d spent such a brief time picking up that soul today. Damn the consequences.
A couple of hours later I was at home trying to re-create the pear tart recipe that had been interrupted earlier. I gave up after an hour when I kept forgetting to add ingredients to the crust. I couldn’t stop thinking about my conversation with J.B.
The doorbell rang just as I finished washing up my mixing bowls. Beezle still hadn’t moved from his perch on the mantel.
“Nice to know you’re looking out for me,” I said conversationally as I went to the speaker. “It could be anything at the door.”
“It’s Patrick,” Beezle grunted. “And it doesn’t really matter what’s at the door anymore now that you’ve let in the devil.”
I stopped and glared at him. “Why don’t you just tell me what it is about Gabriel that bothers you so much?”
He gave me a cryptic look and crossed his arms.
It was my turn to grumble under my breath as I buzzed Patrick in. He swung the upstairs door open with a flourish. “I have arrived.”
“Hooray,” Beezle grumbled.
“What’s his problem?” Patrick asked as he hung a leather blazer on the coatrack by the front door and unwound a gray cabled scarf from his neck. Patrick was tall, slim, and had electric blond hair and adorable dimples.
“He’s a gargoyle,” I said in response, and kissed his cheek. “I didn’t expect to see you for a couple of days at least.”
“Sadly, Justin turned out to be decidedly not all that,” he said. “How was the pickup this morning?”
“She wanted to stay with her cats,” I said, rolling my eyes.
Patrick gave me a knowing look. “Did Jakeass chew you out?”
“And how,” I said fervently. I debated telling Patrick about my suspicion that J.B. was monitoring us, but decided against it. I wanted to look into things further myself before getting Patrick—or any other Agent—alarmed. “He’s probably going to take a bite out of your ass, too.”
“Well, it’s nothing you and I haven’t seen before.”
“Class troublemakers,” I said, and grinned.
He grinned back. “Can we have pizza and beer? I need cheese and mushrooms and alcohol, and possibly some zucchini fried in large quantities of oil.”
“I don’t have any beer,” I said.
“Then let’s have pizza and whatever you have. I’m buying,” he said firmly. Patrick was independently wealthy, which had something to do with his father making brilliant investments and passing on that talent to his only son. He’d offered to invest some money for me, but as I pointed out to him, you had to have something to invest in the first place.
“I think I have milk and chocolate syrup,” I replied.
“I can’t imagine anything better,” he said, and slung his arm around my shoulders.