“I’ll take your actions today under consideration, but as you heard, I have a prior engagement and don’t have time to discuss any changes in our arrangement at present. I’ll speak with Rodriguez and we can talk about your progress tomorrow. Brittany will find a time for you in my schedule.”
The words were comforting, making her feel more and more in control, but one look at Prometheus proved what an illusion that was. No one could control him. He was a force of nature. A human tidal wave. If he even qualified as human.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Prometheus murmured as he brushed past her, closer than he needed to be, close enough for his power to prick her skin in a stealth caress like he was attuning her body to his touch. But he didn’t touch. “Just look on your schedule under Knight in Shining Armor.” He winked and was gone before Karma had time to blush.
Damn. She hadn’t imagined it. He really had been inside her thoughts—if they even counted as her thoughts. She hadn’t been herself. Certainly she would never have thought of him that way. His magic was dark. It had probably tainted her. Corrupted her. But it hadn’t felt corrupting. Tempting, yes. Seductive, absolutely. But she wanted to roll in his power, not rid herself of it. Dangerous.
Karma strode to her meditation corner, taking a few seconds to tidy herself up and clear her head. She went through her mental exercises quickly, easily finding that familiar center, that firm, unyielding sense of control. Once again ready to face the world as cool, competent Karma, she strode to her door and opened it with a professional smile already in place.
“Dr. Williams, thank you for your patience.” She extended a hand to the slim man with elbow patches on his tweed jacket, making a point not to look at the tall figure leaning against Brittany’s desk. Her heart rate did not speed up because he was in the room. Her reaction to him today had been an aberration. It would not be repeated.
Even if a tiny part of her she usually kept buried had liked it.
Chapter Twelve
Color Me Bad
Prometheus watched Karma escape back into her office with her three o’clock. That was the only word for it, escape. A smile curved his lips. He’d rattled the unshakeable Karma today—and enjoyed every second of it.
The kiss had been pure impulse, designed to shake her perfect self-control, and it had succeeded brilliantly. Though he would have preferred the first time he had Karma in a liplock that he not be preoccupied with making sure the finder who was going to find his heart didn’t die. That couldn’t count as their first kiss. He wanted a do-over so he could devote his entire attention to enjoying her loss of control.
It was almost comic that Karma thought of him as a knight in shining armor, riding in to selflessly save the day. He didn’t know the definition of selfless. But he was good at self-interest and keeping Karma’s finders all alive and working, as well as keeping Karma from having a complete breakdown and descending into grief, were both firmly in his self-interest. It was all about the long view. He couldn’t have dead finders if he wanted everyone at the top of their game.
But if Karma thought he was a saint, so much the better. A little delusion could take him a long way.
“Is ten o’clock okay?” Sprinkles the Wonder Secretary chirped at him.
“Perfect.” He flashed her a smile. “Just schedule me under the White Knight.”
“White?” Brittany’s head cocked to the side and she blinked vacantly.
“It’s a joke, sweetheart.”
“Oh, no, I get it,” she assured him. “I just never saw you as the white type. But I guess you can’t be the black knight because that makes you sound African-American and the Dark Knight is already taken, unless you’re secretly Bruce Wayne, which is really more how I think of Wyatt—you’ve met Wyatt Haines, haven’t you? He’s dating Jo. Lucy’s cousin? Lucy, whose wedding you tried to sabotage? And Green Knight makes you sound like you’re either really eco-conscious or only care about money. Blue Knight would be depressing, because you’d be blue, right? And no one likes a brown knight. Maybe yellow? Do you like yellow? Or gray! Definitely gray. But not 50 Shades of Grey or anything, just like, gray gray. Shall I put you down as the Gray Knight?”
“Has anyone ever told you that you are a very unusual person, Bubbl—um, Brittany?”
She beamed. “All the time. So ten o’clock?”
“Perfect. And Brittany? I’ve been meaning to tell you how sorry I am that the demon I summoned harassed you.” Amends, check.
“Oh, that’s okay. It was kind of fun. I’d never been kidnapped by a demon before.”
Prometheus blinked, momentarily thrown. “Right.”
“And besides, if you hadn’t sicced that demon on me, I never would’ve spent time with Luis and gone salsa dancing and learned how to do laundry. So in the end, it was a good thing. I should be thanking you.”
“I don’t think Rodriguez thinks I’m quite so worthy of thanks.”
Brittany shrugged. “He worries about me. But he’ll come around. He’s a big ol’ romantic and once he realizes that it’s all part of your master plan to woo Karma, he’ll melt like a popsicle.”
Prometheus tried to picture the tattooed tough guy melting and couldn’t quite make it stick. “I’m not wooing Karma.”
“Well, of course you don’t call it that, but I’ve got eyes, don’t I?” She cocked her head toward the office and Prometheus was reminded that he’d had an armful of Karma when Brittany had burst in on them. “You may have some pretty unorthodox methods, but the way I see it, Karma could use some unorthodox in her love life. For someone who deals in the weird for a living, she sticks way too tight to the straight and narrow, if you ask me.”
“Are you giving me your blessing to date your boss?”
“Sure! But if you break her heart, there are a couple dozen consultants with some really nasty tricks up their sleeves who won’t hesitate to kick your kiester into next week. Just so you know.” Even her threats were delivered with a glowing smile. They’d broken the mold with Brittany.
“Thanks.”
She beamed. “Any time.”
The next vision caught her as soon as she relaxed her vigilance. It was after eight, the office quiet and empty. She glanced up from the back-up computer she’d just finished bringing up to date since the one on her desk had been fried by activities she would not think about and allowed herself the weakness of rubbing at her dry, exhausted eyes. That’s when the image slammed into the back of them, pulling her under with startling force.
She was Ciara again, but this time there was no water—only gunfire. The visuals were a jumble—people moving and not moving, shooting and not shooting—three possible futures in an Atlantic City hotel room overlaid over one another in a flickering mess. But whichever future won, it happened soon. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes.
Karma cursed and lunged for her phone. She called the Feds, the Atlantic City PD, and would have called the National Guard if she’d had their number, and then she could do nothing but wait, pace and try to throw her brain open to another vision, one that would hopefully tell her what the hell was happening in that hotel room two hundred miles away.
She’d been blocking the visions all day. After the drag-you-under-and-pummel-you drowning visions that had plagued her the last few days and stalked her consciousness all morning, all she’d wanted was a few hours of clear, calm thinking with no interruptions. She’d felt a few little nuisance nudges, but nothing to indicate mortal peril. Not that she always had warning. The trouble with free will was that it spawned a thousand possible futures and some of them never let her know they were coming.