To Spell & Back Page 6

  Thankfully, the cat’s out of the bag, and I can at least attempt to keep Kin safe from any other curses that might wind up floating his way as a result of spending time with me. One less thing I have to worry about, especially since I was about to be distracted by a whopper of a shituation. At least this one was work related. For the most part.

  Even when business gets so crazy that I have back to back first meetings lined up, I love my job. Flix, my BFF and business partner, runs a salon out of a room adjacent to the office. He started out fixing up FootSwept’s most needful clients just for fun.

  By the time most people get to me, they’re hanging on to the threads fraying from the knot on the end of their dating rope—and some have already begun to wind it around their necks. A little pampering helps lower their defenses, and sometimes a simple makeover can inspire the level of confidence they need to put themselves back out there. Mostly, I just want to give the battle-weary souls something to smile about.

  The problem was, once Flix’s magical (literally) hands touched a client, they were hooked. Half-Fae and full-on stud muffin, Flix’s most potent power was his ability to empathize. If you’ve ever seen a gaggle of women at a salon, hanging out all their dirty laundry, you can imagine what the back room of my business looks like.

  Between Flix’s area and mine was my den of designer delights: clothes, shoes, and accessories to give my Cinderellas—and the Cinderfellas—the full-on makeover experience.

  On the side, I made time to sit in on job interviews for a few local, and a couple of internationally-recognized department stores. My ability to match employees to employers was an asset in great demand. Corporate headhunting, while lucrative, never gave me the same buzz as matchmaking—even before I knew love was in my blood.

  Instead of money, I took my payment in deep discounts on designer clothes. Extremely deep. As in free. Overstock, samples, whatever they wanted to send my way went into the closet.

  Ever since Flix had blasted Jett into who-knows-where, my business had increased exponentially. Meddling with my work for several months, Jett’s hatred of me had affected dozens of couples, pairing incompatible matches all over the city. His banishment had the fortunate result of breaking whatever spell he’d cast, and now the miss and mister wrongs were all looking for their rights.

  My process worked more like a cross between a fairy tale and a feel-good romance movie. For each new seeker of love and something—instinct or magic—clicked on my internal love detector. Provided, I assume, by my father—you know, considering he’s Cupid and all.

  I wanted my clients to have a great story to tell their grandkids about how they met, and one that didn’t have me or my business figuring into it. So, I did my homework and figured out a “meet cute” for each set of clients.

  Finding the right scenario can be a lot of extra work, but it’s worth it. One of my favorite meets was an off-the-cuff thing where I just shoved the woman into the guy’s lap in a coffee shop. Crude, but it seemed like the only way to get his attention. They’ll always have a good story to tell.

  For once, Flix had beaten me to work. I caught him swooshing around the salon in a nearly invisible flash, sweeping and straightening until you could eat off the seat of the chrome barber’s chair and his gold shears gleamed.

  Fae-born on his mother’s side, his natural magnetism drew clients to him like bees to honey. After all, who better to do your hair than the hot man with the tight butt and perfect mane?

  Our halfling heritage, while not the basis of our friendship, was a point of commonality, though I was more comfortable with my status than he was with his.

  Lately, though, he seemed less angsty, and there was only one person to thank for that: his new beau, Carl. Let me tell you; the man has crushed countless female hearts by his non-interest in the fairer sex.

  “Hey Lexi, how are you feeling today?” Yeah, he was still wearing kid gloves when dealing with me, just like everyone else since the incident at Shadow Hold. I suppose expecting me to have a nervous breakdown after being betrayed by my once-thought-dead mother wasn’t a completely ridiculous notion. I'd had a lot thrown at me in a short period of time.

  “Everything’s great. You know we’ve got four appointments this afternoon alone. It hasn’t been this busy since the week before Valentine’s Day.”

  “Too many matches, too little time. I’m not sure how you’ll pull it off, but you always do. You know what would make things easier around here?” He hedged.

  “What?” I asked, already knowing the answer. Flix had been trying to get me to step away from my paper and lists and embrace the digital age for years.

  “A computer with a database for all our clients.” Once matched, my couples stay that way, so I don’t get a lot of repeat business. I needed a database like I needed another pair of shoes. Wait, strike that, there’s always room for another pair of shoes. But, I saw no use for a computer.

  “You know how I feel about electronics; I don’t even like using my cell phone, but it’s a necessity I can’t do without. I’m perfectly fine with my lists and my date planner.” I wasn’t about to tell him it was getting harder and harder to find the paper version of those every year—another casualty of the digital revolution, along with cassette tapes and actual books.

  “You know you could link the computer with your phone and make it that much easier to stay on top of things. Did it ever occur to you that it might make my life easier, too? Salon business has also increased, and since you don’t pay me, maybe you could give a little. I get why we can't have an assistant in here, or even a receptionist, at least consider doing something to help lighten the load.”

  “Cheap shot. I’ve offered to pay you how many times now?” One of Flix’s cars cost more than FootSwept netted in a year, and he could drive a different one every day of the week if he wanted to.

  Flix grinned because he knew he was going to get his way. It was one of his gifts. “Several, but that’s beside the point. Come on, Lexi, do it for me.” His eyebrows lifted and his perfectly sculpted lips began to turn down into an irresistible pout. “You never know, you might like it.”

  How many times had he heard that from women?

  I couldn’t help but soften; FootSwept had been Flix’s brainchild, and since he never asked me for anything I figured I owed him one. Especially since it would take approximately half a gazillion clients to pay Mister Moneybags what he was worth.

  “I’ll think about it,” I replied, refusing to make eye contact and knowing he’d take my response as a definitive yes whether I meant it as one or not.

  A knock on the door interrupted our conversation, and in stepped my eleven o’clock appointment. My eyes roved over him before I could stop them—hey, I’m taken, but I’m not blind. This should be an easy match. You know how some men are handsome and some men are charismatic even though they’re not particularly attractive? Like Kevin Bacon—not exactly good looking, but the way he carries himself—the swagger in his step—is enough to make you follow him into a dark alley? Well, the man who lowered himself into the chair across from my desk had both; unbelievably gorgeous with that certain je ne sais quoi—he looked like sex on a stick, and I could practically hear the drool dripping off Flix’s chin into a puddle on the floor.

  Dark everything—eyes, hair, artful stubble on a strong chin—could have passed for brooding good looks except for the cheeky smile on his face that took him from Heathcliff on the moors to Heath Ledger (and I was still mourning that loss) in 10 Things. If this guy was having trouble getting women, something was clearly wrong with the entire female population in a hundred mile radius.

  Flustered, I looked down to check my schedule again.

  “Hello, Mr. Owen. I’m Alexis Balefire.” Even now, I’m not sure why I said that—I never called myself by my full name, it was Lexi all the way—or why my tongue rolled over the L's in a husky tone. Well, I do know why and it just made me feel dirty. I had a perfectly handsome and sexy man of my own, who I l
oved to the moon and back. Maybe I was ovulating or something.

  “Nice to meet you, Alexis. Please, call me Joshua.”

  I made an effort to tattoo Kin’s face to the backs of my eyeballs, vowed to order him a lovely dinner that night, and became all business again. “This is Flix, my business partner. Don’t you have an appointment in the salon?” I asked Flix pointedly and received a dirty look in exchange.

  “Sure do. Nice to meet you, too, Joshua. You’re in good hands.” Flix waggled his eyebrows at me from behind Mr. Hottie’s back. His goofy expression brought me back to earth, and I continued my usual spiel about how things work at FootSwept without further incident.

  “So tell me a little bit about what you’re looking for, Joshua.” I’ve learned that open-ended questions of a general nature typically elicit more honest responses than pointed ones.

  “Truthfully, I’m not looking. I’m here to satisfy my mother, who thinks I’m going to turn into one of those lonely old men who sit on benches outside the supermarket drinking cheap whiskey out of a brown paper bag. Her exact words. I’m only thirty-two, but she wants grandchildren and was hoping you’d work some kind of magic on my love life.”

  Then again, maybe this wasn’t going to be as quick and simple as I’d thought. It’s one thing when someone wants to be matched; it’s quite another if they’re forcing it, even for noble reasons. I wasn’t getting my usual tingle, which said a lot.

  Plus, the minute he spoke his truth, all that lovely attraction I’d been feeling turned to dust. Smelly dust, too. Like the kind left behind in an old moldy house. It’s rare to run into someone in my own office who gives off the jerk vibe at full blast like that. My player radar—my playdar, if you will—automatically keeps men like him from registering with my gut-driven, magical love-finding system. I have a theory that both parties have to be looking, or at least open to finding a mate before one of them is beckoned to my door.

  “And what kind of women do you usually date?”

  Joshua shifted in his chair and looked me straight in the eye. “Women like you. Beautiful, confident, self-sufficient.” His lips curled into a smile I’m sure he thought was alluring, but all it did was threaten to elicit my gag reflex and a tiny little fantasy of punching him.

  “Well, thank you for the compliment, Mr. Owen,” I’d give him the standard number of strikes, and he was definitely at an 0-2 count, “but let’s see what we can do to find you someone unattached.” He couldn’t be all bad if he loved his mother enough to show up in my office, right?

  Still, if Joshua wasn’t ready to settle down, I explained there might not be anything for me to offer. Halfway through that conversation, the singsong hum I’d heard before from the golden compass turned to a jangling cacophony in my head. After my last experience, I assumed the device was channeling the bow to help me somehow, but this racket wasn’t at all useful.

  It sounded like a pair of parakeets chattering away at each other—at the tops of their lungs—and a little bit like the teacher from the Charlie Brown shows. Wah-blah-wah-blah-wah.

  Just once, if someone could tell the whole story when they talk me into doing something, it would be nice. Delta never mentioned the Bow of Destiny was sentient. Maybe I should have guessed because of the living gold. After all, the word living is right there in the name of it.

  Pushing the distraction into a corner of my brain, I concentrated on the man sitting across from me. Fixing the bow before it drove me crazy jumped to the top of my list. With stars and red arrows surrounding it.

  “No, I promised my mother I’d give you a fair shake, so you do your thing, and we’ll see how it goes,” Joshua said.

  It came off as though he was doing me a favor by allowing me to help him and that rubbed me the wrong way. I pitied the woman who got tangled up with this guy. What I wouldn’t give to have one of those signs that said I could refuse service at any time. Not that I would. Probably.

  “Ought to be fun to try, right? I like the dating part. How many women will I get to meet?”

  Another burst of frustrated sound rocketing through my head triggered a flash of me leveling the Bow of Destiny and taking aim at Joshua’s heart. The vision was so full of sensory details, the world turned pink for a few seconds, and I felt the arrow quivering between my fingers.

  Well, okay then. I gave in to the demand that at some point in time, I would make this happen and the dream state poofed—taking the screeching in my head with it.

  “I’ll pay extra if you can hook me up with an even dozen.”

  Really? Had he listened at all when I told him how this works?

  “We’ll see. Listen, thank you for coming in, but I have another appointment. Give me some time on this, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I have a potential match.” Or half an hour after hell freezes over.

  “You’re welcome, Alexis.” His tone matched the one I’d used when I’d first introduced myself, and I wished that stupid ring would work again so I could go back and smack myself in the face—not that I’d feel it, anyway, but it would make my present self feel much better.

  I wondered what kind of woman might find him worthy, but somehow that felt a bit like passing judgment and that wasn’t my job. Who was I to assume he lacked even the most basic level of romantic decency?

  What the hell, arrogant jackasses have matches, too.

  “And that was just my first appointment of the day. I wish I could say it got better from there, but I think Josh might have been the high point.” I sighed and looked across the cozy candlelit table for two at Kin, who had been wearing a sympathetic expression until I mentioned being hit on by a client.

  “I’m sorry, babe. Do you need me to take him out for you? I’ll bring the big guns.” He puffed out his chest and flexed nicely toned arms in what would have been a menacing manner if not for the hint of a smile playing around his lips.

  “Something weird happened, though.”

  In my world, weird was a relative term, and one Kin took with a grain of salt. Pink Himalayan salt—a chunk as big as my fist—to be exact.

  “Weirder than usual?”

  “Does an inanimate object talking in my head qualify?” I told him about the bow making noise every time Joshua Owens spoke. “I think it was trying to tell me something, but it sounded like a lot of blah, blah, blah to me. To top it all off, I spent two hours last night trying to get Clara’s ring to work again, and all I got was the beginnings of a callus and a terrible night’s sleep.”

  “That’s what you get for sleeping by yourself. Should have shacked up with me.” Kin wiggled his eyebrows just as Flix had earlier, with an entirely different effect.

  I let the day slide off my back with a laugh and reveled in the delicious tingle of skin-on-skin while Kin gently stroked the back of my hand with his fingertips. Imagining those slow circles on other, more sensitive parts of my body kicked my breathing a little faster. Under the table, I slid off one shoe and ran my toes up his leg; Kin’s eyes darkened, and I knew he was thinking the same thing I was. If the waiter hadn’t picked that exact moment to show up with a bottle of wine, we’d probably have skipped dinner entirely.

  Letting the promise of later show in my eyes, I leaned back in my chair and knocked back a swallow of smooth, sweet Riesling. Kin had made reservations at my favorite restaurant in the city, and the atmosphere was part of its allure. With only a handful of tables large enough to hold more than two people, lights so low I wondered how the wait staff maneuvered without dropping their trays, and an aphrodisiac-filled menu, it was no wonder Gentile’s was considered the dinner destination for couples in love.

  In fact, I had spotted Harry and Lemon Tart across the dining room and specifically requested a secluded table out of their line of sight. Unfortunately, we were located too close to the dessert cart, and when Lemon got distracted by a slice of airy, chocolate mousse cheesecake on her way out of the restroom, she spotted us and dragged Harry over to say hello.

  “We had the most
amazing time in Cozumel; talk about the perfect honeymoon destination!” Lemon exclaimed once she’d settled into the table next to us and asked their waiter to bring their plates because, yes, thank you, they’d love to join us. Bloody hell, why did the Faeries raise me to be so polite?

  Newlywed bliss must have softened Harry who, last I checked, didn’t care much for Kin after the debacle with Lemon right before the wedding. My darling half-brother, Jett, had cursed songwriting legend Skip Stark’s guitar—which at the time belonged to Kin—to cast a love spell over any woman who heard it played. Lemon had gone bonkers for Kin, turned into a groupie, and convinced herself she was going to run off with my boyfriend. Jett’s spell also bound Kin’s soul to the guitar, forcing me to come out of the broom closet and reveal myself as a witch to save him. All I’d needed was true love’s kiss, but I didn’t know that until the last minute.

  Before the dust settled on that situation, I’d talked the godmothers into helping me put on a wedding to replace the one Lemon had all but canceled. Now, I wasn’t sure whether to blame her or thank her for being the launchpad of their new party planning business.

  Talk about a whirlwind relationship. I’d gone from just starting to date Kin to knowing fate bound us at breakneck speed. My life already had fairytale aspects and being raised like a Disney princess made the transition a bit easier, as did Kin’s easygoing, accepting nature and unflappable nerves. Both of which were getting quite the workout right now.

  “So when are you two lovebirds planning on tying the knot?” Lemon asked, her wide blue eyes conveying a spark of mischief beneath a facade of innocence. I pasted a smile on my face and deftly avoided the question while shooting looks at Kin to see his reaction and trying to figure out some way to get us out of there.

  “Lexi, I’m really not feeling well. Do you mind if we get a doggy bag and just head home?” I didn’t know how he managed to make his face look green around the gills, but it worked. In less than ten minutes we had escaped to the street to collect Kin’s vintage Corvette from the valet.