got in the elevator.
“She totally bought that story,” Daisy agreed.
Madison’s eyebrows shot up, then she grinned. “She did more than buy the story.”
Daisy frowned, not following.
“She’s totally got a little thing for him,” Madison said, widening her eyes with disbelief.
“No, she doesn’t,” Daisy said, immediately shaking her head.
“She does.”
Daisy looked to Emma. “Do you think so?”
Emma shrugged. “I don’t know. But I kinda suck at the whole ‘boy’ thing.”
Daisy shook her head again. “I really don’t think so.”
“It doesn’t matter. He may be hot, but he’s definitely not the true-love type.”
The elevator jerked to a stop and the doors slid open, but before Daisy exited, she added, “Well, and Poppy would never be dumb enough to fall for a guy like that.”
She turned to step out and nearly ran into one of the objects of their conversation.
Killian raised an eyebrow as he looked down at her. “Poppy wouldn’t be dumb enough to fall for who?”
CHAPTER 9
Killian knew who they were talking about. But if he was expecting Daisy to hem and haw and fumble to find a suitably tactful answer, he should have known better.
“You,” she said.
“Why would she be dumb to fall for me?” He hated to admit it, but he was a little offended.
“Well, first of all, you’re a demon,” Daisy said.
Okay, there was that.
“She doesn’t know that,” he said, most of his defensiveness disguised by the fact he was busy stopping the elevator door from automatically sliding shut.
“Still, you aren’t her type,” Daisy said.
Just leave it alone. He didn’t care if he was her type, he didn’t
“I’m everyone’s type,” he stated.
“And that’s exactly why you would never be her type.” Then Daisy frowned and peered past him into the hallway. “Why are you still here?”
Did his ego need more bashing?
“I—” Embarrassment joined the displeasure in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t like it. Not one bit. “I didn’t remember which apartment I was supposed to stay in.”
The girls exchanged glances, their shared expression one of unimpressed tolerance. Then Daisy stepped back, waving for him to enter the enclosed space.
“You are staying on the sixth floor,” Madison said slowly, as if she was speaking to a simpleton, as she pressed the button labeled with a print-smudged number six.
In truth, he was feeling a bit like a simpleton. It wasn’t like him to forget—well, anything. Of course, that hadn’t been true here. Nothing he knew about himself seemed to apply here.
Without any further conversation, the girls stepped out onto the sixth floor and led him to the door of his flowery abode. Emma moved forward—not without giving Killian a wary glance—to unlock the door.
“You should give the key to Killian,” Daisy said, and the other girl’s face immediately collapsed into a worried frown.
“I don’t know …” Emma glanced at him again, and clutched the small, silver key tighter in her fist.
“He’s got to be able to come and go without us around. And you don’t want to leave the apartment unlocked, do you?” Daisy said.
“What if Sweetness accidentally got out? Or someone stole something while Killian was away? Isn’t it better that he lock the place when he’s coming and going?” Daisy said.
Emma shot another glance back at Killian, twisting her lips as she considered Daisy’s words.
“Come on, Em, we’re already trusting a demon to stay here,” Madison said, her tone much more impatient than Daisy’s. “What difference does it make if he has a key?”
Killian supposed the girl had a point, but again he could have done without it sounding like another slight.
Finally, Emma nodded and held out the key to him.
Killian didn’t really want the key, but he took it. Then he followed the girls inside the apartment, his nose immediately assaulted by the stale scent of old perfume, liniment and cat.
He grimaced as they walked into the living room with its fusty furniture and decorations. “Isn’t there somewhere else I could stay?”
“No,” Madison said, her nose wrinkling too. She didn’t care for this place any more than he did.
“I can’t stay here indefinitely.” He raised his hands, gesturing around him. Surely he could sway them. If he did have to stay in Boston, there had to be nicer accommodations. Hell, he could pay for a five-star hotel himself. He shot a look at the plastic-covered sofa. It would be money well spent.
“No, you can’t stay here indefinitely,” Daisy agreed. “Only until you fulfill the wish. So I guess you’d better figure out how to do that.”
With that, the girls trooped down the hall, leaving him in flower and doily hell. Just then the cat appeared, somehow managing to spring its amazing girth up onto the back of the chair. It hissed and swiped at him, missing.
Killian jumped back just as it lashed out again.
“I guess I’d be pretty pissy too, if this was my permanent residence.”
“Oh, I’m pissy. But not for the reasons you think.”
Killian stared at the cat, then blinked. He knew that voice.
“Vepar?”
The cat cocked its head. “Yes, in the fur.”
Poppy stared at the page of dry, technical writing, red pencil in hand. But she didn’t mark any changes, nor did she really even see what she was reading.
Finally she dropped the pencil in defeat, watching it roll across the desk. Her work was pretty tedious on the best of days, but today, it wasn’t holding her attention for even a paragraph.
She glanced at the clock on her computer monitor. Four-thirty. Rather early to start dinner, but puttering around in the kitchen was bound to be more distracting than the edits of
She pushed away from her desk, an antique piece made from mahogany, with carvings of swirls and ivy along the bottom and down the legs. It had been her father’s, and she loved it. Even though she never really enjoyed her work, she did like sitting in the very place where her father had done his research, or corrected papers, or written his essays on great pieces of art and their artists.
Usually that gave her a sense of peace, but not today.
She wandered through the living room to the kitchen. The whole apartment was filled with things from her parents’ house. Pictures, dishes, pieces of furniture, even her mother’s pots and pans.
Poppy went to the cupboard where she stored those very items and pulled out the stockpot that her mother had used for her specialties like fish chowder and chili and her amazing lentil soup.
Lentil soup. That’s what she’d make tonight, since she was starting dinner early enough. She began gathering the ingredients she needed, placing them on the soapstone countertop. Twice, she went to the pantry, only to stand staring at the stocked shelves, trying to remember what she’d been about to get.
It wasn’t like her to be so preoccupied. Over the last four years, she’d trained herself to be task oriented, organized, to live on a set schedule. She’d had to have routines to create a stable, healthy environment for Daisy.
