Page 84 of A Deal with the Bossy Devil

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It startedas a flickering ember in the deepest, darkest edge of my core. And as I sat there, staring blankly into the fire pit, it spread. Slowly, methodically. Until my entire soul was on raging fire and fighting to tear its way out of my body.

It had been a half-hour since Adrien had left me out on the patio after… whatever the fuckthathad been. And the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to… I needed to…

UGH.

I stomped into the house and stormed up the stairs (but only after turning off the fire pit, the lights, locking the door, and putting the pizza away—because I was a guest in this home and not a wild animal), and then I barged right into our shared bedroom.

Adrien Cloutier, the undisputed baneof my entire fucking existence, was sitting behind his desk, casually tapping away on his phone.

He’d changed into a white T-shirt and black sweats. His hair was damp, and I could smell the soap and spice all the way from the other side of the room. How many fucking showers did the man take in one day? Why was every little thing about him so relentlesslyaggravating?

The door shut behind me.

He looked up, took in my terrifyingly livid appearance, and had the audacity—the fuckinggall—to smile. “Enjoyed the pizza?”

Embarrassment tore through me, clashing with the anger. He didn’t look likehissoul was lit on scorching fucking fire. He didn’t look likehisinsides were a tangled, wobbly mess.

He’d won. Not in the timeframe we’d specified, but he’d won.

And I hated that we both knew it—thatheknew it. And Ireallyhated how cool and unbothered he seemed by the whole thing.

The air rushed out of my nostrils with so much force that it made me sound like a taunted bull. My chest was beating like an incessant war drum, propelling blood through my veins with enough force to make it sizzle. I was on fire.

None of it had been real, obviously. He’d been fucking with me the whole time. But I’d… for a second… stupidly…

UGH.

I shoved a frustrated hand through my hair and pinned him with one last devastating glower before I stormed into my designated closet, ignoring his sticky, questioning gaze.

The small room was filled with an overwhelming number of shopping bags. And because I didn’t know what else to do with myself, I snatched one off the floor, tore into it, and began anger-organizing.

Obviously, he hadn’t meant any of the things he’d said.

Obviously, it had all been for the sake of the bet.

But if the bulge he’d been sporting downstairs was any indication, he wasn’t as unaffected by the experience as he wanted me to believe. And that little sliver was all I needed.

He wanted to play this game with me? Fine.

He wanted to push all my buttons and get me all riled up? Fine.

He wanted me to wear the clothes his mother bought?Fine.

Be careful who you fuck with, Lucifer.

* * *

TheAutumn Honeymoon CollectionLuke had suggested consisted of fourteen full sets of silk and lace lingerie, each of which included a bra, a thong, and matching slips. (Some of them even included a garter).

The collection was incredibly beautiful—full of elegant autumn colors and intricate designs, and the material melted against my skin like butter. Too bad I was too bloodthirsty to actually appreciate any of it.

I plucked a dark green slip off the perfectly organized shelf and slid it on. It was a flimsy, delicate little thing that barely covered my ass.

It was also the most conservative piece in the collection.

I paired it with the matching lace thong and finally sauntered out of the closet. Adrien had been smart enough to leave me alone while I took my rage out on the clothes, hangers, and shelves.

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