Demons Prefer Blondes (Demons Unleashed #1)(5)

She’d chalk up Josh Carlson—and Rich Fenton, for that matter—to the never-ending list of her failures that her mother would never let her live down.

“I’m sure he is, Mrs. Carlson. Isn’t he engaged to Larissa Harding?” Lucy flashed her favorite pasted-on smile. “She’s so lovely.” She was smart, pretty, and just as boring as Josh. They were perfect for each other and the mundane life of matrimony. Squirting more solution on each wound-up rod, she gritted her teeth. Lucy loved her job, but with people like Mrs. Gunderson with her f*cked-up phalanges and Mrs. Carlson and her holier-than-thou attitude, her patience was fleeting.

“Maybe Larissa will come here for her updo. Imagine that! It could’ve been you.” The snide remark, meant to cut, had the opposite effect, but Lucy managed to control her laughter, anyway.

“Who’d style my hair then?”

Mrs. Carlson rolled her eyes. “One of these days, you’re going to have what you did to my son happen to you. When it does, don’t come back crying.”

Lucy could only smile and nod in agreement. After all, she was always right. Even after her son’s numerous pleadings to leave Lucy alone, she wouldn’t let things go. After five years, she still hadn’t given up.

“I probably will.”

Mrs. Carlson narrowed her gaze. “Are you patronizing me?”

“Me? Never!” She squeezed the last bit of solution on her tightly wound rods. If only she’d rolled them tighter. She grabbed some cotton and wrapped it around Mrs. Carlson’s wound-up hair and affixed a plastic cap over her head. “Time to let the perm set.”

Turning the minute minder to twenty minutes, Lucy breathed a sigh of relief. She was free! Well, almost.

The door swung open. “Hey, chica!” Gerardo Martinez flounced into the shop, his pink feathered shirt blowing with the breeze. Bright magenta leather clung tightly to his legs. It always amazed Lucy how he could walk in those things. The camera around his neck swung with each sway of his hips.

Yep! Lucy liked surrounding herself with gay men. They had a lot in common. And it wasn’t an extreme attraction to Gerard Butler, either. But boy, could they do hair!

“I got the photos developed.” He held up a black leather portfolio in triumph.

“Do you really think you have a shot at Model America?”

“Hell yeah.” He sashayed and placed a hand on his hip. “I know how to work it. Naomi Campbell ain’t got nada on me.”

“Better not let Naomi hear that, or you may end up in the hospital with a case of cell phone abuse.”

“Puh-lease! She only does that to her assistants.” Gerardo took off his camera, sat it on the counter, and ran his fingers through his dark slicked-back hair. “Do you want to see the money shot, or what?”

Lucy fought the chuckle that formed deep in her chest. “Money shot? I don’t want to go there. But if you want my honest opinion, I’ll have a peek.”

“You have to try out!” Gerardo sauntered around the counter and plopped the portfolio down. Kicking Serah’s chest with his dainty boot, he yelped. “What the hell?”

Lucy picked up the heavy box and lugged it to the chair. Her fingers tingled again and she dropped it.

Arrgh! Serah and her security-enabled chest. If she had a choice, she would’ve shoved it up her skinny little ass.

Despite the film of dust and dirt, it was one of Serah’s more unusual finds. Along with the strange inscription and title, the symbols on its surface were expertly carved. Barbed vines and ivy wrapped their way around the edges of the entire box. On the center of the box sat a solitary outline of a handprint with a pentagram carved inside it.

“This box is creepy,” Gerardo said, gazing down at Serah’s box. “My mamá showed me something similar when we still lived in Mexico. ‘Muy malvado,’ she would say. Very evil.”

She rolled her eyes. Yep, definitely designed to get everyone to church. “It’s a bunch of crap. I already told Serah to get her money back.”

“It isn’t crap,” Gerardo said, his Latino accent getting thicker. “Mamá’s told me stories you wouldn’t believe. She never lied.”

“Whatever, Gerardo.” Brushing a strand of dishwater blonde hair from her forehead, Lucy took a quick glance in the mirror. Dark circles lined her eyes and her cheeks were sunken. She needed a nap. But for some reason, she couldn’t sleep. “Let’s check out your headshot.”

“You’re gonna love it!” He clapped his hands with giddy excitement. Ripping open the portfolio, he pulled out his photo and held it up with pride.

Lucy’s eyes boggled. Gerardo lay across a lavender-and-green speckled tarp with his violet pleather clad legs kicked high in the air. His tight green-and-purple striped chest jutted out like a peacock, feathers included. What was the deal with feathers? And here Frankie had called himself the flamer.

“Nice,” she managed through a chuckle. “But I think GQ wants something a little less showy.”

Gerardo shrugged. “I can do dull and boring, too.” Pulling out some more photos, he thrust them at her. Gerardo had each pose mastered. Wearing a black Armani suit, with his arms crossed, he lounged against a silver Maserati.

“Where’d you find the fancy ride?”

He held his head high, a wide smile spread across his face. “Photoshop, baby. Here’s yours.” He pulled out another 8x10 and slid it across the desk.