Oracle: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Series (A Diana Hawthorne Supernatural Mystery Book 1) Carissa Andrews (nonfiction book recommendations TXT) 📖

Squaring off with Blake, nostrils flaring like a raging bull, I stare deeply into his eyes. I need him to understand I’m deadly serious and if he won’t listen to my words, perhaps he’ll get the freakin’ idea another way. I refuse to move my gaze, or even blink, until he squirms uncomfortably.

“Look, I appreciate the offer, but as I said, our partnership is over,” I say in a low, controlled voice. “Now, if you’d be so kind as to find the door, I’d like to get back to work.”

“Honey, your next client isn’t due for another hour,” Renaldo chimes in from the other room.

“See?” Blake says, pointing and nodding at Ren. “Plenty of time for a quick cup.”

“Are you deaf and stupid? I’ve tried to be nice, but get the hell out,” I say, my voice elevated to the point of cracking.

Blake chuckles. It’s a deep, boisterous laugh bordering on infectious if the timing were right—which it definitely is not.

“What in the hell are you laughing at?” I spit.

“You. Anyone ever tell ya, you try too hard?” Blake says, smirking.

I snort, double-taking at the comment. After a moment, I shrug.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Try too hard at what?”

He leans in close, his dark eyes pulling my gaze into them, and the heat of his breath sending an odd chill through me. His cologne—the one more suited to him, and not whatever nonsense he used the day we met—wafts around us. It’s a heady aroma, and despite myself, my heart flutters traitorously.

“At being a hard ass. It’s all an act. You know it. I know it,” he whispers, tucking a strand of my pink bangs behind my ear. “The question I wanna know is, why are you so desperate to push people away?”

I swallow hard.

His touch, as simple a gesture as it is, stirs something I’d rather leave unstirred. Especially when he’s so close to hitting the nail on the head.

“It’s not complicated. People are stupid and rarely worth my time,” I say, making a face.

“Says the woman who spends her days helping people,” Blake fires back, still holding my gaze.

“I’ve said the same thing,” Renaldo calls from the store front.

I sigh, exasperated.

“Would you please, mind your own damn business?” I call to him.

“Are you kidding? Honey, this is better than daytime TV right now,” Ren calls back.

Blake licks his lower lip, a hint of a smile threatening to emerge.

“I’m asking you one final time…Please leave,” I say as nicely as I can without walking around my desk to knee him in the groin.

“Alright, alright, I’ll go,” he says, finally standing up straight and holding his hands in the air.

“Hallelujah,” I mutter under my breath.

“But I’ll be back,” he says, shooting me a grin. “I’ll get you to say yes.”

“Don’t friggin’ bet on it,” I snort.

“I don’t have to. I can already foresee it,” Blake says, as he turns around and saunters out.

My eyes shift to his backside as he walks past Renaldo, tipping his head in acknowledgement, and disappears through the front door without another word.

For the first time in as long as I can remember, regret unfurls from inside my stomach…stretching and making room for full-on panic.

He’s right. I don’t even need to use my own abilities to know he’ll eventually win if he’s persistent enough.

Dammit.

7

“DID YOU SEE THE ASS on that man?” Renaldo says, once the door swings shut. He fans himself furiously. “Mmmm, Mmmm, Mmmm.”

I bury my face in my hands.

The last time I allowed myself even a glimpse of an opening for a relationship it ended up in flames. We’re not talking little candle type flame, either. We’re talking apocalypse, end of the world kinda flames. It took me half a century to get over it.

“I mean, seriously,” he continues, “if I wasn't taken, I’d have coffee with him. Then drag him back to my place for some—”

I hold up a hand, “Please stop there.”

“Lord woman, your bits are gonna shrivel up and die from lack of use. What excuse could you possibly have to say no to that?”

“First of all, how shallow do you think I am? Great ass or not, I gotta have more than looks. Secondly, you've seen my track record, Ren. How long have we been working together now? Ten, twelve years? Relationships and me are unmixy things. Always have been, always will be,” I say, straightening the items on my table, and putting them back where they belong.

“First of all, it's been thirteen years, six months, and sixteen days. And honey, all the past relationships not working out are all meant to lead you to the path where it will,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

“Seriously, you have to stop eavesdropping in on my sessions with clients,” I say.

“How else am I gonna get relationship advice?” he says, leaning on the door frame. “Besides, it’s good advice.”

“I know it is, which is why I use it. But I dunno, I'm different. Those rules don't apply to me,” I say, scratching my head. “I wish they did, though.”

Renaldo rolls his eyes, “Right, I forgot. ‘Ms. Diana, the one cursed to walk alone.’ Please,” he says, swiping a hand in the air. “You’re more melodramatic than I am.”

“No, it’s accurate.”

In all honesty, he has no idea. It’s been thirteen years—but he’s never, not once, asked why I look the same. Why I never seem to age. Why I tell everyone I’m in my twenties and have been the entire time we’ve been working together.

If I told any of them my real age—at least the age I know from when I started counting—they’d flip their ever-loving lids.

“If you ask me, you need to get your scrawny butt back into the world. Mr. Cute Ass might be just the ticket. Doesn’t have to be anything more than a date. I mean, you only gotta commit to a cup of coffee—not lifelong servitude,” he says.

“I totally didn’t ask you for your advice. So, how about we drop this and move on