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“Morning, lovelies!” Vee bustled into the office with Moly just behind her, carrying a familiar Tupperware container. “I made muffins! Chocolate chip, but there’s an oat and linseed one for you, Anita.”

“Thanks, Vee.” I’d already had my breakfast, but I wasn’t going to be rude when Vee always went to the trouble of making something especially for me that wouldn’t cause my IBS to flare up. Plus, her muffins were really good.

I tried not to feel envious as I watched her take off her coat, revealing a full, rounded figure highlighted perfectly by a smart, knee-length grey dress with a cinched-in waist. She was self-conscious of her arms—even though we’d all told her repeatedly that she had no reason to be—so she was wearing a cute pink cardigan over the top.

I was a gym rat, partly because it helped control my IBS, but mainly because it cleared my head and allowed my brain to switch off from work or whatever was stressing me out that day. But that didn’t mean I didn’t wish I had some curves. I had zero curves. None. My body was a straight up and down line. Hardly any dip to my waist, tiny boobs and a barely there ass no matter how many squats I did.

“Gosh, these new control panties are so darn uncomfortable,” Vee grumbled as she sat down at her desk opposite mine, shifting around with a frown.

“Then stop wearing them, sweets.” Hustin patted his own stomach and leaned over to grab a muffin, abandoning the half-eaten Danish on his desk. “Free the figure like I did. It’s liberating.”

I huffed and turned back to my laptop, opening up a new email. “You both look great.”

“Totally,” Moly chirped from her desk outside Corva’s office, pouring a little water into the Deep Earth pearl plant trailing over the corner.

We were a small team at Feris Events, and a pretty even split between human and demiurgus. Vee and I were human, while Moly and Hustin were demiurgus, like Corva.

Our boss swept into the room a few seconds later, phone pressed to her ear and a takeout cup with DEEP BREW stamped on the side in her hand.

“Just tell him to use the burgundy linens, not black.” She pulled the phone away from her ear to address me. “Darling, did you—”

“I already called Piquante,” I cut in. “They can do the Rorik + Stimis event.”

“Fabulous. Moly, would you mind chasing up the furniture hire for the NADC gala?”

“Sure thing, Corva.” Moly lunged for her phone as Corva swept into her office and closed the door.

Moly was Corva’s PA, young and eager to please and always a little nervous and jumpy around our boss. At thirty-seven, I was a lot more self-assured and confident in my abilities these days, but I could still remember the fear from my first few marketing jobs. Sitting there every day, convinced I was going to get fired for some reason, panicking that I wasn’t doing enough even though I was usually one of the last in the office every evening.

The atmosphere at Feris Events was professional but relaxed, and far more pleasant than my last job working for a rival event planner. It had been chaos there. Kolbert var Greer always managed to put on fantastic events, but they were rushed and chaotic and painfully last minute behind the scenes. I’d pretty much had a headache the entire four years I’d worked for him.

When Corva had poached me after we met at an awards ceremony, I’d been elated. I’d heard about her, of course—partly because she was a big name in events circles in the city, but also because Kolbert would obsessively track her success and bitch about the events she was hired for.

Once I started working for her, it put an end to the flirtatious remarks and loaded looks we’d shared the few times we’d interacted after our first meeting. Corva was very strict when it came to mixing business with pleasure. I remembered her giving Moly a firm talking to after spotting her flirting with one of the waitstaff at a private dinner party we’d planned last year for some big political hotshot. Poor Moly had looked like she was going to cry, her ears fluttering like crazy in the telltale embarrassment sign of all demiurgus.

As I typed out an email to Piquante Caterers, confirming their booking for the Rorik + Stimis event, my mind wandered to yesterday evening’s meeting. I was usually good at reading people—and also somewhat guilty of making snap judgements about them—but I hadn’t been able to get a read on one of the firm’s partners we’d spoken to.

Nuni var Rorik. He’d flitted between calm, smooth arrogance and odd bouts of what seemed like nerves. He’d clearly been embarrassed about the flaming shots idea—his ears had fluttered just as much as Moly’s had that time—but… well, if that was what he wanted at his “classy yet understated” anniversary event, I wasn’t one to judge.

Okay, I was absolutely one to judge. And like I’d said—snap judgements. I’d gotten hints of frat-bro-lurking-under-a-polished-veneer from him and the other guy, Felik var Stimis. I’d gotten major ‘I’m the fucking man and my shit don’t stink’ vibes from both of them.

But eh, whatever. They were too high up to continue being involved in the planning of this event. They’d done their part by swinging their big demiurgus dicks around and letting us know how important they were. I’d probably be working with the assistant, Lipa, from this point onward, which suited me fine. She’d been polite and professional, and I was guessing she had to have a wicked backbone to withstand being Nuni var Rorik’s assistant.

He seemed like the type to call her at three in the morning to go buy him condoms. Or make her stand next to a treadmill holding his water bottle and towel while he guffawed with other businessmen on a conference call during his morning run. I’d noticed the little glass wheatgrass shot bottle in front of him at the meeting—the expensive brand—and the protein bar by a company that designed them based on their clients’ specific nutritional needs.

Okay, yes, I’d also noticed the way he filled out his suit. The wide shoulders and bulging arms. The pert, round ass under his tail as he stood up to see us out when the meeting ended.

I didn’t have a type, per se, when it came to men or women, but I knew I wasn’t attracted to vain, self-obsessed people. Not that him working out a lot made him either of those things—I worked out a lot too, and it wasn’t because I wanted to look a certain way. It was because it made me feel calm and in control of myself.

But everything else about that guy had screamed, ‘Look at me! I’m the most important one here! No, really, look at me. I need everyone to look at me.’ The impeccably tailored suit. The perfectly folded pocket square and matching tie. The giant, gaudy diamond flashing in his ear, the fat, heavy watch on his wrist and the signet ring gleaming on his little finger. The mouthwatering scent of his cologne—crisp and expensive. And maybe the ridiculous lustre of his hair, which fell in perfect waves around his face and over his wide shoulders, the black shot through with a rich, gleaming blue. The top third had been tied back in a knot, and despite it having been the end of the day, not a hair had been out of place. His skin had been flawless, his sharp teeth even and perfectly white.

I wondered if he always insisted on fucking in front of a mirror so he could make sure he looked his best for the duration. I bet he did, and I bet he stared at himself the whole time, flexing his big muscles, thinking about how amazing he looked, wishing there was a way he could just fuck himself, because no one was as goddamn hot as he was.

Or maybe he was the complete opposite in bed. Maybe he just let loose completely, liked to get as filthy and sweaty and messed up as possible. Liked his partners to pull on that gleaming waterfall of hair, or scratch up his back so he could feel the sting of it under his expensive, perfectly pressed shirt the next day, or leave bite marks all over his neck that he had to carefully hide in his big, important meetings with clients.

I realised my thighs had clenched together as I sat staring blankly at my emails, and I jumped a little when Corva opened her office door and said, “Anita.”

“Yes.” I blinked hard and scrubbed the entirely inappropriate thoughts from my mind.