Didn’t they realize she wasn’t up to much? Didn’t they know she never quite got things right? Putting her in charge of anything would be a mistake, but putting her in charge of this—

And yet . . . who else was going to do it?

Eve bit her lip as realizations racked up in her head. The basic facts were these: Jacob was out of commission. It was her fault. And even before all this happened, he’d been woefully down on staff.

Someone needed to step up here, and it looked like she was the only otherwise unoccupied person around.

“Fine,” she said. Her voice was slightly shaky, but it was clear. “Fine. I’ll do it. So show me the ropes.”

* * *

God, sleep was good.

As he snuggled deeper into his nest of pillows and blankets, Jacob wondered fuzzily why he insisted on getting up at 5 A.M. every morning. Something something, work, something something, routine. He had a vague recollection of doing push-ups before breakfast, or some such bullshit. But right now, he couldn’t comprehend why any sensible human would ever do any of that when they could just . . .

Stay in bed . . .

Forever.

Even better: when they could sleep forever. He’d been in the middle of a bloody brilliant dream about devouring an orange, segment by sweet, juicy segment, when something had woken him up. Hmm. Should probably investigate that.

Scowling, he opened his eyes.

The barest hint of moonlight trickled through his curtains, but the darkness didn’t matter; without his glasses, Jacob couldn’t see for shit, anyway. It was sound that made him realize someone was in his room: the creak of slow, easy footsteps, the steady huff of gentle breaths. He clenched his right hand into a fist, or tried to. But it turned out his right arm was still broken—had that really happened?—so he ended up shouting in pain. Also known as completely giving himself away to his possible murderer.

“Jacob?” the murderer said, her whisper all velvet and smoke.

And now he had the funniest sense of déjà vu.

“You,” he croaked, squeezing his eyes shut. This—woman—this lilac and orange—female—this—destroyer of fucking worlds—

“I came to check on you,” she whispered. “I read on the internet that you should check on people with concussions or they might, you know, die.”

This human bloody wrecking ball—

“Did you know you’re speaking out loud?” the demoness asked.

This gorgeous fucking nitwit—

“Is this negging? Are you negging me right now?”

Jacob’s thoughts lurched along like a series of disjointed train carriages, but they were all aimed squarely at one thing: getting rid of Eve Brown. “Piss off,” he growled, trying—and failing—to sit up. Turned out his arse was broken, too. That’s what it felt like, anyway.

“Your arse is what?”

“Stop reading my thoughts.” With his left hand, he fumbled for his glasses.

“I’m not reading your thoughts! You’re speaking out loud, genius.”

“That’s right,” Jacob muttered soothingly to himself. “I am a genius. Everything is fine. Here are my glasses, I will just put them on and be happy.”