“Set those on the second shelf in the fridge!” one of the chefs yells as we enter the chaos of the kitchen, and the woman hurries to obey.
My heart rate picks up a little as I glance around me, taking in the hectic space. There’s something I like about this crazy, bustling atmosphere that humans create. My people are so deliberate about things, never frantic, and I kind of like the way humans do it.
I know that a lot of other angels, including Anderson, wonder why I like humans so much, especially since he knows how desperate I am to go home. Honestly, I don’t know where the fascination comes from.
Maybe I’m just trying to figure out how people can be so many contradictory things at once.
As the woman turns back to grab another load from the delivery van, I veer off and head out into the main ballroom where all the tables are set up. People dressed in expensive gowns and tuxedos are sitting and listening to the speakers, and I edge along the back wall, keeping myself pressed to it to avoid bumping anyone accidentally.
The woman at the podium, who I think is the head of the charity organization, finishes her speech. Everyone claps, and then…
Oh, frick.
My jaw falls open as the most stunning man I’ve ever seen walks onto the stage and takes the podium.
This is Beckett Davenport. Um. Wow.
He’s tall. I mean, really tall. So tall and broad-shouldered that he makes me feel small and tiny even from all the way at the back of the room. He’s got straight black hair, neatly styled, with a layer of scruff on his jawline that looks like it’s just thick enough to scratch if it brushed against your skin.
He’s like a dark king, sweeping his gaze over the gathered crowd as if they’re his loyal subjects, his people. His presence is nothing short of commanding. It reminds me of the generals I’ve met in our army Upstairs, back during the big war when we were clashing directly with the corrupted instead of just waging this shadow war for Earth.
“Thank you. Thank you very much. I’m delighted to be here.” Beckett gives a warm smile, and my stomach melts.
I blink, pressing a hand to my belly.
Huh.
That’s unusual. My body might look human, but it isn’t, really. Some things are entirely human about it—I need to eat, for one thing, and I have a pulse—but others aren’t. I don’t have to breathe for very, very long stretches, for example. And it’s never done this melty-stomach-goo thing.
Of course, I’m not an idiot. I’ve seen enough rom-coms and read enough books to get an idea of what it means when your stomach flutters like it’s sprouted a pair of wings. But I’m a disciplined person, and I’m not going to let my body’s reactions dictate how I will deal with or even look at a person.
Beckett is one of the seven sins. We do not get butterflies in our stomach over the seven sins. So there.
My body doesn’t fall into line quite like I hoped it would, but I give a little shake of my head and refocus, ignoring any lingering flutters.
The dark-haired man onstage launches into his speech, talking about profit margins and a bunch of other financial things that I can’t make head or tail of.
Honestly, I’m not paying attention to what he’s saying as much as how he’s saying it. He sounds very elegant, educated, and aristocratic, but somehow, it’s not off-putting. In fact, there’s something about him that makes everyone seem to lean forward, greedy for more. This is a man who’s at the top of his game.
“Fuck, he’s gorgeous. Not to mention rich as sin. He’s the most eligible man in the country.” I hear a woman in front of me sigh to her friend. “How has he not been snatched up already?”
“Because he’s got an allergy to commitment.” Her friend smirks. “There’s no way he’d let himself get tied down. He’s had every actress, heiress, and hotel maid in the city—you name it, he’s tapped it.”
Is that his greed coming out? I wonder. It sure sounds like greed to me. You can’t satisfy yourself with just one; you need everyone, everything, more than anyone else, top of the heap.
Behind the podium, Greed is still talking. “I think it’s important that we give as much as we get,” he says, sounding so sincere that for a second, I actually believe him.
But then I remember he’s just using this as a cover to get even more money and power. He doesn’t actually believe in anything he’s saying.
Sheesh. These are the sins, Trin, I tell myself sternly. They’re not actually going to be good people, and it would be stupid of me to expect that. It’s my job to change them, to redeem them, to make Beckett truly believe it when he says that it’s more rewarding to be charitable than to hoard your wealth.
“Thank you. You’re truly a wonderful crowd,” Beckett says, finishing up. He takes a champagne glass that’s been waiting for him and raises it, and I can’t help but notice how well his suit fits him, sitting perfectly on his broad shoulders. “And now, a toast to the organization that made this all possible…”
Everyone else raises their glasses and toasts with him, and I watch as Beckett takes a sip of his champagne and then descends from the stage.
Okay, this is my chance.
I make my way through the room toward him, keeping one eye on him and one on my immediate surroundings, working hard not to brush against anyone. I don’t want Beckett to notice anything out of the ordinary.
The tall, dark-haired man is talking to various people, shaking hands and smiling. Working the crowd like a master. Everyone’s staring at him like they’re a little dazzled by him, like they just walked into the treasure room of an old temple and saw the massive pile of gold in the center. I keep myself at a bit of a distance from him but never let him out of my sight, until at last Beckett excuses himself.
Good. Now I can follow him.
I’m not going to go visible, walk right up to him and say, “Hi, I’m a fallen angel, and I’m here to win you over to the side of Heaven.” I’ve been accused of being naive at times, but I’m not that naive. I need to tail him, keep an eye on him, and find out what his weak points are.
After all, sins aren’t the same as demons, or “the corrupted” as we usually call them. Unlike the corrupted, the sins aren’t wholly bad. Right? There must be something I can do or say that will bring him over to our side.
I just have to figure out what it is.
Beckett does a few final handshakes before heading for the exit. Someone brings him his coat, and he barely even breaks stride as he slips it on.
Cool wind brushes my cheeks as I step outside after the tall, imposing man. A valet is already hurrying to bring his car around, and a moment later, Beckett slips inside the sleek black vehicle and drives away.
Unseen, I unfurl my wings and follow.
Chapter Five
Trinity
Beckett drives straight to his home, a massive penthouse that takes up the entire top floor of a luxury building in Manhattan.
It’s hard to slip past the doorman and the guy at the front desk in the lobby, since doors and elevators opening by themselves would raise suspicion, but I manage it by following very closely behind Beckett—so close that I can smell the musky, slightly spicy scent of his cologne. I hold my breath, resisting the urge to suck more of that alluring smell into my nostrils.