Wicked Charms by Janet Evanovich

Diesel.
    “Do you need to concentrate?”
    “Yes!”

    Diesel let Carl out of the broom closet, took my hand, and tugged me up the stairs to my bedroom. He closed and locked my bedroom door, leaving Carl on the outside.
    “Are you sure this is going to be okay?” I asked him. “I don’t want to have to save the world all by myself.”
    “We’ll only do certain things.”
    “Does that include launching?”
    “Yeah, we’re both going to launch.”
    “Okay, but I hope you know what you’re doing.”
    “I’ve never had any complaints.”

CHAPTER NINE
    My alarm went off as usual at four-fifteen. Diesel reached over me, grabbed the clock, and threw it across the dark room.
    “If it’s broken you’re going to have to buy me a new one,” I said.
    “If it isn’t broken I’m going to smash it with a hammer until it’s dead.”
    I felt around under the covers. We were both naked.
    “Uh-oh,” I said.
    “If you keep feeling around like that you’re going to be late for work,” Diesel said.
    “Are we…damaged?”
    “I don’t feel damaged.”

    I rolled out of bed and touched one of the pieces of coin that were on the nightstand. It vibrated under my touch.
    “I’m okay,” I said.
    “Honey, you’re way better than just okay.”
    That was good to know. And it had me smiling. Still, I thought I should try to stay sober and not take a chance a second time. Not to mention it would be a disaster of major proportions if I should fall in love with him. And this morning I was thinking it would be easy to fall in love.
    Twenty minutes later I was showered and dressed and only slightly hungover. The bed was empty when I came out of the bathroom. No Diesel. No Cat. No Carl. Everyone was in the kitchen waiting for breakfast.
    I got the coffee brewing, filled the toaster with frozen waffles, scrambled up a bunch of eggs, and opened a can of cat food.
    “I’m off to work,” I said to Diesel. “What’s your plan for the day?”
    “I have the name of the monkey-napper. It made the local news this morning. They said he died from a self-inflicted gunshot wound and a broken neck. I’d like to get some background information on him.”
    —
    It had been a slow day at the bakery. This was bad for Clara, but good for me. I brought home a big bag of leftover meat pies, muffins, and cheese scones. My house felt benign when I rolled in. No overturned furniture. No bad guys lurking in closets. No monkey. I love Carl, but he creates chaos. I said hello to Cat and gave him part of a sausage turnover. The rest of the food went into the fridge.

    I closed the refrigerator door, turned around, and bumped into Martin Ammon.
    “Holy bejeezus!” I said, jumping away from him. “How did you get into my house?”
    “You didn’t lock your door. Not smart in this day and age. Anyone can walk in.”
    “No kidding.”
    “I had a free moment this afternoon, so I thought I’d drop off your contract.”
    “In person?”
    He looked around. “I was curious to see how you lived. This is small, isn’t it? And your kitchen is quite antiquated. Do you actually cook here?”
    “Occasionally.”
    He pulled a multipage contract out of a slim briefcase and placed it on the counter with a pen. “You need to initial each page and sign on the back page.”
    “I should read this first.”
    “If you must,” he said. “It’s standard. Nothing unusual. I give you money, and you give me a cookbook. And also cupcakes. Cupcakes on demand. I trust you won’t mind that. I’m not here year-round.”

    I started to read the first page and my eyes glazed over. “Is this written in English?”
    “It’s lawyer talk. Perhaps you’ll want to engage a lawyer to translate it for you. Or you could sign with an agent. Most agents take fifteen percent.”
    I looked at my decrepit stove and chipped Formica countertop. I didn’t want to give up 15 percent. I needed all the money Ammon was paying me.
    “I’m having a fundraiser at my house on