There Is No Devil Sinners Duet Book 2 By Sophie Lark-pdfread

“The biggest art mag in Los Angeles is Artillery—they ran this gossip column
written by a guy called Mitchell Mulholland. Mulholland was just a
pseudonym, nobody knew who he really was. All they knew was that come
Monday morning, this Mulholland seemed to have been everywhere and seen
everything. He was writing about shit like he was hiding inside our houses,
telling everybody’s secrets, stirring up all kinds of drama. Everybody was
freaking out. He caused so much trouble that Artillery had to stop running the
column. Mulholland disappeared. Now Gemma’s writing for Siren … and all
I can say is, a couple of her articles sound pretty damn familiar to me … That
biting voice reminds me of a certain someone.”
“You think Mulholland was actually Gemma?” I ask.
Sonia shrugs. “All I’m saying is be careful around her … she’s a fucking
shark.”
Watching Gemma take a sip of her drink, her dark eyes flitting everywhere at
once, clever and bright, I think Sonia might just be right.
Cole escapes Betsy Voss, who was tipsy enough to require support from his
arm, batting her false eyelashes at him until one fell off and landed on Cole’s
wrist. He flicked it away like a spider, shuddering.
“You owe me for that one,” Cole murmurs in my ear. “Betsy has a buyer
lined up for The Burial. But I had to let her run her hands all over my chest
for that entire conversation. I’m practically your gigolo these days.”
“Yeah, you want a commission?” I tease him. “Or you just want to run your
hands over someone’s chest …”
Cole lets his eyes roam down the front of my jacket, slipping his arm around
my waist and pulling me close.
“That might suffice …” he growls.
I’m wearing a velvet pantsuit in dark plum. I feel like a rockstar.
Cole undresses me with his eyes like the velvet can be pulled away with a
glance. He’s charged up, maybe even more excited than I am. He gazes
around the packed gallery, not bothering to hide his grin of triumph.