Interlude
Doing his best to curb the urge to hurl his phone out the window of his hotel room, Beelzebub instead tossed it onto the bed in disgust and went to stare out the window. It overlooked a busy street crowded with overpriced vehicles — he was in Beverly Hills, after all — and the sight only made him scowl that much more fiercely.
How dare she fob him off on a mere underling?
Because that was exactly what Belinda Carson had done. No, she couldn’t even be bothered to return the call personally to let him know she was simply too busy to manage his fictional party. Instead, she’d had her assistant, someone with the improbable name of Dee Rodriguez, contact him and let him know that Ms. Carson was already booked on New Year’s managing a catered cocktail party for an important client,
