“What’s highly inappropriate is how you're conducting yourself in front of your boss.”

This man was fucking crazy.

I took a deep breath and clenched through my teeth. “You're in my apartment. This. Is. My. Home.” I gave him a bright smile and snatched up my shirt.

Could he really not give me one day or one fricken hour to rest? And how the heck was I going to explain my behavior to Jeremy?

Was my favorite drinking spot ruined now? I rubbed my temple, pulled my blouse over my head, and adjusted it.

Grim’s narrowed eyes harbored straight-up wrath like I subjected him to this!

He stood up and prowled toward me. His suit, unwrinkled even though it should be considering . . . his job seemed to only entail sitting and terrorizing his employees. Honestly, if he had a wrinkle in his suit I bet he could just point at it and it would straighten itself from the pure intensity radiating off him.

And every fiber in my body told me if I went with him, I would end up begging him to send me back to hell. Begging was going to become my favorite thing apparently.

A cold chill ran down my spine as Grim snatched my wrist; his hands covered in black leather gloves and my skin crawled instinctively from the contact.

Did he always wear these or just when he wanted to manhandle employees?

He pointed and a vortex unwound before my eyes. My jaw dropped at the realization that he didn’t need a wristwatch to teleport like every other low-level reaper. How did I not know any of this about him? Wouldn't this be some juicy-ass gossip? Could I bribe Kartine with it and have her finish my fieldwork next month?

“Estelle.”

My attention snapped back to him, inches from his face. His dark brow lowered, making him look even more sharp and threatening.

“Yes?” Fuck. I wasn't listening at all. “Did you say something? I must have missed it.” I grinned.

His eyebrows wrinkled more and he groaned. “We're going to take care of a vengeful spirit, and you’re going to show me how you would normally handle it.”

My eyes widened and I choked out, “But sir, I just completed my fieldwork. Could we pick this up next month?”

Grim scoffed. “The dead does not sleep. We can't simply put it off for your convenience.” He didn't say another word and shoved me into the vortex.

I, one thousand percent, would be cursing his name by the end of this little, work field trip.

“Your form is all wrong. Your feet need to be further apart.”

“Who gives a crap about form!?”

The spirit hissed and climbed up the wall, screeching, and the ungodly sound sent ripples of gooseflesh down my legs, compelling me to quiver.

I was never this nervous but having Grim hanging back in the corner, crossing his arms, throwing judgemental looks and remarks—made me want to disappear, or wish I was the vengeful spirit and not the reaper. Only one of us would make it out of here intact, and my odds didn't look too hot with Grim’s backhanded quips, criticizing my slightest movement.

Could he maybe say something a little encouraging? Or would that actually send him to the afterlife?

“When your form is off and your swing lacks momentum, the consequences are dire. The vortex becomes unstable and switches between heaven and hell. Did you even pay attention during orientation?”

I tossed the scythe over my shoulder as the spirit scurried into the dark hallway, smashing each light and shards of glass showered the floor.

I gave Grim a quick, forced eye twinkle and said, “Of course I payed attention to the orientation that happend hundred and thirty five years ago. How could I forget?”

Grim, he stood there silent—calculating and ruthless.

My sarcastic tongue slipped and I pivoted away to free myself from his heated gaze. The silence needed to be filled with the spirits screeching and not this awkward staring contest. Was he going to send me to the worst sector? The clean-up crew? I needed to hold my tongue and get my shit together fast

He held all the cards.

Grim cut through the stillness. “What are you waiting for? You know everything to finish it off and send it to hell.”

“Yes sir.” My hand moved on its own accord and gave him a cheesy salute as I continued down the hallway. And I prayed to the big man upstairs to please just allow me to have this one time without any fuck-ups. But that old geezer didn’t seem too keen on helping this poor, little reaper out.

Each step I took, the clicking of Grim’s dress shoes followed behind me, and my anxiety skyrocketed.

This was by far the worst night of my whole existence.

No one liked to have their boss breathing down their neck when completing a task. He was a sadist. I shouldn't be surprised since he's well—the Grim Reaper. Honestly, how unoriginal to call himself Grim. Was it even his real name? Did the Grim Reaper come first or did Grim?

“Estelle.”

“Hmm?”

“Ether is everywhere. What are you going to do about it?”