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Today, however, I had been looking forward to a different form of punishment. My newest trainee stood behind the City Coffee counter wearing black dress pants, polished shoes, a fitted shirt with the sleeves rolled over his forearms, and the smallest green apron ever created by human hands.

“Is this necessary?” Lux asked.

The apron covered half his torso and stopped several inches above where any reasonable apron should end. He tugged one shoulder strap, then the other, trying to force the fabric into cooperation.

The apron refused.

I bit the inside of my cheek. “Uniform policy.”

“You ordered a child’s size.”

“I ordered an extra large.”

His red eyes lifted toward me.

“Fine,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Sam ordered it.” Across the café, Sam pressed one hand to her mouth and turned away.

Lux tracked the movement. “She’s laughing.”

“And she’s your district manager.”

“Well, I own the building,” he countered.

Customers murmured over laptops and paperbacks while doing a poor job of pretending New Abaddon’s most-feared demon lord wasn’t being strangled by polyester. It was a good day already.

Lux yanked at the straps again. “This material is hostile.”

I planted a fist on my hip and pointed a finger. “You survived silver.”

“Silver had the decency to try and kill me.”

“Stop whining and tie the waist.”

He reached behind himself. The apron strings failed to meet around his body by several inches.

His face tightened.

I folded my arms. “Problem?”

“I’m considering murder.”

“You can’t kill inanimate objects.”

Lux turned toward Sam. “Fix this,” he pleaded.

Sam straightened beneath the power of her new title, though her shoulders still shook with laughter. “Employees handle uniform issues with their direct supervisor.”

His gaze returned to me.

I smiled. “Hi.”

“You planned this.”

“I’ve been planning this since I found out you bought my job to spy on me.”

“I bought the entire franchise.”

“Yes. Somehow, that’s worse.”