Daphne continued, “I don’t want you to feel like you have no choice. If you want to go back to Henry’s, it should be for the right reasons.”
Reasons like the job being a criminal defense position—exactly what she’d been looking for. Reasons like there was an entirely different universe out there, and she was itching with questions. Reasons like a boss and clients who needed her. A lot of people needed defense lawyers, especially when systematic oppression was running rampant, but it was a little different when you needed a lawyer to prevent the mortals from discovering your existence, persecuting the hell out of you, and causing literal pandemonium.
“You’re right. I don’t have to go back,” Emma said, staring at one of her grandmother’s oil paintings. It was a jubilant mishmash of blues and yellows.
Daphne pulled her into a hug. “Okay, sure. Do what’s best for you.”
“But I do want to go back,” Emma said after a moment. She pulled away. “I’m going to defend the hell out of them.”
A brilliant smile broke across Daphne’s face and lit up her eyes. Emma realized that despite wanting to look out for her, Daphne had been hoping the vote would swing this way.
“Congrats on the new gig, then.” Her sister slung an arm around her shoulder. “Anything I can get you to celebrate?”
Emma nodded solemnly. “A large bag of uncooked rice.”
Chapter Six
“They get fifteen percent off legal services if they refer someone? Rick, are you off your fucking rocker?” Henry chucked the business card at his assistant.
“What?” Rick asked innocently. “I got them printed a few weeks ago to boost business, and after you said you were probably going to hire Emma, I figured you’d want to advertise even more.” He stood leaning against a bookshelf in Henry’s office and fiddled with a small stack of the new business cards.
Henry was squishing a stress ball and pacing the room. At this rate, the ornate rug would have a patchy hole worn through it. Rick did a spring shuffle with the business cards, letting them fly from one hand to the other effortlessly. And he did it again.
Henry strode toward him and bumped the man’s hand mid-shuffle so the cards fell and scattered across the floor. “Why would I want to boost business? I’ve been trying to get rid of these cases, or have you been completely oblivious?”
“Seemed like a more worthwhile cause than editing Mr. Bunting’s will for the umpteenth time,” Rick countered.
Ignoring the jab, Henry continued, “Besides, Emma isn’t here. She probably isn’t coming back because we’re an office freak show. Pull those cards out of circulation. I have legitimate, non-neon business cards. We’re not a billboard-and-bus-bench kind of law firm.”
Rick bent to pick up the fallen cards. He rose a moment later and pursed his lips.
“Fine.” He did one last spring shuffle, and they disappeared.
Henry smiled. “Now that’s magic.” Thinking the matter over and done with, he approached his desk.
And then stopped. A nauseating thought occurred to him. He took in a deep breath and stared at his desk. “Did you hand any of the cards out already? Is this why even more cases have been coming in?” he snapped. Was everyone conspiring against him?
His assistant avoided Henry’s gaze and focused on Ingrid. The cat briefly looked up at them with warm green eyes then continued cleaning herself on the carpet.
“Maybe one or two over the last couple of weeks,” Rick hedged. “And possibly one to Wendell Davies.”
“Without asking me?”
“I’m asking you now,” Rick pointed out.
Henry kicked the side of his desk. “Just because I can live forever doesn’t mean I have the time or patience to needlessly rebuild a business over and over.”
Rick turned tail and fled. “I’ll get you some tomato blood to calm your nerves!”
Normally it was a nice morning pick-me-up, but Henry wasn’t in the mood for the drink. He followed Rick out into reception and bared his fangs in anger. “Why don’t you give me your throat so I can tear it open?”
“Piss off, De Daumier. It’s not my fault you scared your pretty lawyer lady away.” He disappeared into the kitchen.
Henry scowled. He was annoyed he’d lost her—because of both her prettiness and her lawyerliness. He’d hoped asking her for her help simply and honestly would’ve gotten him somewhere. But he hadn’t heard from Emma or her sister again, so he had assumed Emma wouldn’t be returning.
He didn’t know where he would find another associate, but that was a problem for Afternoon Henry. Paperwork and a slew of client meetings awaited him in the meantime. He took a step to return to his office, but a sharp knock on the front door stopped him.
“It’s open,” he called.
A pause. More knocking.
“Rick, can you get it?” he asked, reluctant to go near the door during daylight after yesterday’s fiasco.
“Hardly. You’re lucky I’m nice enough to make you a drink after all that snarling. Get it yourself.”
More knocking. Henry rolled his eyes and strode to the door. He swung it open, and…nobody was there. He looked down and saw a blue gift bag with yellow tissue paper poking out. “For Henry” was scrawled on the front of the bag in loopy cursive. He quickly grabbed it and shut the door before the sun could do any damage.
Rick left the kitchen with a glass of tomato blood in hand and frowned at the gift Henry held.
“What’s that?”
Henry shrugged and pulled out a huge Mason jar full of rice. A giant jar of uncooked white rice, at least six cups’ worth of it. The gift bag and tissue paper fluttered to the floor.
“Oh no,” Rick said, letting out something between a cry of alarm and a guffaw.
Henry laughed humorlessly. Transfixed, he stared at the rice but opened the door again.
“As I said yesterday, Emma, I apologize, but the situation was out of my control. Maybe you’re unaware, but this is extremely rude of you to do in my culture,” he called out.
Yes, she’d been scared, but this, this was obnoxious—and insulting. The jar mocked him, so he clenched the glass harder. He might be here for days, but this was happening. His brain screamed. He tried to turn away, to resist a moment longer, but his fingers itched and twitched and his gaze stayed riveted on the rice. Before he could stop himself, he moved away from the door, dropped down to the ground, and opened the jar. The fragrant smell of jasmine rice greeted him. His hands shook as he upended it, leaving a huge pile of rice on the gleaming wood floor.
Rick gasped. “Henry, no!”
He picked up one grain then another. Started to count. He shifted counted grains away from the heaping pile of uncounted grains. They were small, their texture rough and chalky. His hands were big and the grains quickly fell out from between his fingers, making the tedious task ahead of him awkward.
“Twenty-two, twenty-three…”
Suddenly, Rick was at his side with a large bowl. “Close your eyes and let me clean this up,” he said.
“Stop talking. I’ll lose count,” Henry said, sternly waving him away.
“Is there anything I should—”
“No!” Henry said. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Thirty-one, thirty-two…”
“You gotta admit it—she got you good.”
“Go die!”
***
At that moment, Emma thought it the appropriate time to emerge from her hiding spot behind a cactus and approach the open door. She was nervous, but as she’d repeated to herself during numerous pep talks, this was the right decision.
Yes, she was a little bit terrified, but she also couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d said. That he and their clients really needed her. It meant something. Despite the late nights and insane deadlines, no one had truly needed her help in Big Law. There had been an army of lawyers just like her in her department and throughout the firm—one of many ants in an army of conformists. This opportunity was the exact opposite.
/> Daphne’s offer to support her for a few months had been tempting. But Emma also realized she wouldn’t be able to sit at home knowing there was a hidden world out there. She’d wanted something more meaningful to do with her life, and this was what she got. It was time to explore it. What kind of person would she be if she was cowed just because reality as she knew it had shifted a little?
And as embarrassing as it was to admit it, Henry had intrigued her. She’d never heard of a vampire who drank blood from a mug, owned a cat, and indulged the whims of a young magician. Plus, that smile. She wanted to get to know him as much as she was wary of him.
Emma had spent the better part of the previous night thinking through her next steps. She knew she couldn’t walk into this absurdity blindly. He may have said he wouldn’t hurt her, but the guy could use mind control whenever he wanted. Despite Daphne’s protests, Emma needed to ensure her safety while she negotiated her terms with Henry. She marveled that her research had actually paid off.
While Henry continued to count, Emma stepped in front of him and waited for him to notice her cobalt blue high heels. Yet he remained focused and refused to look up. Smoothing down her black skirt, she kneeled in front of him and moved her face into his line of vision. It wasn’t fair; he smelled good—spicy and fresh. Nope. This was not the time to notice such a thing. She had to keep her head in the game.
“Hello again,” she said like this was a normal way to run into a potential employer.
After yesterday’s horror party, she wanted him incapacitated during this conversation to prevent any surprises from cropping up.
“Seventy-four, seventy-five. Nice to see you. What do you want?” he asked brusquely.
“Is Wendell here?”
“No.”
“I want to talk to you, but I didn’t want to get hurt.”
“I went after you in the sunshine to make sure you were all right. Eighty-five. I brought you back your stuff and, again, made sure you were all right…ninety. You’re lucky I’m not the revenge first, questions later type,” he said.
“I had no idea if you would try to bleed me dry or erase my memories after what happened yesterday. It’s why I didn’t invite you inside. I don’t know you…yet.”
She studied his furrowed brow and the perspiration that dotted his skin, amazed he wasn’t quite human. Henry continued counting, so she took that as a good sign to keep talking.
“As nontraditional as you and your clients may be, I still want to work criminal cases,” she announced.
He was quiet, still muttering numbers under his breath. “Congratulations…One hundred. It’s a miracle. The position is still available even after this stunt,” he quipped.
“On two conditions,” she continued.
Henry sighed.
“First, if any of our clients get unruly, I need both your protection as well as the tools, resources, and knowledge to keep them from tearing me to pieces or turning me into a frog. You wouldn’t let a firefighter go into a fire without the proper gear.”
He held up his powdery hands in surrender. “Of course. Not a problem.”
“Second—neither you nor any of your supernatural clients may take my blood or the blood of our mortal clients. We shouldn’t have to be someone’s lunch.”
He gave her a single, terse dip of his chin, so she stood up. Thinking the matter finished, she stepped away from him. She had been expecting him to resume his counting, but there was no telltale muttering. Emma turned around and looked down at him. His jaw was clenched, but his hands were still planted in the pile of rice at his feet. He stared back up at her.
“Problem?” she asked.
He cleared his throat and his gaze turned mischievous. “I have a minor amendment to your terms, conditions, provisos, and stipulations.”
Emma cleared her throat too and waited. It was all rather simple. She had thought about the precise wording of her terms for a long time last night and couldn’t imagine what he would want to change.
“No blood will be taken—”
“Great.”
He gave her a mock-chiding glare. She reluctantly motioned for him to continue.
“Unless it’s willingly given,” he finished softly before his attention was forced back to the rice.
An image surfaced of Henry wrapping his arms around her as he kissed her ear and gave her neck little nips. A flush snaked up her neck. Emma shoved the image from her mind. She had a disastrously overactive imagination. He was a grown-ass man counting grains of rice on his doorstep. That was about as unsexy as it got. Why had she thought this was a good idea again?
Ah yes, because she was a masochist with a newfound desire for the impossible. She chose not to respond. It couldn’t be a sex thing. He just wanted to make sure he could eat in case of emergencies. Like a diabetic needing glucose pills…where did he get his blood from, anyway?
In a daze, Emma approached the reception desk to introduce herself to who was presumably Henry’s assistant and pretend she wasn’t imagining her new boss lightly grazing her neck with his fangs. The man had been covered in blood yesterday. The thought of his fangs should make her wary of him, not make her dream up impossible fantasies.
Emma realized the young man was the one from yesterday’s chaos, the one who’d first spied her in the doorway. This had to be the magician.
“Hi, I’m Emma.” She gave him her friendliest smile and extended a hand for him to shake.
“Rick.”
Yet once they shook hands, all he did was narrow his eyes at her. Oh man, she hoped she hadn’t pissed him off with this rice stunt. The Number One Rule of Office Relationships: The assistant had to love you if you wanted to get anything done. She wouldn’t be a pushover, but she couldn’t have him distrust her, either.
But before she could backpedal, Rick crossed his arms over his chest and said, “I don’t know whether to be impressed that it only took you three minutes to get my boss on his knees or secondhand embarrassed that you weaponized tiny food to do it.”
Emma couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “I vote for impressed.”
When he didn’t respond, she knew she needed to change tactics.
“I hear you like magic tricks.” She wrapped her forefinger and middle finger over her thumb and brought her hands together to do the classic detachable thumb gag Daphne had taught her in middle school.
His eyes widened.
“That’s about the only one I can pull off. Do you know any good card tricks?”
“No!” Henry shouted from across the room. “Don’t be friends!”
Rick beamed at her. “You’re pandering to me, but that is just fine because you are my new favorite person.”
***
One hundred fifteen. Henry paused. The desire to keep going was making his brain feel tight and his chalky hands shake. The counting had almost made him take leave of his senses; that had to be it. All the damn rice and all the damn counting were screwing up his brain. He had reached out and nearly grasped Emma’s leg to keep her from walking away.
He’d wanted to slowly rub the back of her knee. Wanted her breath to hitch as he inched his fingers higher. Wanted to see her eyes grow unfocused from his touch.
Thankfully, Henry had found the wherewithal to plunge his hands back into the small mountain of rice instead. Even long-term hermits like him knew women didn’t appreciate being stroked by their employers in doorways. Who was he to paw at the one woman who could actually help him?
She’d reddened in embarrassment at the double-entendre couched in his amendment to her last condition. Hadn’t even dignified his comment with an answer. Clearly she wasn’t into the vampire thing.
It was the first time since he’d told his family he was a vampire that he felt uncomfortable about being one. For years, he’d enjoyed the comforts immortality offered him—he could learn as much as he wanted. He’d burned his way through books, absorbed countless films, and collected over a dozen degrees. A constant interest in higher educa
tion meant he wasn’t obscenely wealthy like some of the older vampires he’d met, but he was thankful for what he was and enjoyed doing what he did.
Yet Emma, who was smart, determined, and courageous, apparently thought it was strange. Probably because it was. It was easy to normalize when you could get your meals in vacuum-sealed bags and society was now secular enough that there was nothing odd about skipping church. On the other hand, none of it was strange enough to keep her from returning. Maybe there was still hope. As much as her stunt irritated him, the lawyer in him also admired her for it. She hadn’t broken in screaming with a wooden stake and a garland of garlic. While those weapons would have worked, this was far more manipulative and…smarter.
Was he finally losing his grip on reality? Henry was usually a perfect scholar with a sound legal mind, but now his brain was mush because of a woman who was over a century younger than him. His hands itched as if hundreds of fire ants were crawling over his palms. He closed his eyes to stymie the urge to count. He expelled a breath.
To be fair, he had abstained from sex for a rather long time, and the women he normally encountered on a day-to-day basis were elderly estate planning clients.
(Henry chose to ignore the fact that younger-looking supernat women wandered into his office all the time.)
No, it was no wonder he’d started thinking with his dick as soon as he met a female who was much closer to the age his body had frozen at over a century ago. It really had been a while, and it was already getting him in trouble.
That must also have explained the bizarre surge of pride or honor or some other equally antiquated notion he had felt when she’d asked for his protection. It was primal yet gentlemanly, a feeling he’d all but forgotten. It felt like a language (maybe German?) he hadn’t spoken in a while. Some of it made sense, but a lot of it left him stumbling and searching for the right word or action as a mangled mess of syllables tumbled out of his mouth.
His resistance was eroding. He opened his eyes and looked down. What was he going to do with all this rice? He would be here for hours. Just keep going.
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