“Get out of here and get some rest.”
“I can stay and at least man the phones while you meet with Mr. Fairweather.”
“I can handle it. Go home.”
“Seriously?”
“Go.”
“I swear I’ll help with the Remy situation as soon as my temp drops below one hundred.” She smiled, crossed her heart and walked out, taking the delicious scent of ripe blood with her.
Thankfully.
I took the stack of messages and dumped them in my top drawer. I had enough drama at the moment. Besides, no sense getting worked up over a reception that was never going to happen. I would comb through every second of footage until I found the proof I needed. Vegas would be null and void and Remy and I would go our separate ways.
Hey, it could happen.
In the meantime, it was all about not losing hope. Persistence. That’s what I needed Cwhath="4. That and a LOT of blood. I reached for the other half of the glass I’d been drinking when I’d “accidentally” dropped the bottle.
I sat there for a few seconds, letting the warmth spread through me. But without a decent night’s sleep, one glass wasn’t enough. Even more, I’d sort of gotten used to the fresh stuff now that Ty and I were together. He fed from me and I fed from him and it was soooo much better than even the most expensive import. I had the fleeting image of Remy and his smooth, tanned throat. My stomach clenched. I retrieved another bottle—my last since the other one was now in the trash—from my bottom drawer, popped the cork and took a huge swig.
I’d chugged over half when the door op
ened and my first appointment walked in a full hour before his scheduled time.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“And make sure she’s not incontinent,” said the old man sitting across the desk from me. “I spend half my Social Security check on Depends as it is.” He had a head full of snow white hair, lots of wrinkles and a grimace that said he either a) didn’t want to be here, b) had missed his morning fiber or c) both.
I was gunning for c.
“Ix-nay on the bad pipes.” I jotted down the last requirement and scanned the profile. “Okay, so let me get this straight, you want a woman with crackerjack plumbing, a head full of hair, her own teeth, no cataracts and no bunions.”
“And no hemorrhoids. Have you seen how much they charge for Preparation H?” The grimace turned into a full blown frown. “I’m living on a fixed income. I ain’t gonna give up one more red cent on account of some woman.”
Especially since she isn’t my dear, sweet, Adelia.
The thought glimmered in his pale green eyes and my heart hitched.
Oscar Fairweather had been widowed all of three months, after sixty-nine years of marriage, five kids and eight grandkids. He lived in Brooklyn in the same brownstone he and his dearly departed wife had bought nearly fifty-two years ago. He sat in the same brown recliner every evening and watched the same console TV every night. The kids visited but not very often since two of them lived in Chicago, one in California, another in Florida and the youngest in Texas.
Not that he was lonely.
H-to-the-E-to-the-double-L, no. He liked his peace and quiet. He just didn’t like it all that much without his wife. She’d been his friend and the best damned cook in the city. Her beef stew had been legendary, and what she’d done with a Shepherd’s pie... Holy-friggin’-Toledo. His mouth watered just thinking about it. Nobody could layer mashed potatoes and beef like his dear, sweet Adelia.
She was the reason he was here. The only reason.
“Here you go.” He pulled a check out of his shirt pocket and handed it over. “It’s for the Cheapskates Need Love, Too package. Minus twenty-five percent for my senior discount.”
A rush of excitement went through me, effectively distracting me from the DVDs stashed in my purse and the all-important fact that my afterlife was spiraling down ye old toilet at an alarming rate. Granted, we’re not talking a huge commission--I don’t call it the Cheapskate package for nothing--but I’d just spent a fortune on-line. I needed all the help I could get.
My euphoria lasted maybe five seconds, until I noted the sad twist to Oscar’s lips. Poor thing. He missed his wife’s cooking. Even more, he missed his wife. And the way she’d smiled at him every morning over coffee. And how she’d always smelled like vanilla extract.
“Are you sure you want Fw/>N shto do this, Mr. Fairweather? I mean, it’s only been a few months since your wife died.” What? We’re talking vanilla extract. Not too many could pull off a scent like that. I knew I’d have a bitch of a time trying to replace a woman like Adelia. “Maybe you should give yourself a little time before you jump back in the dating pool.”
He shook his head. “I promised my Dee I’d find someone to look after me and that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.” A smile touched his face. “She’d have a fit if she could see me now. She liked me with some meat on my bones. That’s why I need to find somebody. Preferably somebody who knows how to cook. I’ve lost over twelve pounds in the past three months what with eating nothing but those dad-blasted Spaghetti Os. And Pork-n-Beans. And Campbell’s soup. Dee hated the canned stuff. Said it was cheating. She always made every meal from scratch. Baked her own bread, too. Right up until that blasted cancer put her in the hospital this last time...” He faded into his own thoughts for a few seconds and a lump pushed its way into my throat.
“You really should give yourself some time.”
“Time is one thing I ain’t got, girlie. I’m eighty-six years old and practically wasting away as we speak.” His determined gaze collided with mine. “You gonna help me or not?”
No was on the tip of my tongue, but then I saw the desperation that seeped into his expression. He’d kept every promise he’d ever made to his wife, from hauling out the trash every Thursday to ditching his nightly cigars. He had no intention of breaking his word now. He was doing this. If he had to take out an ad in one of the local papers or cruise singles bars or spend every Sunday at church. He’d never been much of a religious man—especially during football season—but a man had to do what a man had to do. And if that meant giving up the Giants, well, it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. At least until play-offs.
“You can always DVR.”
“Excuse me?”
“The Giants,” I blurted, breaking the first Vamp Commandment—Thou Shalt Keep a Low Profile. What can I say? I’m a sucker for sad and pathetic. “You could get DVR or even Tivo, and then you wouldn’t have to worry about missing a game if you spend a Sunday at St. Marys.”
His bushy white brows drew together. “How do you know I go to St. Mary’s?”
My brain raced, quickly filling in the blanks. “You, um, mentioned it when we were filling out the personal information on your profile. Name, address, social security number, religious preference.”
“I said I didn’t have a religious preference.”
“Exactly. Which means you probably don’t go to church at all. Which means you probably watch football for lack of anything else to do on a Sunday. But then church is a great place to meet women, so it’s probably crossed your mind to trade in the football and head over to St. Marys because that, according to your address, is the closest church to you.” Or so I hoped.
He eyeballed me. “Are you one of them psychotics?” he asked after a long moment.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You know, one of them people who can see into a person’s head and tell them where it is they lost their wedding ring or where they put their eyeglasses or who’s going to win the Super Bowl.”
“I think you mean psychic and no, I’m afraid I’m not. I’m just intuitive.”
“What’s the difference?”
“A reality show on the Sci Fi channel.” I smiled, slid his check into my desk drawer and turned toward my computer. “Let’s see who I can find for you.”
I spent the next ten minutes cruising my database for hot, hip, seniors before I hit the jackpot.
“Not all at the same time. This will be the first one. You’re meeting her for dinner tomorrow night. If that doesn’t work out, we’ll move on to date number two.”
“Cain’t I just see ‘em all at once and get it over with?”
“I don’t do group dates. It’s one match at a time until you find the right one.” Which, I had a feeling, would never happen because as determined as Oscar was to find a new wife, he was still madly in love with the old one.
He eyed the paper. “What sort of name is Levine?”
“Jewish.”
He seemed to think. “Does she cook?”
“Rachel Ray’s got nothing on her.” I let the statement linger between us while I made a mental note to add a check box for cooking at the bottom of my human profile. “And she loves to crochet. And play Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader?. And she loves watching TV.”
“Football?”
“Does Britney Spears know her way around a courtroom?” Not that I had a football check box either, but Carol Levine had mentioned that she liked watching Sunday morning worship service on TV on account of she was usually out too late on Saturday night playing bingo to get up early enough to attend church. Hey, TV was TV.
I finished giving Oscar all the details and then I sent him on his way with a smile and a silent Bring flowers and tuck in your shirt.
The door shut and I turned toward the stack of DVDs I’d brought from home. I popped the top one into my computer and clicked on Play. I fast-forwarded, watching a very drunk girl strip off her bikini, plunge into the pool and have wild monkey sex with one of the casino dealers.
Talk about an ad for Encyte.
I was just about to pop out the DVD and mark it off my list when the phone rang. I glanced at the caller ID. It was my mother again.
Thankfully.
As guilty as I felt not picking up for my mom, I felt even more guilty not picking up for Ty.
As if I was hiding something.
Hello? You are hiding something.
Anxiety made my hands tremble and my stomach growled again. I guzzled more blood and sat there for a few seconds, waiting for some much-needed satisfaction. But without a decent night’s sleep, half a bottle wasn’t enough. I’d sort of gotten used to the fresh stuff now that Ty and I were together and so the bottle just didn’t cut it anymore. I had a fleeting image of Remy and his smooth, tanned throat. My stomach clenched. I grabbed the bottle and took another huge swig.
“Trouble in paradise?” The deep voice slithered into my ears and my head snapped up. My gaze collided with a pair of familiar brown eyes.
I swallowed with an audible gulp and stared at the handsome six foot plus of breath-stealing testosterone standing in my office doorway. “How did you get in here? I didn’t hear the bell on the door.”
His dark eyes brightened, blazing a bright vivid gold. “I didn’t need the door.”
Because Ash Prince wasn’t your average hunk of male. He packed even more of a punch because he was a demon. A full-fledged, ultra-yummy, rip-off-your-panties-right-now incubus.
He worked as a detective for the NYPD and headed up an elite investigative group that dealt strictly with Others. Translation? He tracked down condemned spirits for the big D himself. The messy, smelly, deadly kind who’d busted out of Hell and were now occupying the bodies of humans. He hunted with his two brothers, Moe and Zee. Also demons. Also rip-off-your-panties HOT.
“Seriously.” His eyes cooled to their usual brown and his attention shifted to the bottle in my r Kotteriouight hand. “Are things okay between you and the bounty hunter?”
“Great,” I blurted. “Super great.” I could tell by the slight grin that he wasn’t buying it. “I miss him, that’s all. We were supposed to do Vegas together, but he had to leave on a case so I got stuck flying solo.”
Which actually made my entire committed-to-Remy predicament his fault, right? If Ty had boarded the plane with me as planned and headed to Sin City, it would have been him in that elevator at the Mayan.
Damn straight.
I held tight to the thought and tried to trade in my guilt for a little self-righteous anger. Unfortunately, my conscience had a No Exchange policy. I was guilty with a big fat G. I’d waltzed down the aisle. I’d bled into the commitment vial. I’d stripped off my panties in the elevator.
Granted, I’d done all of the above while drunk off my ass, but still. I’d sucked down all of those drinks myself. Yours truly. Me.
I blinked against the sudden burning in my eyes and forced a smile. “If you’re looking for Ty, he’s in Chicago.”
“I know. I just talked to him about a fugitive he delivered to us last week.” His gaze collided with mine. “I’m actually looking for you.” His eyes burned and the air in the room went suddenly thick. “I need a woman.”
My hormones gave an excited yelp and I started to tingle in all the right places. And then I did what any born vampire who oozed lust
and thrived on sex would do.
I leapt across the desk and humped him like a poodle in heat.
CHAPTER NINE
Psych!
Okay, so I didn’t leap across the desk and hump Ash like a poodle in heat. But I so wanted to. Bad.
Not because I was a major slut puppy or next in line for a spotlight on Housewives of Orange County. Ash was a sexual demon. He inspired pure, carnal, do-me-now-or-I’ll-die lust with his buff body and dark good looks and deep, seductive demon mojo. In other words, I couldn’t help but think about it.
Think being the key word. I could never bring myself to cheat on Ty. Not unless I was under the influence of some heavy duty vodka. And bourbon. And Jack Daniels. And this tasty chocolate liqueur that I couldn’t quite remember the name of—
Hello? This isn’t AA.
I nixed the confession and focused on the point of my whole mental tirade—namely, despite the recent catastrophe, I loved Ty.
That meant no humping anyone whose name didn’t begin with a T and end with a Y.
I licked my lips and kept my stilettos glued to the floor. “Listen, um, Ash, I can totally understand your infatuation. Seriously. I’m beautiful, fashionable, successful,” if one measured success by the ability to cough up the monthly minimum on several astronomical credit card bills, which I had managed to do for the past few months. Yay me. “I’m also smart and intuitive and a really, really good kisser.” I shrugged. “I can’t help it. It comes with the fangs. And while getting it on with any and everything with a penis also comes with the fangs, I’m afraid I’ll have to pass. I have a boyfriend.”
His grin widened. “I don’t need you to be the female. I need you to find one for me. That’s why I’m here.” His gaze locked with mine and my tummy trembled. “I want Dead End Dating to hook me up.”
“Oh.” Disappointment rushed through me for a nanosecond, before a great big mental dollar sign slapped me upside the head. “Oh.” Bingo! “Well, um, yeah, I can do that.” I reached for a questionnaire. “If youonnaQll just fill out this—“
“None of that matters.” He held up a hand before pulling a slip of paper from his pocket. “These are the only requirements.”
I stared down at the four must-haves scribbled in black ink.
Human.
Female.
Virgin.
Red hair.
My mind stalled on the last one before I managed to summon a smile. “So blondes are out, then?”
“Actually, I’m negotiable on that last point. Red is just a personal preference. That, and it represents passion.”
“Since when did you become an aura guy?”
“It’s not about auras. It’s about symbolism. This isn’t a typical date. I have to attend a ceremony and I need to bring someone appropriate. You’ve got seven days to find her.”
“That’s really fast. Seriously
, we’re talking virgins. In this day and age. In New York City.” I shook my head. “What’s the hurry?”
“The full moon is in seven days. The ceremony happens then.” He pulled a two-inch stack of hundred dollar bills from his pocket and sat them on the desk in front of me. “This should cover any rush fee.”
“But... That is...” My tongue twisted while my mind tried to wrap itself around the great big pile of money sitting center stage. This was it. The big time. Enough money to replenish my stash of couture AND pay the bills for at least another few months. And maybe even get a much-needed massage because my shoulders were killing me from all this stress.
“But I only charge a retainer up front.” What could I say? As money hungry as I was, my conscience tended to get in the way. Especially since I specialized in happily-ever-afters, or at least a mutually beneficial hook-up. This had evil black magic sacrifice written all over it.
And?
You’re a bad ass vampire who rips out throats and sucks people dry. You can’t get more evil than that.
Okay, so that wasn’t me so much as the cast from True Blood. Which explained why I shook my head. “I really can’t take this much.” Or any at all. “It’s several times my usual down payment.”
“This isn’t the usual job.” He pushed the money toward me, the action brooking no argument. His eyes fired a bright gold. “I’m down to the wire. I have to have someone appropriate by the end of the week. I’ll make it worth your while, too.”
Hot monkey sex on top of my desk?
The thought struck before I could remind myself that I was happily committed to Ty.
And Remy.
Ugh. I was such a ho ho.
“Another hundred thousand dollars when you deliver the woman,” he added, killing the self-deprecating thought and giving me an even bigger incentive.
“I’m counting on you, Lil,” he added. “Don’t let me down.” And then he turned on his heel and walked out before I could push the money back toward him.
Which I would have done.
Here Comes the Vampire (Dead End Dating) Page 6