Here Comes the Vampire (Dead End Dating)

by Kimberly Raye

  Even if it was the biggest stack of money I’d ever seen. Crisp. Loaded with that new money smell that made my nostrils flare.

  “No.” I eyed the green and shook my head. “I’m not going there.” We’re talking human sacrifice. Maybe he hadn’t said so, but I was no dummy.

  Human?

  Female?

  Virgin?

  Either he was going to relive my first sexual experience with a hunky ginger named Jean Pierre, or he was going to off someone in the name of the big D down yonder.

  Since I was willing to bet Ash had already had his cherry popped a long, long time ago, I had to assume the worst.

  On top of that, he’d mentioned a ceremony.

  Forget catch S>Fo long, loning a movie. Or going bowling. Or sharing a bottle of wine and some sushi.

  Nope. No way. Nuh, uh.

  I wasn’t having any part of that. Even if I could practically hear my mouse clicking away on Gilt.com.

  I grabbed the stack and deposited it into my bottom drawer for safekeeping while I hooked Ash up with every inappropriate woman I could find. Then I would, regretfully, admit that I’d failed. I’d give him his money back and all would be right with my conscience.

  Minus expenses, of course.

  If I was going to send him on a wild goose chase with some of my clients, then I needed to be compensated for my time and effort.

  That, and I really needed a new wardrobe.

  With the money locked up, I retrieved the half-empty bottle of blood, popped a DVD into my computer and settled back to watch more footage until my next appointment showed.

  I made it through a threesome in the lobby, a fat guy smoking a cigar in the elevator despite a Non Smoking sign hanging just to his left, and a not-so-nice game of black jack going down in the casino between a very conservative looking businessman and a Paul Bunyon lookalike.

  The businessman made a winning call and Paul pulled out an ax.

  No, really.

  But then the dealer hit the security button and the place teemed with cops in a matter of seconds. The film pitched and rolled for a split second and then bam, everything seemed fine. I watched for a few more seconds as the uppity looking vamp stared at his cards before laying them down on the table for the rest of the room to see. Everyone except Paul Bunyon who’d obviously been hauled away by the police. My momentary excitement took a nosedive back to serious boredom as I moved through another hour of ho-hum footage that did not include yours truly.

  A good thing—no humpety-hump.

  And a bad thing—no purely platonic elevator ride where Remy kept to his side and I kept to mine.

  I was part-relieved, part-disappointed and one hundred percent frustrated.

  It was no wonder that when the phone rang, I didn’t so much as glance at the Caller I.D. Instead, I snatched it up in a desperate attempt to save myself from the ever-growing fear that the DVDs were a wasted effort and I was stuck with Remy.

  “This is Dead End Dating,” I murmured in my most confident give-me-all-your-money-‘cause-I’m-totally-worth-it voice, “where we make all of your romantic dreams come true.”

  “Why me?” my mother’s voice came over the line. “I swear this is all your father’s fault. The crazies run rampant on his side of the family.”

  I wanted to protest, but I’d just used the word romantic and dreams in the same sentence which was more than just cause for commitment in the BV world.

  “Hey, Ma. What’s up?”

  “Programs. Engraved or raised print?”

  “I think—“

  “Engraved,” she snapped, answering her own question. “Of course we have to go with the engraved. It’s classic. And speaking of which, we need a more timeless place setting, as well. The event planner has these hideous modern contemporary napkins—“

  “Event planner? The one from the country club?”

  “No, this is a specialist I decided to hire when I added two hundred people to the guest list. We’re now at eight hundred and forty and—“

  “What? But I don’t know that many people.”

  “Vampires, dear, not people. And of course, you do. There’s everyone in my Huntress Club, your father’s business acquaintances, and our family. The Marchettes alone count for over three hundred and twenty-two according to the last census conducted by your great aunt Rebecca on my s Sbec hundred aide. And while I’m hoping to conveniently “forget” a few of your father’s relatives, I most definitely have to invite all of mine.”

  “But eight hundred?”

  “And then there’s Remy’s family which you know is even larger than ours.”

  Okay, I knew that. I’d been raised on a neighboring estate in older-than-dirt France and had seen more than one Tremaine Family get-together, but I’d never really thought about having them all here at the reception. In a matter of days. Here.

  “Mom, I need to tell you something.”

  “I know, dear.”

  “You do?”

  “Of course. I’m your mother. I know when the fruit of my loins is upset.”

  “Can you not say fruit and loins in the same sentence, please?”

  “But don’t worry,” she went on as if I’d kept it totally zipped. “I have everything well in hand. No modern contemporary napkins for the reception. That planner will have to step it up and get ultra creative if she wants to handle this event.”

  So much for a one-on-one heart-to-heart.

  Which meant there was no hopping off the crazy train just yet. It was full speed ahead to Loco Town.

  “What’s her name?” I blurted.

  “Who? The event planner? Esmerelda Morenciana. She’s the best in the business, of course. She did Marilyn Hamilton’s granddaughter’s commitment ceremony last year. They married at the Marquis in Fairfield and had a blood waterfall for a backdrop. It was divine, not that it’s going to top this. A waterfall can’t even begin to compare to a swimming pool.”

  “A pool full of blood?”

  “And a hot tub. And not just any old blood, either. Fifty thousand bottles of imported French Peasant aged to perfection.” Her voice took on a breathy quality. “Why, I’m getting lightheaded just thinking about it. Marilyn will be green with envy. Provided, of course,” she went on, suddenly all business once again, “that the cases arrive in plenty of time to fill the pool. I’m stopping by the import company personally to go over the time-line after I meet for a walk-through at the club.”

  “With Esmerelda?”

  “And the catering manager. Her name is Vivian. She and her husband own the club. She’s also the chairman of social relations for the Huntresses and one of my oldest and dearest friends. She, too, is green with envy right now. You actually beat her Gladys to the altar. You remember Gladys, don’t you? Plain-looking thing. She’s some bigwig scientist at a local cosmetics company. Her job keeps her too busy to find anyone so, naturally, Vivian is beside herself.”

  “Did you tell her about Dead End Dating? I could totally hook her up.”

  “Nonsense, you’ll be much too busy taking care of the children to have time for that silly service of yours. Anyhow, I’m sure Vivian will try to charge us an arm and a leg since she’s so bitter about Gladys being single, but I plan on standing my ground. Not that we can’t afford it, but it’s not about the money. It’s the principle.”

  “I’ll be there,” I blurted, my panic boiling over after the Nonsense comment.

  While I wanted nothing more than to hide away in Manhattan while my mother planned the worst evening of my afterlife, I knew I had to be pro-active. I might be stuck at the moment, but I wasn’t going to make it easy on anyone. Least of all my mom. Or Remy.

  Especially Remy.

  “We’ll be there,” I added.

  “We? Who’s we?”

  “Remy and I. It’s our reception, after all. We should be involved in the plans.”

  “But I’ve taken care of everything—“

  “See you tomorrow.” Click. S”shoul<
br />
  “You want me to what?” Remy said when I punched in his number and announced that he had to clear his schedule tomorrow.

  And the next day.

  And probably the next.

  Because, hey, I had to have his input on all things related to our reception, didn’t I?

  “I can’t just put everything on hold,” he told me. “I have commitments.”

  “But this is our reception.”

  “I know, but you have to be reasonable.”

  “Are you implying that I’m unreasonable?” Before he could answer, I rushed on, “If I’m so demanding and unreasonable, then you never should have agreed to commit your afterlife to me in the first place.”

  “Wait a second. I didn’t say—“

  “We took vows, Remy. Serious, life-altering,” drunken, stupid, “vows.” I snorted. “And while they obviously don’t mean anything to you, I take this sort of thing very seriously.”

  “So do I. I just don’t think a reception after the fact is that big a deal—“

  “If you hate receptions, you should have said so in the first place.”

  “I don’t hate receptions.”

  “No, you hate our reception.”

  “I didn’t say that—“

  “I suppose you hate me, too,” I rushed on. “Now I’m stuck spending the rest of my afterlife with a vampire who hates my guts.”

  “Lil—“

  “It’s fine, really. Sure, I’d hoped that we could at least be friends, but I guess that’s out of the question, too. You obviously intend to keep your own schedule and do your own thing. So what’s her name?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The hussy you’re boning behind my back. The one you’re meeting with tomorrow when you should be helping me with our reception. That’s why you don’t want to cancel your precious plans, right? Because you’d rather be with her than me.”

  “No way—“

  “So what’s her name? Something slutty like Barbie or Roxie or Sadie, I bet.”

  “Look, I’m not meeting any hussy—“

  “Don’t tell me Sadie is a Sam.”

  “Lil—“

  “It’s fine. Really. You obviously have different priorities that don’t involve building a solid future with me--”

  “I’ll be there,” he growled. “Just calm down.”

  “Thanks, honey.” I shifted gears from crazy-irrational-bride to hopelessly-in-love significant other. “You’re the absolute best. Really. I don’t care what my father says about you.”

  “But I thought your father liked me—“

  “Gotta go.” I hit the OFF button and gave myself a mental high-five because I knew I’d just ruined Remy’s day and tossed in some serious doubts about my own mental health and his decision to spend the rest of his afterlife with me.

  Unfortunately, my excitement lasted all of five minutes before the reality of what I’d just agreed to—a full afternoon with my mother and Remy—hit me like a lightning bolt smack dab between my eyes. Panic ripped through me, followed by a wave of urgency. I had to prove my innocence. Now. Before my mother’s prophecy came true and I ended up barefoot and pregnant and jobless.

  I needed my job. I loved my job.

  I reached for another DVD.

  A half-hour later, I was seriously considering staking myself with my letter opener. I’d just reached the last of the DVDs I’d brought to work and while I’d seen some really great boinking footage, none of it was going to save my supernatural ass from commitment hell.

  I was starting to think that maybe it was hopeless when Evie called to remind me to put Snd perout fresh donuts for our last appointment.

  “She likes strawberry,” she said, which sounded more like She lithe thrawbewwy.

  “Stop worrying about work and get some rest. Better yet, see a doctor. You sound terrible.”

  “Yeth, ma’am—acheewww!”

  I set the letter opener aside and sent up a silent thank you for Evie and her dedication. Surely the call was a sign that I was overreacting. I might be on the verge of disaster, but I hadn’t jumped into the pit just yet. I was still gainfully employed with a stack of clients awaiting a happily-ever-after courtesy of moi. That, and I still had dozens of DVDs back at my apartment that I’d yet to watch. My salvation could very well be on one of them.

  I held tight to the sliver of hope working its way through me.

  I could do this.

  I could save myself and hook up every single outstanding DED client, and I could do it all while looking super fantabulous because I was Lil.

  Vampire extraordinaire.

  That, and I’d undoubtedly accumulated some brownie points over the past year, right? I’d matched up handfuls of clients. Some of them now happily married/committed/insert-your-favorite-happily-ever-after-adjective-here. I’d generated oodles of positive energy. Surely some of that would come back to me now when I needed it most?

  I focused on the yes chanting in my brain and unloaded the useless DVD. I popped it into the protective plastic case and stuffed it in my bag before straightening my desk and heading for the donuts stashed in Room A, i.e. a converted storage closet that now housed a desk and a chair. We used the room for clients whenever we had more than one interview going at a time. Since that wasn’t very often, we’d also put in a mini fridge and a microwave.

  I retrieved the box of Krispy Kremes sitting on top of the desk and replenished the platter that Mr. Fairweather had cleaned off before he’d left—he’d eaten three and asked for a doggie bag for the other three.

  I didn’t normally make it a habit of sending my profits out the door with my clients, but the man hadn’t had a really good donut since his dearly departed Adelia. Before she’d gotten sick, she’d picked them up every Sunday on her way home after church. She especially liked the chocolate glazed.

  Which explained why he’d lingered over the platter, his gaze bright, his hands trembling as he’d eyed the chocolate confections.

  Poor guy.

  I made a mental note to make sure Carol Levine brought donuts to their first date and finished loading the platter. The scent of strawberries and sticky sweet glaze teased my nostrils and I took a deep breath.

  That’s when I caught a whiff of something else. A hint of caramel and apples.

  What the...? My nose wrinkled and my ears perked at the sound of footsteps. Faint, but distinct.

  My next appointment?

  That’s what the average business owner would have thought. But I was Super Vamp, remember? That meant heightened senses, including a keen sense of smell, ultra-deluxe vision and a super dependable gut instinct that screamed yay or nay to any given situation.

  I peeked past the edge of the door in time to see a tall, distinguished born vampire--dressed in expensive black slacks, a black button down silk shirt and sleek black loafers--head for my office.

  Dread rolled through me.

  A reaction that had nothing to do with the fact that a born vampire had waltzed into my office unannounced and everything to do with the fact that a born vampire had waltzed into my office unannounced, and he was carrying a stake.

  I eyed the familiar looking wood sticking out of his back pocket. Yep, it was a stake, all right.

  So? Maybe he’d just come from a bad side of town teeming with werewolves and made vampires and he was just playing it safe.

  Just because he was packing didn’t mean he wasn’t a perfectly nice born vampire who wanted to meet an equally nice commitment mate. Who was I to judge based on one oversized toothpick?

  Yeah, and I’ve got some great beach front property you might be interested in, smack dab in the middle of the Swiss Alps.

  Forget nay. This impending encounter was registering a big, fat Run! on the Deep-Shit-O-Meter.

  Which I promptly ignored because, hey, I was a vampire and vampires didn’t cower in fear at the first sign of danger. That, and I had no way out of the small room short of turning into a fly and going out through the
tiny slats in the overhead vent. Since shape-shifting into anything other than a hot pink bat was out of my talent range, I knew I had only one choice—suck up my courage, walk out into the lobby and face Mr. Tall, Dark and Deadly.

  I drew a deep breath, grabbed the platter and reached for the doorknob.

  Hinges creaked, metal whined and suddenly I was standing near Evie’s desk.

  The vampire paused in my office doorway and turned.

  His gaze met mine and I barely resisted the urge to bolt. But vampires didn’t run. They sliced and diced and struck fear in the heart of all villagers.

  And when faced with one of their murderous looking brethren?

  I tamped down on my own fear, pasted on a huge smile and did the only thing I could think of.

  I held up the platter and offered him a donut.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Are you freakin’ crazy? He waved off the platter. “I don’t want a donut.” His gaze drilled into mine. “I want you.”

  I swallowed past the sudden lump in my throat. “Because I’m the super hot vamp of your dreams?”

  His gaze narrowed. “Because you have something I want.”

  “I’m guessing it’s not my heart.”

  “Not as long as you cooperate.”

  Ewwwww.

  I willed my hands to stop trembling and concentrated on not looking afraid. Or smelling afraid. I held up the donuts, hoping to throw off the scent. Vamps could smell fear the way bees scented out honey.

  While I wasn’t so sure a vamp could smell another vamp’s fear—we didn’t usually face off with one another because our entire race centered around survival and propagating the species and, well, offing each other was not in ye olde mission statement--I wasn’t taking any chances.

  “What’s your name?” I blurted to fill the sudden silence and give him something to focus on other than the fact that I was scared witless.

  He didn’t seem as if he wanted to answer, but then I guess he figured he was going to kill me anyway, so what the hey? “Riley.”

  “First or last?”

  “Just Riley.”

  O-kay. “So, um, Riley, are you sure you don’t want a donut?” I wiggled my eyebrows. “They’re super fresh.”