Passing through a swinging door, Sera gestured to a stainless-steel worktable. Veronica set her purse on the floor and hopped up on the wooden stool.
“Had anything to drink yet?” she asked, opening a tall fridge. “I can whip up some coffee.”
“Just a pint of goat this morning, but I’ll take coffee... I’d need something to pair it with, liiiiike a cupcake?” She innocently eyed the plate of several Brains in a Cup on the counter nearby. Sera giggled, the sound like tiny wind chimes, and set three in front of her.
“I have weasel and shrew creamer on hand at the moment.” The angel held each container.
“Weasel, please.” Sera was also Veronica’s source for differentiating flavors in blood. Weasel, as she’d come to know, tastes like cinnamon. A handful of small mammals taste like spices and herbs, and obviously can’t be mixed into anything willy-nilly. For instance, the basil-flavored blood of rabbits goes nicely in tomato sauce. Just as some foods can be bland, so can blood. Like the dried oaty aardvark blood on the granola bar Mona had given her last week.
The baristas at the coffee joint, Scarebucks, across the street, use the cool, minty blood of an arctic fox, and the espresso-tasting tapir creates a vampire version of the peppermint latte. And this morning’s goat was citrusy, like orange juice.
Sera placed hot mugs on the table, taking a seat across from her friend. Sera’s brew was weasel free. Veronica downed half the beverage before moving in on the second cupcake.
“You have desire and a strange, conflicted look in your eyes.” Sera watched closely.
“It’s because I’m eating these cupcakes too damn fast.”
“No.” She raised a dainty brow. “Not food related. Need I remind you who my father is?”
Veronica saw where this was going.
“Do you also see irritation?” She let the desire bit go.
“Your boss again?” The blonde bounced, jingling the many gold necklaces around her slender neck. Veronica wiped her mouth and... told her everything. Everything. The floodgates exploded. She couldn’t withhold anything from the woman. Never one blessed with true friends before, she enjoyed the venting sessions that came with the relationship. Sera was already hip to Keeland, the asstard boss. Sera’s aura just begged to reveal all. It was day two of their friendship that Veronica explained her past in Romania, the move, and starting fresh. Sera had invited her to join at Mystique Beach, and, huddled on a towel, Veronica poured it all out and almighty gods, it felt amazing. In high regards, the undead should befriend angels. They were pretty awesome.
Hopped on sugary cake fluff, Veronica relayed the oddity that had occurred the other night at Chambers. Half way through, Broch, Sera’s assistant, appeared and sat next to her. Broch’s a handsome demigod. Bronze skin, chocolaty wavy hair and blinding, white smile. The son of Zeus was privy to these gabfests. They both listened intently. And of course, they were Team Vamp, so naturally made agreeable snorts, eye rolls and exasperated chuckles when Veronica expressed Keeland’s abrupt and definitely disorienting behavior.
“I’ve seen Keeland before,” Broch stated. “A while back, we were both at the intersection on 666 street, and I swear to gods, I’ve never seen a person glare terrifying lightning bolts into another person as he had before in my life. And I’m the God of Thunder’s son.”
“What other person?” Veronica asked.
“Me. To be fair, it was rush hour and I was plastered against the window, giving him kissy faces. Hey, that man is sexy.”
Did I also mention Broch is gay as they come?
“True.” Veronica had to agree. Sera spoke next.
“From past mentions, seems to me that the other night is your boss being his same asshole-y self. Well, a hot asshole.”
“Oh, sweetie, hot assholes are the worst,” Broch commented. Sera gave him a disturbed, startled look.
“I mean, hot asshole men, my goddess where is your mind?” Broch snickered. Sera turned pink. Broch then goes thoughtful. "Well, there was this one time–“
“Anyway! Veronica, it also occurred that Keeland may have manifested a thing for you.”
Veronica had already had that internal debate. Her conclusion: She had a thing for him but Keeland was all types of weird.
“Manifested a thing?” Broch shook his head. “Really, sweetie, being an innocent angel and the PG-13 commentary aside, you’re the daughter of this very subject. Just say Veronica’s boss wants to fuck her. Say it with me.” He latched on to a bewildered Sera’s jaw, squished her mouth and made it open and close as he said, “Fuuuuuuck, herrrr.”
Sera slapped his hand away and used a wing to thump his head.
“I’m officially omitting you from this conversation!”
“What? Why?” Broch gaped.
“Your track record with the male species is lacking!”
“How?! My advice is sound. I’ve had plenty of boyfriends...”
“Let’s talk about the last one.” Sera grinned–was it possible to say evilly in describing an angel?
Broch groaned loudly. “For the love of pineapples! You’ll never let that go?”
“Absolutely not. It’ll be forever scribed into my father’s book of the worst sexual encounters and told throughout Olympus for all eternity.”
Veronica knew this story and sincerely hoped Broch’s then boyfriend in reference, a centaur, had paid for the hoof shaped dents he left on Broch’s car. The result of suddenly being abandoned once the bridle and saddle came out. Veronica tsked. Broch, Mona with Lenny, and her own deal with Keeland it seriously must be the season of unusual attractions.
“You crawled out of the man’s window!” Sera exclaimed.
“He wanted me to trot him around his fucking living room and call him my Pretty Show Pony.” Broch pulled at his eyelids in frustration.
Sera continued. “And what did you leave behind, sweetie? Please, remind us.”
Broch deflated. “My underwear.”
“My point.” Sera smiled, smugly then faced Veronica. “You. What are you gonna do about your boss?”
“I don’t know, he makes me feel all bothered but that’s physical. I’d need something... more.” If it’s even possible. This all worrying, and debating may be for nothing. He may have been attracted to her then move on. His behavior at Chambers, the moment she suspected jealousy, a possible freak reaction. Nothing more.
Broch reached across to pat her hand.
“Fuck him, sweetie. Then the world will become a much brighter place.”
“Do I need a saddle?” Veronica laughed.
Broch’s smile soured. “We’re no longer friends.”
Minutes later, after Veronica voiced she needed to be on her way, Sera went to gift a to-go box containing blood jellied donuts; the red fluid drizzled over crescents and naturally frosted on top fudge cupcakes. Drink too, a mocha, caramel laced coffee. Alaskan moose blood whipped cream. While Veronica got ready to leave, Broch strode towards the swinging door into the main shop. Once he was halfway out, he squeaked and abruptly did a hurried 180.
“Oh, balls.” His face paled.
“What’s wrong?” Sera frowned.
“Mr. Great Ass in Jeans But Can’t Obtain a Shred of Decency is here.”
“Being the centaur can’t fit into jeans, this must be someone else,” Veronica pointed out.
“Of course.” Sera giggled. “What number is this one, Broch? Ex #87?”
“If you must know, it’s number 63. The jaguar-shifter.” The demigod peeked through the door, inching out his nose then let out another high squeak and dropped to the floor. “He saw me! I’ll be in the pantry.” On the floor, he rat-scurried away.
Veronica giggled. “And with that, I’m headed to work.”
“Nooo! Don’t leave with him!” Sera protested, gesturing to the slammed shut pantry door. Veronica exchanged a quick peck on the angel’s cheek for the box.
“Bye, hon!”
***
Finally arrived, the elevator rais
ing her to the fiftieth floor, the metal doors revealed the office’s typical buzz, notable to the vampire, many irregular heartbeats boomed within her eardrums. Greater than average per minute, Veronica’s colleagues were rather stressed about something. Their twitchy behavior of such telling when they’d pause her to quickly hand her memos for Keeland.
Despite a previous well thought out plan, to avoid him as long as possible by going extra slow in settling into her office, she dropped her bags, food, and grabbed the tablet and memos and went straight to the elf.
Absolutely, something was wrong, besides the static air his magic produced upon her entering his office–one heel in, he slammed his desk phone, cracking the base. Somewhat shitty feelings faded seeing the embedded wrinkles in his button-down dress shirt–probably hours old since he’d walked into the Resurrect floor by himself. Before sunrise. The man’s sleeping schedule had to be minimal. And also, the utter frustration etched into his haggard face. From past experience, Veronica knew anger resided close by.
“Him, again?” The subject of a growing fragile case, and its tension induced struggles that led her to Chambers nights ago.
“Who else would it be?” he grumbled and rubbed his face and neck.
“Dracula?” she answered, sweetly. Sarcastically sweet. She could care less about thrown attitudes; she wanted to make light of what weathered ahead of them.
Keeland raised a brow,
She shrugged. Worth a shot.
“I want everyone in B-room. Ten minutes,” he ordered and slipped on his dark grey suit jacket.
“There’s been an update?”
“Not one I wanted. Ten minutes, Ms. Ardelean.”
“Sending message now.” She blasted a massive notice to every employee’s device. Following, she’d also alert Mona who would get people’s asses moving.
On the way out to do just that, a quiet voice stopped her.
“Veronica...”
She didn’t turn right away to Keeland–Oh, now he wants to be flip-floppy and go back to first names. Something in his tone required a few beats of preparation.
“Yes?” Now facing him, she waited. Knees locked. He approached. Soundless on the thick carpet. Frustration smoothed to openness, relaxed...
And gods, he looked absolutely edible while stalking closer...
“The other night...” he started. Like that night, the spicy, coppery tasty magic returned in a zinging rush. It wafted her senses. A breeze lifted Keeland’s hair–better than Chad’s–his eyes harassed a tumultuous storm. Keeland hadn’t laid a single finger on her–regardless, she felt physically and completely cocooned by him. No matter the way her heated body responded, you can chuck that aside, the major development that rocked her system; a sense of comfort, yearning, and rightness inside his stormy depths. This wasn’t manipulated magic revealed.
No, this was something stronger.
“Veronica,” he breathed.
Far riskier since it may directly involve her, and she couldn’t handle that strong yet mysterious entity at the moment.
Gods, for once could I be attracted to a man and not end up being a confused clusterfuck?
She cleared her throat. “What about last night?”
Keeland nodded; in the process the magic vanished, storm cleared. Connection torn.
“I’m sorry for the way I–”
“Came at me?” she supplied. Rein in the bitchiness, he’s finally apologizing.
“Yes,” he said, not taking offence. “I saw the man you were with put his hand on you, right before you left for the bathroom. I thought that might have upset you.”
“Which prompted you to follow me?”
“Is chivalry lost to you, Ms. Ardelean?” He bit.
Okay, name flip.
Hand on a hip and head cocked. “Frankly it’s been non-existent all my life, and obviously missed the other night.”
He flinched.
She took pity then. “But I appreciate you asking now, although I am a big girl and am not below ripping thumbs off. And to set the record straight, I am not with him.” She said the last part quietly, and didn’t know why she was about to say the next, “Or anyone for that matter.” Her eyes dropped to her shoes that shifted on nervous feet.
“Ah.” His lightened voice snapped her head up. “You are single.”
“Yep.” She managed not to groan. Single like a fucking tumbleweed rolling alone in the desert. Not to mention a desert barren pussy that lacked excitement.
Discounting mentally drawn featured appearances of him during shower time.
At that second, Keeland’s eyes glowed.
Too obvious, too obvious, shut it down. Let’s pretend she hadn’t just clamped her thighs together and tugged her blazer closer, concealing hardened nipples.
Head inclined to the side, a look of predatory delight briefly flashed across his face. Her cheeks flamed. Damn, what’s going on here?
“Sooo... the meeting.”
“Right.” He blinked hard, shaking his head. Then passed her to open the door, gesturing her to proceed.
But before, “No more catching pissy fits with me,” she said.
He looked taken aback. “Why, Ms. Ardelean, you are a sick individual. Getting pissy is the only fun I have.” He said it with such a straight face, she couldn’t tell whether he was joking or not.
Good grief, this man.
Chapter Six
Staff occupied the conference room in B wing, the largest, built to accommodate more than fifty people. Veronica took a seat at the side head of the long oval table, next to Keeland, doing her best to focus on his words and not the perfect lips they were coming out of.
Such a struggle.
“As you all are aware, we’re having some difficulty with Harold Remington.”
That’s an understatement. Oh shit, she snorted aloud. Co-workers near her snickered. She risked a glance at Keeland. To her surprise, a small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. Heat crept up her neck and cheeks, and caught that tiny grin before it vanished. Interesting. The man has a sense of humor.
“Mr. Remington’s end has gone silent.” Keeland continued, looking grim. “We need to keep at it before we lose George Matthews.”
Resurrect’s biggest payout. If we fucking win it.
Two weeks on the job, Veronica arrived just in time to be tossed in the three-way tug-of-war with the company, Remington, and Matthews. George Matthews, a brute mountain lion shifter, approached Keeland weeks prior, propositioning the biggest deal in the history of Resurrect.
Obtaining a vacant building in Las Vegas, on the lot of Caesars Palace. Shocker that it’s not currently bustling with slot machines or jumbo shrimp buffets. Matthews wants them to strong arm the stubborn trow-creature Remington, the owner of the building, since the man refuses to get his hairy head out of his hairy ass to negotiate shit—Mona’s words. Although trows, a nasty type of goblin, are hairy buggers.
Matthews then wants to use Resurrect’s magical skills to update the building, blend in with the style of the humans’ surrounding community, thus attracting tourists to the upscale bar Matthews wants it to become.
Resurrect is known to nudge owners like Remington, sugarcoating that they’ll take care of everything, all they have to do is just sell. Last week, they finally reached Remington’s lawyer, the same who touted that, in fact, his client would be willing to set a buying price.
That was seven days ago then nothing. A bone was thrown, but it turned out to be covered in rank shit.
Now Matthews’ displeasure had found a target. He wants this property in his impatient paws, like yesterday. A deadlock reached. Helplessly stuck in uncomfortable, lack of gravity, limbo.
Asking Matthews to provide more time to revive the proposition with Remington isn’t going to work anymore. It doesn’t help that Matthews keeps reminding Keeland that Resurrect was his first option and his position of power in the supernatural world can either make or break the company’s reputation for coming through
on a job.
It’s true, of course, word of mouth can strengthen or crumble a business. Yet, let’s all take a moment to bow down to the mighty, powerful, George Matthews. Because owning a large chain of bars that specialize pairing drinks with tofu dishes is fucking cosmic changing. Eye roll.
Still... large is large and money is money and apparently, Matthews has a lot of it.
His offer that contains many pretty zeros proves his pockets runs as deep as a hole drilling straight to the Earth’s core.
Nailing this sale would put Keeland over the moon. Resurrect is his baby.
I notice everything about him. I’d hate to see this fall through.
Time is ticking. Exactly how much do they have left? That hasn’t been decided. Matthews could outright shut this project down at any time. Frankly, Veronica doesn't know what’s worse—having a specific date to finalize everything and dread every second because it’s not guaranteed they will, or continue to be left in the unappealing blank space of limbo.
Either way, their future is looking bleak.
* * *
The meeting concluded on a high note. Not really, bummed as hell employees, were tasked to come up with ways to re-approach this deal and keep Matthews at bay for the time being.
In other words—make up more excuses.
And the lovely Mr. Elwood is cheery as ever.
Also kidding.
As said before, if the Resurrect train is about to veer off the tracks, Keeland’s tornado-spinning mood will destroy every village in the land. No luck comes to his targets. Hence why Veronica was still there, waaaay past the time she’d normally leave, doing grunt work for no apparent reason. Her regular workload had cobwebs on it from being done a long time ago. Neighboring offices and cubicles were empty, hallways devoid of traffic and the elevator nearest to her had gone quiet an hour ago after offloading its last person.
She pictured her Jacuzzi jet tub, sunken in sudsy waters, drinking merlot spiked with the plum taste of howler monkey. Most primates contain fruity notes. Her apartment fridge is full of different species’ blood from Vessels, a shop entirely made of shelves and tall coolers carrying every fluid, ranging from blood to sweat from all animals, land and aquatic to insects. Vessels is basically a grocery store for her kind, as well as spellcasters. These fluids are normally ingredients used in potions.
Blood, Cupcakes and Wicked Business (Grimstone Island) Page 4