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A trickle of fear makes itself known in my gut.

“Cat,” I whisper, and she shakes her head.

“No touching,” she whispers back almost inaudibly. “Not until Tristan offers you a contract. Nod your head instead of shaking hands.”

I can do that. “Okay.”

“Try not to say too much, unless he asks a direct question. This is going to be fine, Adz. We’ll talk later, and I’ll fill you in.”

“But—”

“Is something wrong?” Pierce’s voice is shockingly loud after our whispered conversation, and both our heads whip around. He’s standing in the doorway, a concerned frown creasing his brow. At least he doesn’t look angry.

“Not at all,” Cat assures him with a smile. “Adam’s never met anyone of Tristan’s stature before.” The implication that I want to make a good impression is clear without her actually saying the words, and I wonder if every conversation with a vampire needs to be so carefully thought out. Do they always talk in circles?

“You’ll be fine,” Pierce says, standing back as we approach and then turning to lead the way. “After all, you’re a Barale.”

Right.

Chapter 6

The house I currently live in was built at about the same time as this one. It would have originally had similar architectural features, too. The difference is that the house I live in has been a rental share house for more years than I’ve been alive, and over time, those features have been damaged and replaced by whatever material was cheapest. The floors that weren’t covered by crappy carpet are scuffed and gouged, the plaster is water stained, and the last of the original windows is so rotted that even the property manager made a face about it during our last inspection. The rest were replaced long ago.

This house is the opposite. From the outside, it was obvious that money and effort have been put into the upkeep—original leadlight windows!—and from the second I step across the threshold, that’s confirmed. The wood floors gleam, as does the banister of the staircase ahead of me. The fancy plasterwork on the ceiling is not only intact but also cobweb free, and instead of a bare bulb, light is provided by an elegant chandelier. Plus, the whole place smells good—not a hint of mould or dusty stale air. Just lemon cleaner and… fresh bread? Man, I hope that’s fresh bread, and that it’s been baked by a ripper of a housekeeper who’s going to take joy in feeding me all my favourite foods.

I briefly wonder if I should take my shoes off. I wouldn’t at home, but then at home there’s every chance that the floor will have some sort of unidentified sticky substance on it. I don’t think we even own a mop. The floor here looks sock friendly, and I wouldn’t want to dirty or damage it.

Before I can decide—or ask—I’m ushered through a pair of open double doors to my right. I’m guessing this used to be a formal lounge room, because as I step in, I see another set of double doors on the left, connecting through to what’s unmistakably a dining room with a massive table. I only spare it a glance before my attention locks on the big, solid desk in the middle of the room—and the man standing beside it, speaking to Nisha in a low voice.

Is this Tristan? For some reason, I’m a bit surprised by him, even though he fits the vibe of this house pretty well. Actually, I think he’d fit even better in some drafty old castle, wearing a velvet smoking jacket and moping in the library with a glass of brandy. Even without seeing his fangs, he looks like a vampire—or what the gothic ideal of a vampire is. Maybe a bit shorter. I’d guess he’s a few inches shorter than me, so about five nine or ten. He’s not big—lithe is probably the best description, though it’s hard to tell with that three-piece suit. Who wears a three-piece suit if they’re not a groomsman at a wedding? He’s even got a tie pin and pocket square.

His hair is coal black and curly, but every curl has been ruthlessly styled in a way that tells me he’d never let it just tumble loose over his forehead. Shame, because it would look phenomenal against that milk-white skin. This is a bloke who avoids the sun at all costs, he’s that pale. Even without the vampire thing to consider, he’d burn faster than a paper factory in the Aussie sun.

But all that pale skin just makes his full lips look even redder. Is he wearing makeup? His mouth isn’t shiny, so not lip gloss, but there are a million types of lipstick or lip balm or lip stain. I’ve both lived with and dated enough people who use them to know that. Nobody’s lips are naturally that red and plump and biteable….

Whoa. That’s not a direction I expected my thoughts to take this morning. I glance over at Cat, but she’s talking to Pierce about our plans to go to the Association after this so I can register. I return my gaze to Tristan.

Pierce was right when he said Tristan doesn’t like casual—it’s ten on a Wednesday morning, the guy’s working from his home office, and he’s dressed like he’s about to have a formal meeting with royalty. Maybe he’s got an important meeting after this? What does he even do, anyway? Nisha is actually an entrepreneur like Cat always said, but if Tristan is also, there’s no evidence of that in this room. The desk doesn’t have any electronics on it—not even a tablet or phone.

Suddenly alarmed, I glance around for any sign of a wireless router. If there isn’t high-speed internet here, I’m going to need to make it a condition of employment. I can’t live without my Xbox and streaming services.

Frighteningly, I see no little box, no cables, no delightful blinking lights. Just the big rug, the desk, and a seating arrangement by the windows with a pair of chairs and an upholstered bench in the half turret. There’s real artwork on the walls, but no sign of the magic that’s broadband internet. Maybe it’s in another room? Sure, the office or study or whatever this is would be the obvious choice, but if the Wi-Fi signal is strong, it can be anywhere.

“Adam?”

I blink and lift my head to look at Nisha, who’s frowning at me in a “you’re embarrassing me” way. “Yes. Sorry, I was thinking.” That doesn’t seem to make her or Cat any happier, so I add, “This is a great room. I like the… view.” The windows look out over parts of the front and side gardens, so it’s not even a lie.

Cat and Nisha relax a bit but not completely, and Pierce flashes a tiny smile. Tristan, on the other hand, looks… bland. Expressionless. His eyes flick over me—and wow, how did I not notice his eyes before? I assumed they’d be brown, but they’re actually hazel, a bright golden-green-blue blend that somehow cuts right through me. The thick black lashes surrounding them make them seem even lighter. It’s eerie.

And worryingly hot. He’s not my usual type—too buttoned up, plus, vampire—so it’s concerning that I find him this attractive. Like I told Cat, it was one thing to fuck my boss when I was only risking a minimum-wage hospitality job, of which this city has thousands, but it’s another thing entirely when a quarter of a million dollars per year is on the line.

“He’ll do.”

It takes a moment for the words to sink in, maybe because Tristan is turning away as he says them, clearly dismissing me as though he has more important things to do. I’m a pretty easy-going guy, and it takes a lot to get my back up, but being treated like I don’t matter is a surefire way to do it. There’s definitely no chance of me fucking the boss now.

He’ll be lucky if I don’t ingest a toxic substance in an attempt to poison him.

Though that would kill me too, so maybe I need to think through the potential pitfalls before I take drastic action.