Page 4
- Working In Hell: Corporate Advice for the Damned and Underpaid
- Episode 472]
Maggie
For one humiliating moment, I was convinced my throat forgot how to swallow my own saliva.
Because, how was it possible for one man to be that attractive? Even if he was a vampire and naturally more graceful and mysterious than us mere humans.
No, this wasn’t some supernatural mojo that happens when a vampire becomes undead. Nope. This was clear evidence of a previously devastatingly handsome human. One with the bone structure of a movie star—all broad forehead and chiseled jaw—with stormy blue eyes and a mouth that could give any woman ideas. Especially a hard-up, recently dumped woman like me.
I let out a weird gurgling sound before instinct kicked in, I swallowed, and managed a brilliant, “What?”
“It’s about time,” Silas repeated. He reached out to snatch the coffee from my hand. “How was I supposed to go on without coffee?”
Because he was a vampire? Who drank blood? And on who caffeine did nothing for?
That coffee was meant for my best friend.
Somehow, I had a feeling Count Crankula wouldn’t appreciate the spiced vanilla latte with oat milk and three sugars. But, hey, that was his lesson to learn.
“You were the one who was almost late,” I reminded him.
“I was not. But I will be if you insist on continuing this pointless conversation.” His gaze flicked to the giant analog clock on the wall, the big hand inching toward the new hour.
He shot me a pointed look that had me backing out of the studio.
I moved toward the glass, watching Silas as he sat down with the predatory grace of a cat, slid on his vintage-style headphones—new (and expensive) but made to look old—and reached to take a sip of his coffee.
He promptly spat it all over the studio.
It should have been annoying, knowing I’d likely have to clean it up in the morning, but it was actually quite hilarious. As was the horrified look on his stupidly handsome face.
That’ll teach him to steal coffee without asking.
Satisfied that Jack could handle the show from inside his tiny control room behind the large pane of glass, I turned and rushed back to my office before some new catastrophe could arise that I’d need to deal with. I had a mountain of paperwork on my desk high enough to topple and crush me to death. I needed an hour or two to focus and get it done.
I locked myself inside, dropped into my seat, and stared at the little vintage-style radio sitting on the corner of my desk—the only space not covered in paperwork, mail, and the thousand or so sticky notes I had plastered everywhere.
I glanced at the clock, watching it notch to just before the hour.
With a sigh, I turned on the radio. I had no idea why I wanted to listen to Silas and whatever his show was going to entail, but I sat back and sipped my coffee as a pharmaceutical ad led into the new show.
“Heartburn from eternal fire? Ask your infernal doctor if Hellvix is right for you. Possible side effects may include: brimstone breath, spontaneous smoke rings, or temporary loss of soul cohesion.”
I had no idea what “soul cohesion” was, but I was pretty sure I’d prefer the heartburn if I were a demon afflicted with eternal fire.
There was a short second of dead air before a little bluesy jingle announced the new show.
Then Silas Ashford’s voice spilled out into my office.
“Good evening. My name is Silas Ashford. And this is The Midnight Frequency.”
He had a voice like midnight rain. Some part of me wanted to be absolutely soaked.
“Welcome to an hour of open lines, open minds, and, occasionally open veins. We’ll talk tonight about what happens when the human world brushes up against the supernatural one… and why neither ever walks away unchanged. Jack, who do we have on the line?”
Damn him.
