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I frowned. “Marco?”
“Mmm-hmm?”
“Are you throwing out my flowers?”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
“Go look in the lounge.”
The elevator arrived before he could say any more, assuming he’d planned on it, and a man got off. He was dressed in a crisp blue suit and shiny black shoes and was carrying more roses. “Thank you,” Marco said, plucking them out of his hand and stepping into the elevator.
“Hey!”
The elevator doors shut before the man could retrieve his bouquet. “Goddamned vampires,” he muttered, and then he turned around—to see three of the guards loitering in the open doorway of the suite.
He lost what color had been in his face, which wasn’t much, since he was a pleasant-looking white blond. The vamps came forward and started circling him like sharks in water. “I liked the last one better,” a brunet said. “This one’s a little weedy.”
“And please tell me that’s not your best suit,” another commented, eyeing the man’s pinstripe with a moue of distaste. “I’m thinking what? One ninety-nine ninety five?”
“And they throw in an extra shirt,” the third vamp added.
They all laughed.
The man flushed but stood his ground. “See here, I have an appointment with—” he caught sight of me and his expression lightened. “Ah, you must be—”
“Too busy to talk to
you,” the first vamp said, putting an arm around him and turning him back toward the elevator.
“Get your hands off me, vampire,” the man snarled, pushing the vamp’s hand away. “And I think I’ll let her tell me that!”
“Ooh. This one’s spunky.”
“What’s going on?” I demanded.
The man—or, I guess, the mage—came forward, holding out a hand. The hand had a box in it. The box was full of candy, judging by the glossy photo on the front.
“For you,” he said, obviously proud to have rescued part of his offering.
“Uh, thank you?”
He brushed it away. “I’m not sure what to call you,” he said frankly. “Lady Cassandra isn’t technically correct until after the ceremony, and it sounds too formal in any case. And Miss Palmer is little better. Would you like for me to call you Cassie?”
“I’d like for you to tell me who you are.”
The man blinked. “David Dryden.”
I just looked at him.
“Your one o’clock?”
“My one o’clock what?”
“Date,” the third vamp said, grinning.
“For what?” I asked, confused.
