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The man’s eyes returned to her and locked in on her banged-up temple. “Because it’s wrong, what happened to you when you went to Bruce’s, and on top of that, the firm’s trying to screw you over to their advantage. The way I see it, you’ve been hurt enough, and someone needs to give you some good advice.”
Anne glanced down at her steno pad. “But Mr. Thurston didn’t ask me to sign anything.”
“You didn’t take the money yet. Don’t kid yourself. He’s going to be back and he will force your hand.”
“Then fine. I’ll do whatever they want, I don’t care. I just need to keep my job.”
A hand rested lightly on her shoulder. “Consider this advice from a friend, okay? I’m loyal to this place as long as they’re playing fair, but they aren’t with you. You’ve got leverage. You need to use it. This is a cold, hard world, and money makes a lot of things easier.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I, ah, I have to go—”
“And there’s one other thing.”
“What.”
He tilted to the side and looked around her. “Meet me down by the loading dock, six o’clock tonight. I want you to take a look at something.” When she hesitated, he rolled his eyes. “I’m a happily engaged man, and I’d be a fucking fool to mess that up. Just meet me out back, okay? Six o’clock. I can’t go into it here.”
Charlie gave her shoulder a little squeeze and then hustled away.
As Anne watched him go, she knew she was not going to be anywhere in the building or outside of it at six p.m.
She had a date tonight.
CHAPTER EIGHT
So we’re clear? You know what to do?”
As Darius spoke up, he was inspecting his reflection in the gold-leafed mirror over his bathroom sink, and he was not satisfied with what was staring back at him. His hair was still damp from his shower, and it was a little long, in his opinion—but no time for Fritz to give him a trim now. He’d also managed to nick himself while shaving, and couldn’t wait to get rid of the piece of toilet paper he’d tacked onto his chin to stop the bleeding. And he wasn’t sure about the outfit.
“Oh, yes, sire.” The doggen bowed in the background. “I understand my duties.”
“Good.”
“And the meal has been prepared as you requested.”
“Thanks, Fritz.” He turned around. “How do I look?”
Fritz clasped his hands in worry. Then the butler blinked a couple of times as if he might be having a stroke.
“Spit it out,” Darius muttered. “I command you to speak.”
“Ah… forgive me, sire. But it was my understanding that you have a guest of the female persuasion coming this evening?”
“That’s the plan.”
“And might I extrapolate, based upon the detailed instructions you provided me concerning the finer points of the meal and the dessert—indeed, this house as a whole—that you wish to impress this female?”
“Yes.” He glanced down at his black-on-black ensemble. “I really want her to—well, have a good evening.”
“May I please speak with a bit of candor, then.”
Darius fought the urge to curse. “If you don’t, I’m going to put my head through this mirror.”
“Sire, I would not advise that. I fear that I would have to wrap your face in bandages, and I am not certain I have sufficient Neosporin—”
“What is wrong with my clothes,” he demanded. “Now.”
The old doggen sprang into motion, rushing to the carved wardrobe that filled most of one of the bedchamber’s walls. “Mayhap I might suggest”—he opened both of the doors—“one of these suits. I would think a double-breasted gray, paired with a cheerful tie, and a—”
“No, I can’t do formal. This isn’t a formal thing.”
“Oh.” The butler paused. And then seemed to fall into a sartorial mourning as he slowly closed the doors. “Well. Then.”
The doggen turned around and presented a forcibly pleasant expression. “You have achieved a perfect casual effect. And those slacks are most flattering, as is the turtleneck.”
Darius yanked the shirt out of the waistband. “I look ridiculous, don’t I. Like someone held my head and dipped me into a vat of black paint.”
“I’m not certain that would be possible, sire.”
“I’m speaking in a figurative sense.”
“I was thinking more the issue of consent—”
Gong!
The pair of them whipped their heads up to the ceiling.
“Shit, she’s early,” Darius said as he checked his watch. “She was supposed to come at seven thirty. I can’t go up there, it’s too light out.”
“It cannot be her, sire. ’Tis too light for any vampire.”
“She’s not one of us, Fritz.”
There was a pause. “A human, then?”
“No, a toaster oven in heels.” As the butler’s brows went into his hairline like he was struggling with a mental picture, Darius wiped the air with his dagger hand. “Just go up there and get her inside.”
He needed to put some shutters on this house, maybe ones that could be dropped electronically, all at once.
