Personally, I’m leaning toward Get Your Monogamy On, but it’s your call.”
I hadn’t told Evie about Esther’s disappearance. I didn’t want to worry her, much less raise a zillion questions regarding made vampires and ancientwarlocks. Better to keep my trap shut and my fingers crossed.
Besides, Esther was going to be okay. No sense in drumming up a huge drama, when everything would turn out in the end.
At least, that’s what I was telling myself.
“Speaking of calls,” Evie went on, “Mia wants to set up a meeting for Monday.”
Mia van Horowitz was a Jewish princess turned tattoo queen who’d come to DED searching for the perfect man—namely one who could keep it up and satisfy her nympho tastes. She was very human and very scary and she wanted a man who could do it at least three times in one night.
“She says that she might have to lower her standards since we haven’t been able to hook her up,” Evie added. “She sounded really depressed, so you might want to give her a buzz. Also, don’t forget to touch base with Mary Weathers—she’s the florist at the Waldorf. She claims one of our guests stole three dozen begonias and she’s sending us a bill.”
The news just kept getting better and better.
“It couldn’t be one of our guests.” I racked my brain for a mental of someone—anyone—absconding with several vases filled with flowers and came up with nada.
“Maybe it was someone from that tofu convention that was going on downstairs,” Evie offered. “Heaven knows they’ll eat anything green.”
“Good point.” I reached for the phone and Evie shook her head. “You might want to wait until after your seven o’clock.”
“I have a seven? Since when?”
She glanced at her watch. “As of forty-five minutes ago. She called and said she needed a date this very minute, so I told her to come right over.”
“I think I love you.”
“That’s what they all say.” She winked. “Should I show her in?”
I nodded and pushed to my feet just as a tall, voluptuous redhead walked into my office. She was the quintessential party girl in a silver lamé mini-dress, knee-high silver boots and an excited expression.
“Miss Marchette?”
I smiled. “Call me Lil.”
“Awesome.” Her voice was as perky as the double Ds outlined by her fitted dress. Bright green eyes rimmed in silver liner bounced around my office. “Wow. This place is fan-frickin’-tastic.”
“Thanks. And your name is?”
“Tabitha. Tabitha Gallows.” She perched on the edge of a nearby chair. Her fingers twitched and her feet tapped. She looked ready to bounce back up at the first sign of a Katy Perry song.
I could practically feel the energy rolling off her.
Feel being the key word.
I couldn’t read a damned thing. Her eyes sparkled so clear and glistening, yet I couldn’t see one itty-bittything about her. Which meant she wasn’t the bubbly, peppy human she appeared.
My nostrils flared, but other than a spritz of Very Sexy and the faint aroma of a recent manicure, I smelled nothing but my own eau de cotton candy.
Nix a born vampire.
She wasn’t a made vampire either. I realized that when she didn’t flash a pair of fangs and try to hump my leg in the first five seconds.
Or a werewolf (she didn’t blink much less gaze longingly when I offered her a leftover burger Evie had left in the mini-fridge).
Or a demon (no cursing or vomiting when I accidentally spritzed her with holy water—I had oodles of the stuff left over from Evie’s recent possession).
Which left me wondering What the fuck ?
“A warlock,” she said, as if reading my mind.
“You’re a warlock?”
“No, silly.” A brilliant smile parted her full lips. “I’m looking for a warlock.”
“So you’re a witch?”
“Hardly.” Before I could question her further, she shifted the conversation back to finding the perfect Mr. Magic. “He has to be tall, dark and handsome. But not too handsome. He should have a few flaws.
I hadn’t told Evie about Esther’s disappearance. I didn’t want to worry her, much less raise a zillion questions regarding made vampires and ancientwarlocks. Better to keep my trap shut and my fingers crossed.
Besides, Esther was going to be okay. No sense in drumming up a huge drama, when everything would turn out in the end.
At least, that’s what I was telling myself.
“Speaking of calls,” Evie went on, “Mia wants to set up a meeting for Monday.”
Mia van Horowitz was a Jewish princess turned tattoo queen who’d come to DED searching for the perfect man—namely one who could keep it up and satisfy her nympho tastes. She was very human and very scary and she wanted a man who could do it at least three times in one night.
“She says that she might have to lower her standards since we haven’t been able to hook her up,” Evie added. “She sounded really depressed, so you might want to give her a buzz. Also, don’t forget to touch base with Mary Weathers—she’s the florist at the Waldorf. She claims one of our guests stole three dozen begonias and she’s sending us a bill.”
The news just kept getting better and better.
“It couldn’t be one of our guests.” I racked my brain for a mental of someone—anyone—absconding with several vases filled with flowers and came up with nada.
“Maybe it was someone from that tofu convention that was going on downstairs,” Evie offered. “Heaven knows they’ll eat anything green.”
“Good point.” I reached for the phone and Evie shook her head. “You might want to wait until after your seven o’clock.”
“I have a seven? Since when?”
She glanced at her watch. “As of forty-five minutes ago. She called and said she needed a date this very minute, so I told her to come right over.”
“I think I love you.”
“That’s what they all say.” She winked. “Should I show her in?”
I nodded and pushed to my feet just as a tall, voluptuous redhead walked into my office. She was the quintessential party girl in a silver lamé mini-dress, knee-high silver boots and an excited expression.
“Miss Marchette?”
I smiled. “Call me Lil.”
“Awesome.” Her voice was as perky as the double Ds outlined by her fitted dress. Bright green eyes rimmed in silver liner bounced around my office. “Wow. This place is fan-frickin’-tastic.”
“Thanks. And your name is?”
“Tabitha. Tabitha Gallows.” She perched on the edge of a nearby chair. Her fingers twitched and her feet tapped. She looked ready to bounce back up at the first sign of a Katy Perry song.
I could practically feel the energy rolling off her.
Feel being the key word.
I couldn’t read a damned thing. Her eyes sparkled so clear and glistening, yet I couldn’t see one itty-bittything about her. Which meant she wasn’t the bubbly, peppy human she appeared.
My nostrils flared, but other than a spritz of Very Sexy and the faint aroma of a recent manicure, I smelled nothing but my own eau de cotton candy.
Nix a born vampire.
She wasn’t a made vampire either. I realized that when she didn’t flash a pair of fangs and try to hump my leg in the first five seconds.
Or a werewolf (she didn’t blink much less gaze longingly when I offered her a leftover burger Evie had left in the mini-fridge).
Or a demon (no cursing or vomiting when I accidentally spritzed her with holy water—I had oodles of the stuff left over from Evie’s recent possession).
Which left me wondering What the fuck ?
“A warlock,” she said, as if reading my mind.
“You’re a warlock?”
“No, silly.” A brilliant smile parted her full lips. “I’m looking for a warlock.”
“So you’re a witch?”
“Hardly.” Before I could question her further, she shifted the conversation back to finding the perfect Mr. Magic. “He has to be tall, dark and handsome. But not too handsome. He should have a few flaws.
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