To Catch a Vampire by Jennifer Harlow

steps out just as I push the room service tray outside.
    My, my. We are a pair. He’s dressed in black leather pants that hug each centimeter. Pretty sure the boxers are gone now. His top is crushed velvet in cerulean, which brings out the blue in his eyes. Me, I look ridiculous in Goth getup, but Oliver could wear a muumuu and still look gorgeous. I don’t know if he looked better before in nothing or like this. Tough call.
    “You look nice,” I say, closing the door.
    “You look like a child playing dress up,” he says.
    I scoff. “You’re the one who told me to dress like this.”
    “Your outfit is too flamboyant. Keep the skirt and bustier. The shirt underneath must go. Did you pack sheer black pantyhose? Fishnets are so garish.”
    Okay, that’s it. I have had it. I so don’t need this. I pick up one of my boots from the floor, and fling it at his head. “Jerk!”
    He dodges it. I get the other and toss. It misses again.
    “Please calm down, Trixie,” he says in a condescending tone.
    “The heck I will! I did not put up with a killer headache, a rude driver, or a nymphomaniac just to be insulted. Is this even a real assignment? Because I don’t think so! I think this is just some elaborate setup to get me alone and uncomfortable because you enjoy torturing me. That’s what I think! Some people are missing? No real connection? Give me a break!”
    “I would not waste either of our times on such a scheme when I know you will eventually come to me willingly,” he says with absolute certainty.
    Rolling eyes time. “Then why am I here? Why not Irie? I’m sure she’s gone undercover before. And she doesn’t mind putting up with you.”
    “You possess an ability she does not have. A natural immunity to my kind. You cannot be swayed by our mind tricks. It is an invaluable asset in this circumstance.”
    “That’s it?”
    “That and I thought it would be better for you to keep busy instead of dwelling on the unfortunate occurrence yesterday. That was my only ulterior motive.”
    I meet his eyes. Crud. He’s telling the truth. “Then … oh.”
    “I forgive you.”
    I sigh, letting some of the tension out. Not much, but some. Just because this trip is legit doesn’t mean he won’t use it to his advantage. I’m still not completely at ease. I need a guarantee he won’t overstep his bounds. “Just know one thing: If anything happens, if there is any unprofessional behavior on your part during this case, it ends. I call Will.”
    “You would tattle to William about me?” he asks with a genuine smile.
    “Yes. And we both know what would happen after that.”
    World War III complete with claws and fangs.
    “I promise you my dear, I will be the height of professionalism.”
    “Good. Then let’s get to work.”

Four
    Keeping Up with the Joneses
    I hate it when he’s right. I so hate it. Luckily, he’s only been right about three times since we’ve met. I look so much better without the fishnets, mesh top, and five inches of makeup. Sitting on the toilet, I roll on the black pantyhose—control top, if you must know—and pull down my skirt. I re-apply my neutral base, red lipstick, and mascara before adjusting the girls in the bustier. Darn. Cleavage up to my nose. It’ll be a miracle if I don’t pop out at least once. I’m wearing a coat even if it’s two hundred degrees.
    I do one final check through. Okay … wow. I look good. Real good. Bordering on sexy even, a look I have never been able to pull off before. My medium-brown hair cascades down my back frizz free. The clothes may be uncomfortable, but they pull the right things in, giving me a perfect hourglass silhouette. Not the ideal in the land of the impossibly gorgeous, but I’ll pass. No stomach too. Still need to lose about fifteen pounds and grow five inches, but overall not bad. I cover my hair with more hairspray and step out.
    My “husband” stands by the bed, rooting around in the duffel bag. He looks up as I step out. He