“I can’t say that I blame you, or that I’m not disappointed. I’ll do my best to work with you to find clients and keep you safe. Call my office and we’ll set up a meeting to discuss parameters,” she said.
“That is very generous of you,” I told her, and she preened a bit. “I have one more question.”
“Yes?”
“Why was Sophie wearing jeans?”
Ophelia burst out laughing, which was somehow also terrifying. “Before he stormed into the Council office, Dick snuck into Sophie’s house, stole all of her pantsuits, and ran them through an industrial wood-chipper.”
Well, that explained where Dick went while I was sleeping. He’d had a very busy evening trying to out-supervillain me.
Now, sitting at the Specialty Books register counting pointy objects, I didn’t know what to make of Ophelia’s offer. I knew it was a considerable concession for her to be that flexible. And I appreciated the “blood money” the Council had forced Sophie to hand over. But honestly, I didn’t know if I could continue working as a blood surrogate at all after the Darla experience. I’d had close calls on appointments before but nothing like this.
The one thing I had no doubt about was the fact that I’d spent a very enjoyable evening in the arms of Dick Cheney. Dick had shown me a whole new side of himself, taking care of me, showing such concern and consideration. Hell, he’d mentally counted down from ten to keep his fangs under control. I wouldn’t tell him right away, but at the moment, I trusted Dick more than ninety-nine percent of the vampires I knew. (Jane and, to a lesser extent, Gabriel excepted.)
I scrubbed a hand over my face, carefully applied makeup be damned. I needed a coffee, desperately. Between the occupational stress, the occasional Darla-fueled nightmare, and reliving the delicious kisses courtesy of Dick Cheney, I hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep all week. But I’d seen the coffee pot in the recently unearthed break room. I wouldn’t drink anything made in that pot even if I was immortal.
I craved a latte but figured it’d be a poor show of support for Jane to abandon her to her doubts while I ran to Starbucks.
“Andrea, you OK?”
At the sound of Jane’s concerned tone, I steeled my mind against any potentially alarming thoughts. I mentally checked off the list of things I shouldn’t think of lest Jane pluck it from my mind—making out with Dick, vocational doubts, nearly becoming vampire kibble. And I closed a mental shield around my brain to keep her out. It was nothing personal. She just didn’t need to know about any of that stuff until I was ready to share it with her.
I smiled at Jane as she approached the cash register. “You look tired,” she said.
Apparently, I hadn’t applied the under-eye concealer quite as effectively as I’d hoped. “I’m fine,” I told her. “I’ve just been working a lot lately. Two jobs, you know, lots of commitments.”
“Well, I wanted to talk to you about something,” Jane said.
I tried to keep my face neutral, because it was possible—though unlikely—that Jane didn’t know about that mental checklist of no-no subjects. I wondered which topic I’d have to have an awkward, defensive conversation about: Dick, biting, or money. And then I stopped wondering, because I didn’t want Jane to overhear me.
“What would you think about working here at the store with me?”
My eyes went wide. That was not what I expected.
“Ahh . . . goo-he-ber,” I stammered.
“Well, that was less eloquent than usual.” Jane giggled. “What was that?”
“I don’t know, I just—why?”
“Because you have retail experience,” she said. “I know how to put books in people’s hands, but I don’t know about the more practical parts of running a shop. You know inventory systems and the scary financial tracking programs. You could be my assistant manager, if titles are important to you. You’d make your own hours, and we can discuss pay scale . . . as long as you’re willing to handle those scary financial programs. Because I do not do math.”
I mulled that over. I liked Margie. I didn’t particularly enjoy working at the gift shop, but it was stable. For all I knew, Jane could decide to close up shop next week. Then again, I had Sophie’s hush money padding my pockets. Maybe it’d be worth the risk to be part of something unique and to work with my friend.
“Can you let me think about it for a few days?” I asked her.
“Sure. It took me a couple of days to decide to keep the shop open, so you take a few to decide whether you trust me with your financial well-being,” she said. “No pressure.”