We just need a couple vials to test,the doctor had said. But ten minutes later he’d come back wide-eyed and speaking a little too fast, requesting more.For confirmation.
Francesca Sinclair had gotten lucky exactly twice in her life. The first time was when her parents adopted her. The second was, apparently, a quirk of genetics.
Not that it helped her in that moment. She still had rent to pay, and if she took too long, she’d miss the razor-thin window she reserved for a meal between house cleaning and her other job. And that meant she had to buck up and facehim,despite the way the butterflies in her stomach threatened to make that a terrible mistake.
Her sneakers made soft squeaky sounds on the marble tile of the entryway. Beyond it, a wall of windows overlooked the rapidly darkening sky and glittering expanse of United Washington. Sun-proof film had been applied to the glass, and automatic shades were only just beginning to lift as she tiptoed into the living area.
It was early for a vampire to be up, but there he was.
Dressed in dark jeans, a barely-buttoned shirt, and shoes that were worth more than her apartment, he lounged like a predator pretending to be a house cat on his black leather couch.One hand held a tablet in front of him, his fingers spread in a way thathadto be a sin, and the other rested casually on an arm rest. He looked, for all intents and purposes, like he was simply relaxing and perhaps forgot that she was scheduled to clean his home that day.
Bullshit.
For the past several visits, he’d been putting on the same act. Once, he wandered out of the kitchen — as if heate —and another time he placed himself behind the clearly unused desk in his immaculate office, which she was ninety-nine percent sure he never actually stepped foot in.
Francesca had been firmly instructed to ask no questions, to do no snooping, and hear nothing when she cleaned the mostly vampire-owned apartments in this particular building. The company she worked for had stressed that particular part of her job many, many times. She wasn’t even allowed to know the names of the home owners, including the man who watched her with those dark blue eyes over the edge of his tablet.
Going by the lack of glow on his striking face, she didn’t even think the thing was on.
Clearing her throat, she said, “Hi.”
The vampire, who she privately calledCasanova,tossed his tablet aside like it was trash. A slow grin spread across his bearded face, crinkling the lines around his eyes and showing off the terrifying fangs he possessed.
“Good evening, sugar,” he drawled, sweeping a hand through his white-streaked hair in what she could only imagine was a carefully practiced performance of nonchalance. “You’re looking stunning, as usual.”
Francesca glanced down reflexively. She didn’t bother hiding her scoff. This job didn’t require customer service, so she didn’t have to pretend quite as much. And for reasons that she didn’twant to think about too deeply, she’d never been able to pretend at all around him. With him, she was just…Frankie.
“You have a weird thing for bleach stains and aprons,” she dryly quipped.
He sat up a little to place his elbows on his knees. With his sleeves rolled up, she could make out the crimson tattoo that swirled around his right forearm — a splash of blood. “Maybe I just have a weird thing for you.”
Francesca tempered whatever thrill that teasing declaration might’ve inspired in her.
There was a good reason she called him Casanova. The vampire was an absolutely incorrigible flirt. She’d seen him in action, though she highly doubted he had any idea that they’d crossed paths outside the confines of his pristine penthouse.
One of her other jobs was as a server at a restaurant in a swanky part of town. It wasn’t exactly known for being frequented by vampires, considering they didn’t eat food, but it happened every once in a while for a variety of reasons. That was actually where she’d met Maxine, and also where she’d learned that Casanova used his wiles on just about everyone.
He’d also come with a date.
Which is, like, totally fine,she reminded herself before the feeling that bled through her could reach her face.You don’t even know this guy. And besides, you’re gonna be too busy to care soon anyway. You’realreadytoo busy to care. And you’re definitely, definitely not in love with him, so it doesn’t even matter.
Even if she wanted to become a vampire’s temporary plaything, she didn’t have the bandwidth. She worked two jobs and spent every second of her free time pawing through redacted records, negotiating bureaucracy, and worrying about her parents. And now she had her other obligation, which would probably make this the last time she saw him.
Unless he shows up at Georgio’s again.A bitter taste bloomed on the back of her tongue at the thought.
Ignoring the way his eyes narrowed, almost like he could see the thoughts ricocheting around her skull, Francesca pasted on a bright smile and announced, “I’ll start in the kitchen.”
She didn’t risk another look at him as she passed the couch, but she could feel him tracking her. It was a small blessing that he at least waited for her to enter the kitchen and begin pulling out her supplies before he darkened the doorway.
“Is everything all right?”
Casanova had a gorgeous, rolling bass voice. It was the kind of voice that clung to the skin, haunting you long after the echo of it faded. She was pretty sure he could read her the ingredient list on the back of her glass cleaner bottle and she’d still end up having to change her panties afterward.
Focusing on her tasks, which began with checking to make sure the trash didn’t need to be taken out, she answered, “Of course! Why do you ask?”
“You seem different.”
She shut the drawer containing the entirely untouched trash can with maybe a little too much force. There wasn’t even an empty bottle of synth in there. That either meant that he spent almost no time at all in the penthouse — likely, considering how little cleaning it required — or he found his sustenance elsewhere.