I spent the majority of my workday hiding in my office reading an ancient Nancy Drew mystery that I found under my bookcase and drawing a crude flow chart of Harley-as-the-Underworld-killer versus Vlad/ VERM-as-the-Underworld-killer. Neither of them got me anywhere, but no one bothered me, and no one came into my office—especially now that I was not only a breathing pariah, but also a pariah with nothing but a broken file drawer stuffed with fast-food menus and a very well-organized line of Post-it notes.
I waited for most of the other employees to leave the office before I gathered my shoulder bag and the remains of my lunch and headed down the hallway. Eldridge was shrugging into his jacket and talking on his cell phone—an animated conversation about meeting someone for a Sound of Music sing-along. He missed me in his enthusiasm, and he also missed locking his office door behind him. I took the opportunity—and my renewed girl-power crime-fighter zeal—to sneak into his office. I clicked the door shut behind me, and dropped to my knees in the darkness. I knew better than to turn on a light, so I dug out my cell phone, crawling toward Eldridge’s desk by the pale, silvery cell phone glow. I slipped open his file drawer and pushed aside a stack of glamour magazines, only to find another stack. His calendar was filled with hair appointments and lunch dates—nothing incriminating. My heartbeat sped up when I looked over my shoulder toward Dixon’s office. The lights were out, and the door was cracked open a half inch. I pressed the cell phone out in front of me once more. Proud of my cat burglar prowess, I took a timid step forward—then another. My cell phone and extended arm were past the threshold into Dixon’s office. My heart was thundering in my ears; the blood coursing through my veins in tidal wave–sized torrents.
I crossed the threshold. I was breaking into a vampire’s private office.
I held my breath, willed my heart to slow to a nonfre-netic pace. And when my cell phone rang, I peed my pants. I also dropped my phone. Grabbing it, I shoved it into my pocket as I sped for the door, taking the corner of Eldridge’s desk to my midthigh. It threw me off balance, as did my shoulder bag loaded with a mushy banana, a bottle of water, and the aforementioned Nancy Drew book. We all went down in an inelegant heap on the industrial carpet. My head hit hard. The Nancy Drew book came around to wallop me in the temple, and I clamped my eyes and my teeth, biting down hard on my tongue. Pain seared through my jaw, and light flashed before my eyes.
It took all of a millisecond to realize the flashing light was coming from the fluorescent light above me and that Dixon was staring down at me, brown eyes sharp, lips pressed into something that resembled annoyance.
“Ms. Lawson?”
He leaned down gallantly and offered me a hand; I took it tentatively, pushing myself up with my other hand.
“Dixon, hi. I’m really sorry.” I looked over both shoulders, worried my bottom lip, trying to stall and buy time to come up with a good explanation. “I thought I heard something in here, and I thought everyone had left, so I just thought ... well, you know, with everything going on and all... . I wanted to make sure that everything in here—everything in here, and with you, was secure. And maybe to see if you needed me to do anything.”
I grinned widely, stupidly, praying that Dixon would see past my terror, sweat, and pee smell—and would send me home or fire me on the spot.
But he didn’t seem to have listened to a word I said.
His eyes were fixed, narrowed, and laser sharp on my lower leg, on the enormous tear in my panty hose. On the velvety red bead of blood that bubbled there.
“Oh.” I looked from the tear to him, at the sharp focus of his eyes, the faint flick of his nostrils. I saw a muscle in his cheek flick, saw the slight bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.
He was salivating.
“Dixon?”
Dixon avoided my gaze, his whole body bristling. It looked as though it took effort—physical effort—for him to tear his eyes from my cut, from the blood that had now started to dribble in an anemic, itchy trail.
“You need to go home now, Sophie.”
I picked up my shoulder bag and pointed toward Dixon’s office door. “I need to get my cell phone. I dropped it when I”—I paused, licking my lips—“when I tripped.”
“Get it. And then you need to leave right now, Ms. Lawson. You shouldn’t be in here. My office is private, and I need for you to leave right now.”
“But I just need to—”
Dixon’s mouth was open, his sharp fangs glistening with saliva. “Go!”
His palms were on my chest and he gave me a shove. His push knocked me out into the main hall, making me slide across the linoleum on my butt and lose my breath when I finally hit the wall. My heart was pounding in my throat, and my whole body felt hot, covered in a fine, sticky sweat.
Dixon stood in his office, fists and teeth clenched. I scrambled onto hands and knees, pushed myself onto my feet, and took off at a dead run to the elevators.
I didn’t stop hiccupping, crying, or sucking in great gusts of fresh night air until I was at the base floor of my apartment building. I was able to breathe normally, was able to go a full minute without a snot-filled hiccup, by the time I got to Will’s door.