Nina was perched on the end of her desk when I found her, legs crossed seductively, her shoe dangling from one toe. She was winding her long black hair around and around her index finger and interviewing a werevamp, who was sitting in her visitor’s chair. Nina was the only person I’d ever met who could make the sentence “Please tell me about your previous employment history” sound sordid. She was nearly purring as the werevamp—who looked dashing in a steel gray suit and had the chiseled profile of James Bond—ticked off a forty-seven-decade-long employment history that included being a project manager for King Henry the VIII and ended with “software programmer.”
I tried to catch Nina’s eye, but she glared at me—nothing is icier than a vampire glare—and I rolled my eyes, heading down the hall toward the elevator. I was skirting the hole in the linoleum where a High witch blew herself up when I ran chest to chest into Vlad and his Fang Gang—nine vampire staff members of UDA who were currently enraptured in the Vampire Empowerment and Restoration Movement. Loosely put, VERM members were dead set on bringing vamps back to their glory days (think Dracula, graveyard dirt, and ascots). Though UDA code was adamant about vampire/human relationships (the former was not allowed to eat the latter), I generally tried to steer clear of VERMers—Vlad, being Nina’s nephew (and a longtime resident of our couch), was the exception.
“Whoa, sorry about that, Sophie. Hey, have you seen Nina?”
I gestured toward Nina’s office door that had mysteriously closed. “She’s interviewing a werevamp.”
Vlad smoothed his perfect hair. “I didn’t think we had any open positions.”
I shrugged. “I’m pretty sure we don’t.”
Vlad fell in step beside me. “So, did you hear about that three-headed dog in Noe last week?”
“No,” I said quickly, stepping into the elevator.
I knew psychologically that there were only two things that could help the kind of day I was having, so I had a bottle of Chardonnay in one hand and a package of marshmallow pinwheels in the other in record time. The surge of chocolate and alcohol helped but not enough, so I beelined for the bathroom, filling my mouth with cookies and peeling my clothes off as I went.
I drew a bath as hot as I could stand it and upturned a bottle of cucumber-melon bath goo under the tap. Then I positioned my wineglass next to the remaining marshmallow pinwheels and eased myself into the tub. “Ahh,” I moaned, closing my eyes, breathing in the heady scent of cucumber and chocolate. “Much better.”
I dunked a washcloth, wrung it out, and placed it over my eyes, then sipped contentedly at my wine. I was reaching out for another pinwheel cookie when I heard the rustle of cellophane and felt a cold prickle of fear creep up my neck, despite the hot water.
Someone placed a pinwheel in my outstretched hand, and I sat bolt upright in the tub, the washcloth falling from my eyes, the poor pinwheel reduced to chocolaty, marshmallow ooze dripping through my fingers.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” Alex said, perched on the side of my tub, his pincher finger and thumb hovering above my half-empty pinwheel package. “May I?”
Alex Grace was gooey, chocolaty goodness if ever there was. He was an angel—of the fallen sort—with cobalt blue eyes and hair the color of milk chocolate, swirling in wondrous, luxurious curls over his forehead, snaking over ears just perfect for nibbling. His build was fairly slight but wrought with wiry, rock-hard muscles that made his jeans look mouthwatering, and stretched out the chest and arms of his T-shirts mercilessly.
“What the hell—why are you—” I fluttered and floundered, splashing bits of cucumber-melon-scented fluff and bathwater all around.
I worked to get my panicked breathing under control. Alex and I had shared some steamy moments and every glance or touch of his skin electrified me, but he was bad news—fallen angels always are. And his whole disappearing-reappearing thing really got on my last nerve.
And then I realized I was naked.
I sunk lower into the water, pushing the bubbles over my girly bits and glowering at Alex, who looked at me, that obnoxious, adorable half smile playing on his lips. He helped himself to a cookie.
“What are you doing here?”
He chewed thoughtfully. “I needed to talk to you.”
“I have a phone. Or an e-mail address. Or, hell, a carrier pigeon. Do you always have to show up in the bathroom?”
“I needed your undivided attention.”
I raised an annoyed brow. “Or you needed a naked-lady fix. And did you lose your ability to knock along with your wings?”
He grinned, took a swig from my wineglass. “Is that a ninety-eight?”
“Get out!” I screamed, “I’m not going to talk to you while I’m naked.”
Alex’s grin widened. “So you are naked …”
“I’m in the bathtub,” I snarled. “What did you expect?” I was sitting forward now and vaguely aware of the cool air touching my breasts. I hunkered down in the water again. “You’re a pervert.”
Alex shrugged, finished my wine, and poured himself some more. “Hey, I’m no angel.”
I rolled my eyes and snatched my wineglass out of his hand. “Get out.”
“I still need to talk to you.”
“And I still need you to get out.”
“Can I have another cookie?”
“Out!”