“She said that yesterday. Today, she told me to ask you.”
“I have no idea what she meant by that. Look at this.” Parker extracted a glossy postcard and handed it to me. “Looks like Pete Sampson was a VIP guest at the grand opening of Dirt.”
I tucked the postcard back into the glove box. “So?” I asked.
Parker raised his eyebrows, and I rolled my eyes.
“So I guess it’s a good thing we’re headed to Dirt tonight.”
After work Nina and I had dinner together—well, I had two mini cheeseburgers and a half order of fries while Nina pouted her lips and rapped her fingers on the table, grimacing at every bite I took.
“How can you eat that stuff?” she asked me, her cute little ski-jump nose wrinkled.
“Like this,” I said, shoveling in a few more fries. “Look, when I decide to go all liquid, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Can you at least hurry up? Parker is going to be back here at eleven and I want to get to Dirt before they run out of AB neg.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“It’s the Cristal of blood.”
“Delicious,” I said, my burger churning in my stomach. “I’ll go get dressed.”
I stared into my closet, frowning at my collection of smart button-down blouses and Martha Stewart–esque knit twin sets. Not very vamp. After digging for a bit I struggled into the black sheath that I had worn for my Uncle Fernstad’s funeral six years ago.
Hm, must have shrunk in the wash.
I sucked in heavily, slid the slim dress down over my hips, kicked into a pair of Mary Janes and shrugged in the mirror. Not great, but it would do.
“Okay,” I said to Nina, doing a quick spin when I walked into the living room. “Vamp enough?”
Nina tinkled the ice in her cup and licked a drop of blood from her lip. “Not even close.” She wrinkled her nose. “Not even troll worthy.”
I frowned, looking down at myself. “What? It’s black, tight, short …”
“Off-the-rack, dull, linen. You look like you’re going to a funeral.” Her eyes dropped to my ankles. “In sensible shoes.”
I flopped onto the couch. “This is the best I can do. Besides, I’m working, remember? I’m not exactly there for fun, and besides”—I glanced at the remains of Nina’s bloody cocktail—“do I really want to stand out?”
Nina set down her cup and stood up. “Yes, you do. That”—she eyed my ensemble dismissively—“is going to get you eaten. Come with me.” Nina’s cold hand wrapped around mine, and once again, I was shocked by her strength as she pulled me off the couch and behind her to her room.
“Never fear,” she said, kicking open the door. “Haute couture is here.”
Nina’s enormous closet was more organized than most clothing stores with all her pieces grouped by designer, color, and decade. She had an entire wall dedicated to shoes, and I lovingly fingered the butter-soft leather on a pair of high-heeled boots from the Victorian era while Nina zipped past me, draping garments over her arm, holding them up to me and tossing them aside.
“Off,” she said, pointing to my funeral dress. I wriggled out of it while she handed me a delicate slip dress, deep purple and cut on the bias.
“A little skimpy, don’t you think?” I asked, as the fabric swished a few inches below my butt.
Nina bit her lip and headed over to the portion of the room draped in the heavy, jacquard fabrics of the French royals (circa 1700) and found a complicated-looking corset.
“Put this on.”
I started to slide the straps of the dress off my shoulder and Nina rolled her eyes, grabbed the corset and smoothly wrapped it around my waist, her pale fingers moving quickly and methodically as she laced it up. I sucked in deeply, wondering if my eyes were bulging or if my ribs would implode.
“Excellent,” Nina said, her fangs exposed. She handed me a pair of black hose and a pair of killer boots. I gazed at the four-inch heels skeptically.
“I’m going to get a nosebleed wearing these.”
“Better not,” Nina said with a smile that was meant to be reassuring.
I gulped and yanked on the hose and boots. Once I was dressed, Nina looked me up and down, nodding, thrilled with her handiwork. “Perfect,” she said.
I took her word for it. Having no reflection, Nina had no need for a full-length mirror.
There was a knock at the door, and Parker was in the foyer before I had the chance to scrutinize myself in the bathroom mirror and tie a trench coat over my hooker-vamp makeover. My eyes widened as he leaned against the door frame, his jeans dark-washed and sitting low on his narrow hips, his black T-shirt stretched taut against that mouth-watering chest. His dark hair was still wet, pushed back over his forehead, a few curls snaking over the tops of his ears. I felt Parker’s cobalt eyes slide over me, then watched his pink lips press together and as he let out a low whistle. “You look hot, Lawson!”
I felt the burn in my cheeks and looked at my toes in Nina’s fancy black boots.