The Vampire Affair #1 Page 3

  Sighing, Jonathan rubbed a hand over his face. “You’re not listening, Tatiana.”

  “Oh I hear you, Jonathan Devane. I hear you loud and clear.”

  Turning, she snatched her sunglasses and bag from the table and marched toward the door. She stopped and glanced over her shoulder toward him.

  “I never want to see you again.”

  “That’s what you said last time. And the time before.” He splayed his arms wide. “And look, here you are.”

  I put my hand over my mouth to stop the laugh bubbling up.

  After sliding on her sunglasses, Tatiana flung open the door. “You’re a heartless bastard, and I lied when I said your dick was huge.” With that, she marched out and slammed the door shut.

  Laughter burst out of me. I couldn’t keep it in.

  Jonathan looked toward the bedroom door.

  Before turning and flinging myself at the bed to grab at the sheets, I shoved the notebook down my shirt.

  The bedroom door slid open, and Jonathan filled the doorway.

  “Get a good laugh, did you?”

  I kept at my work. “I’m sorry, sir? I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I’m sure you heard everything that went on in there.”

  “I don’t listen to other people’s conversations, sir.”

  Draping the new sheets over the bed, I tucked them in as best I could. I sucked at making beds.

  He stepped up to the bed and helped me smooth out the edges.

  I looked up at him. What was he doing?

  “I’ll give you a hundred dollars to forget everything you’ve heard.”

  “I’ve heard and seen much worse, sir. You needn’t pay me off.”

  “I know how tempting it would be to tell someone like the media.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize you were someone famous, sir.” As I fluffed the pillows, I smiled to myself. I walked past him to go into the bathroom.

  Leaning against the doorway, he asked, “You didn’t recognize the woman that was here?”

  “No, sorry.” After I grabbed all the dirty towels, I placed the new fresh ones on the shelves.

  “The name Tatiana means nothing to you?”

  “No, should it?”

  I sprayed down the sink, getting more nervous by the moment. I didn’t like the way he was watching me. Was he suspicious of me? Did he know who I was? I’d better play it cool. Not talk so much. Maybe he was hitting on me.

  “What’s your name?”

  Julie? Susan? Rita?

  “Mak.” Damn. Why’d I say that?

  “Mak? That short for something?”

  Glancing over my shoulder, I said, “My dad really wanted a boy.” Why on earth was I telling him this? It was as if I was compelled to.

  Jonathan looked at me. And it was all intense and fierce and I wanted to drop to my knees in front of him and beg him to take me. Double damn. He was flirting with me. And I was interested. A heat blossomed deep in my belly.

  There was a sharp knock at the door breaking the spell.

  “Excuse me.” Jonathan left to answer the summons.

  I quickly wiped the counter. I took my spray bottle and walked back into the bedroom. Time to get out. I had enough to start a story. And if I didn’t get out now, I feared what I would be willing to do for him, to him.

  As I turned to leave the room, I tripped over a stray shoe and stumbled toward the night table. Grabbing the edges to steady myself, I glanced down briefly. What was this? Jonathan’s weekly itinerary. I whispered a thank you and folded up the paper, shoving it into my bra. Room was quickly diminishing in there.

  Time to go. I grabbed the dirty laundry and walked toward the bedroom door, but skidded to a stop just short of the exit.

  A very tall, very gorgeous redhead leaned against the front doorframe talking to Jonathan. Jasmine Knight, reporter for Siren magazine, a hodgepodge of film and music industry related gossip, and my bitter archival. Jonathan was holding her business card as she smiled sweetly at him. I imagined venom dripping from her oversized fangs. How did she get past the bodyguard? Probably breathed on him. Jasmine had a bad case of halitosis.

  “David thought it would be a good idea for us to get together.”

  “Did he now?”

  “David and I go way back. He thought that if you were to do an interview it would be best with me. Since he knows how discreet I am. I know much you value discretion. Considering, your particular circumstances.”

  What were his circumstances? What did she know that I didn’t?

  I backed up into the bedroom, tossing the laundry on the floor. I’d be damned if that floozy-for-hire would scoop me again. She’d done it a mere eight months ago.

  I had an interview setup with a major boy band playing the city for the first time. It turned out that Carmen had a nephew that went to Harvard with a sister of one of the members. So Carmen had set up the meeting for me.

  To my surprise, when I went backstage after the show, I met more than the band. Jasmine was snuggled up to one of the members. Beer in one hand, boy-band boy balls in the other.

  Siren ran a front-page story on the band. A very in depth story. Full of secrets, I assumed the boys didn’t really want out. My story ran on page ten...right after the laxative ad.

  Looking around the bedroom, I searched for a hide out until Jasmine left. I would really blow my cover, and Jasmine was malicious enough to convince Jonathan to press charges.

  “I’m not doing any interviews, Ms. Knight.”

  “Jasmine, please. David could assure you that you’d be in great hands.”

  “I’m sure he could, but until I speak with him, you’ll have to excuse me.”

  “Mr. Devane, the media is fully aware that there is a major restructuring going on in your company. Rumors have it that you’ve taken over from your father, Martin. I say good for you. The company obviously needs new leadership, new vision. Your ratings haven’t been all that good as of late.”

  “Thank you for your opinion, Ms. Knight, but—.”

  “I’m just saying that you’d want a good solid magazine covering your story, printing what you want us to print. Not some rag of a paper like Hot Gossip misquoting you and completely fabricating the story. They’ve done it before.”

  My fists clenched. That bitch!

  I scratched my breast. Wait, I had Jonathan’s itinerary. I’d follow him around and demand an interview. Or beg. Afterward, I’d write the best damn story ever. That’s how I’d get back at Jasmine. Then I’d punch her in the nose.

  With that settled, I grabbed the laundry and the dirty breakfast tray and marched out of the bedroom.

  Jonathan glanced at me briefly. Jasmine ignored me as I passed.

  “That may be, but I’m still not granting you an interview.”

  “You would, if you’ve ever read Hot Gossip. It’s full of hearsay and trash, and the reporters can’t write.” She chuckled.

  Turning to voice my opinion, I tripped, again. The tray went flying out of my hand. A half glass of tomato juice splattered all over Jasmine and her pristine ivory Chanel suit.

  Jasmine screamed.

  I almost did too, but with laughter.

  “Oh my God! You stupid bitch!”

  Jonathan narrowed his eyes at Jasmine. “There’s no need for that. It was an accident.”

  “If she can’t do a simple task like carry a tray, she shouldn’t be working here.”

  “I’ll go get a cloth.” I ran back into the bathroom, turning on the water and soaking a rag. I hadn’t intended on that, but it rather worked out perfectly anyway. It was a good day.

  My breast itched again. As I rubbed it, the notebook fell out the bottom of my shirt. Looking down, I realized that it was untucked. I bent down to pick it up.

  “How’s that cloth coming?” Jonathan asked from the bedroom.

  I grabbed the notebook and glanced around quickly. No cupboards to hide it in. I tossed the book into the toilet and shut the lid.

&nb
sp; Jonathan strode into the bathroom, amusement crinkling his eyes.

  I tossed him the cloth. “You deal with her. I’m out of here.” I pushed past him.

  Jonathan followed me out. “Mak, it was an accident. No one’s going to get you in trouble.”

  I marched out of the bedroom and past Jasmine who was busy wiping at her suit. Jasmine looked up just as I hurried out the door. I could still hear them as I rushed down the hallway.

  “What did you just say?” Jasmine asked.

  “I said no one was going to report her.”

  “No, not that. What did you just call her?”

  “Mak?”

  “That little...”

  I saw her come out of the room, her fists clenched. Luckily the elevator showed up, the door opened and I escaped inside. I touched the G level button several times.

  “C’mon. C’mon.”

  The door slid shut just as Jasmine showed up. I finger-waved at her and laughed. This round was mine.

  Chapter Four

  The suitcase was bulging with strain as I shoved my favorite pair of designer shoes into it. So far, I’d managed to pack three pairs of boots, two pairs of strappy sandals, and two pairs of pumps.

  Eyeing the floor, I hoped to find those new mules I bought last week. Hmm, maybe not. They were too expensive for the country. Besides, I didn’t think I’d have any room with all my undercover gear I had to bring. Mentally checking off my list, I scanned the items already packed.

  Hazel colored contacts, check. Black leather everything, check. Triple click, boob-enhancing padded bra, padded girdle, fishnet stockings, and garter belt, check, check, check, and check.

  Serena shuffled into my bedroom, newly developed photos in hand.

  “How’d they turn out?” I took the prints.

  “Pretty darn good, if I say so myself.” Serena’s smile faded as she stared open mouthed at me. “What did you do?”

  Grinning, I fingered my newly colored hair and extensions. I was now a redhead with long curly locks that reached past my shoulders to just above my breasts. “Just a little color enhancing.” I twirled a ringlet around my index finger. “And a wicked good curling iron.”

  “Jesus, Mak.”

  “I can color it back.”

  “What happened to just wearing a wig?”

  “Too problematic. It wouldn’t be good in close encounters.”

  Serena just shook her head.

  I looked back down at the photos in my hands, shuffling through them. Taken from across the street with a telescopic lens, Serena had produced a perfect shot. Tatiana had no idea she was being photographed. So there was none with her trademark pout or her posed runway stance. In fact, she looked almost ghoulish in the waning light.

  I held one up. “You can almost make out a slight paunch on her belly in this one.”

  “I think it was just her blouse bunching up.”

  “So what? Still looks like a paunch.”

  I flipped to the last picture. As I held the image up to Serena, my grin nearly split my face.

  Jasmine’s scowling face peered back at me. Serena had taken a perfect picture. Jasmine Knight at her homicidal best, snarling lips, face contorted in a murderous rage, expensive ivory suit stained with tomato juice. It almost looked like blood. At least it did to me.

  “You’re amazing. How did you get this one?”

  Serena chuckled as she settled herself on the bed. “I got it while you were running for cover in the parking lot. I was pretty close on your tail. I took it just as you dived under that silver Lexus.”

  “I think I’ll frame this one.” I pinned the photo up on my wall with a thumbtack. “Carmen’s going to love it.”

  “Mak, I think you’re crossing the line this time.” Serena pulled out a black lacy corset from the open suitcase and flipped the garter straps back and forth.

  I glanced down at the floor, pretending to search for the imaginary yellow stripe. “What line?”

  Serena threw the corset at me. “This one.”

  “If I’m going as Yvette Laurent, French vamp du jour, I must dress the part.” I shoved the racy lingerie back into my bag. “Anyway, it has proven quite effective with men who like to hide things. Remember Mayor Bleeker? I sniffed out his embezzlement schemes.”

  “Yeah, after you let him lick the tops of your exposed boobs.”

  “Yvette’s boobs.”

  Serena rolled my eyes. “You do know that Yvette’s boobs and your boobs are the same boobs, right?”

  I waved my hand. “Minor detail.”

  “Why can’t you just go as yourself? Once he meets you, he might do an interview.”

  “He hates all reporters, Serena. If he didn’t succumb to Jasmine’s feminine wiles with a blessing from his stupid ass publicist, he definitely won’t give me the time of day.”

  “I think you’re underestimating him.”

  I tucked in a long red slinky dress into my garment bag. “I don’t think so.”

  “How do you think you’re going to pull this off?”

  “Well, let’s see. I already phoned the hotel and booked myself in for the weekend. Seems there’s a writer’s convention going on. I naturally said I was a part of that.”

  Serena smirked. “Naturally.”

  “I even got twenty percent off my room.”

  “Lucky you.”

  After zipping up my suitcase, I set it by the bedroom door. “Yes, I thought so.”

  “Then what Mak?”

  “I’m going to put him under my, or should I say ‘Yvette’s’ feminine spell, and he’ll spill all his dirty secrets to me. Then Makayla Bradley will have an exclusive with Yvette Laurent who tells all about the intimate encounter with Jonathan Devane, scoundrel extraordinary.”

  “That’s really deceitful, you know?”

  “I know. It’ll make for a great story.”

  Serena shook my head. “I think you’re playing with fire, Mak. Jonathan Devane is not a man you can easily toy with. There are rumors he has a monstrous temper.”

  I plopped on the bed beside my friend and patted her leg. “Don’t worry, Serena. I’m a professional. Jonathan Devane is nothing more than a story. The only one getting burned this time will be him.”

  Serena looked at my eager face and shook her head. “Whatever you say, Mak.”

  “Let’s get some pizza. I’m starving.” I bounced off the bed.

  Twelve hours later, I stepped out of my rented car and into the opulent lobby of The Banff Springs Hotel. The drive had been quick but uncomfortable, especially in my tight red micro mini-skirt, constricting white Lycra t-shirt and knee high black leather go-go boots. More than once, I found myself pressing down on the gas pedal so I wouldn’t have to spend any more time in the cramped front seat of the cute little mini coupe I rented.

  As the front door man led me to the front desk, I adjusted the pageboy hat I just had to buy before I came and tried not to stare at the lush and expensive décor. Thank god, I could write this off as a business expense. Carmen would pretty much pay for anything if it got me a decent dirty story.

  I also kept my receipts for the red dress, heels, and the bikini wax I endured. It was all done for the betterment of the story. I couldn’t very well go into battle with stubble or out-of-control jungle bush, now could I?

  Leaning on the counter, I batted my eyelashes at the young check-in clerk.

  “Good evening. Welcome to the Banff Springs. How may I help you?”

  “Yvette Laurent checking in.”

  He tipped his head. “Very good.”

  As he searched for my reservation in the computer, I gazed around. My eyes landed on a small stack of magazines on the counter corner. I took a shuffling step to the left and stretched across the counter, grabbing the top one and dragging it over. It was Friday’s edition of Hot Gossip. I grinned at the cover picture. Serena was definitely a genius.

  It didn’t take any convincing Carmen to run with the picture. She didn’t like Jasmine, e
ither. At a luncheon for Women in the Media, Jasmine had called Carmen a dried-up old hag. Carmen had heard it from the horse’s mouth when she was using the ladies’ washroom.

  They were in adjacent stalls as Jasmine blabbed all her insulting opinions about everyone in the business. Jasmine even had the nerve to ask for some toilet paper as her roll had run out. Carmen had politely declined her request and told her to use her own fucking hand.

  The war had officially started at that pivotal moment. It had been unofficially raging when it had only been her reputation that Jasmine was slamming.

  “Ms. Laurent?”

  I glanced up from the magazine and looked blankly at the hotel clerk as he stared at me.

  “I said I have you down for three nights.”

  I pushed the magazine away and nodded my head. “Um, right. Three nights.”

  “Excellent.” He did some more punching of numbers and such, then slid a card key across the counter to me. “Here is your room key. The elevators are just around the corner.”

  I went to grab the key and it slid off the counter and plunked onto the marble floor. “Oh, damn.”

  I bent over to retrieve it. When I had it in my hand, I felt a draft on my backside and realized a little too late that bending over with such a short skirt was not a recommended act.

  As I straightened up, I caught movement in my peripheral view. I glanced over my shoulder.

  Jonathan Devane stood but four feet behind me with his pompous publicist David Beckett. Both had gazes downcast toward my derriere.

  I whipped back around, my face glowing red. Oh my God, they had been staring at my ass. I closed my eyes and swore under my breath. Why had I worn that red g-string? White cotton panties would have been more appropriate, but no, I had to choose this moment to wear my satin, cherry red g-string with the shortest skirt known to man.

  Resigned to my embarrassment, I lifted my chin and straightened my shoulders. I’d turn this into my advantage some how. At least, I’d gotten his attention. Isn’t that what I had wanted to do?

  I turned around and strode past Jonathan and David, hips swaying seductively. They were still staring as I passed. David was grinning like the idiot he was.