Sucker for Love (7 page)

Hence, upon hearing the news I was this close to having a coronary.

“You should have seen her,” Mandy went on, up-ping my heartbeat until I was nearing a full-blown code blue. “She was fussing over me as if I were already pregnant. She made Nina move to the love seat so that I could sit in the recliner. She made me put my feet up while she rushed off to the kitchen to mix up a cup. She even left a canister of the stuff so that I could enjoy another cup later. Isn’t that thoughtful?”

“She definitely did a lot of thinking.” And plotting. And planning. “Listen, Mandy. Don’t drink any more, okay?”

“But why? It’s so delicious.”

“Because …”

Because your night creeping mother-in-law doesn’t want human grandchildren and will do anything to sabotage your chances.

Because she’s a controlling, manipulative born bloodsucker who wants everything her own way.

“Because it’s chocolate,” I blurted, my mind racing for a plausible excuse that wouldn’t hurt her feelings and start a major family feud. “Chocolate has caffeine and caffeine is bad for you.”

“Not in such a small amount, silly.” She paused as if remembering something. “Then again, I don’t want to do anything that might inhibit my chances at conception. Maybe I should lay off the caffeine entirely.”

Atta girl. “It’s the only way to be totally safe.”

“I’ll give the rest to Jack. He loves hot chocolate.”

“That might not be such a good idea.”

“Why?”

Who knew what Yaz-tainted hot chocolate would do to a male BV’s fertility rating. A quick mental of Jack’s Mr. Happy withering up and falling off and I blurted, “If you have to give up your favorites, he should have to sacrifice a little, too. He
is
the father.”

“True.” She seemed to think. “It really isn’t fair that my butt spreads and my ankles swell, while he sits around sucking down imported chocolate and getting massages.”

“Massages? You mean …” I wasn’t going to think it, much less say it.

“Hans is here.”

Hans was six feet plus of beautiful, blond Swede. He had bulging muscles and awesome hands and I lusted after his hot oil massage the way a PMSing female lusts after a triple chunk brownie.

Unfortunately, my mother kept Hans to herself and so I’d only experienced the magic once, when she and my father had attended an Old World French Vampires reunion in Paris.

I’d been house-sitting and Hans had been bored and, well,
abracadabra.

“She really left Hans with you?”

“She said a massage would relax Jack and up his chances of shooting a bull’s-eye.”

And give her a spy in the house hold to report back Jack and Mandy’s every conception attempt.

Big Brother had nothing on Big Mama.

“You don’t need a massage. What you need is some alone time with my brother.”

“I do feel funny having a stranger in the apartment. I tend to get a little noisy when we’re, you know, having intercourse.”

Too much info. “It’s settled, then. Send him over to my place and I’ll see that he gets back to my mom.”

“You’d do that for us?”

“What are sisters for?”

“You’re the greatest. I swear, you and your mom are two peas in the same pod.”

As if I weren’t feeling crappy enough over Esther’s disappearance, Mandy’s comment stirred up a giant wave of
Ugh, my afterlife sucks.
I said good-bye, gave a last warning about the chocolate and hung up. And then I shifted my attention to the stack of bills sitting on the corner of my desk.

I was this close to staking myself as it was. Might as well go for broke.

W
hen the whole world is going to Hades in a Hermès silk bag (we’re talking a
major
stack of bills), there are certain strategies a girl must employ to get by: a double spritz of my favorite, Gucci Rush, an extra-large Starbucks House Blend with three shots of espresso and ten minutes of online lusting at
Bloomingdales.com
(that would be online
shopping
for anyone with a lucrative job who doesn’t rely on the dating habits of the fanged and fickle).

“I’m heading out.” Evie ducked her head in the doorway. “Don’t forget to brainstorm some tag lines for the brochure. Personally, I’m leaning toward
Get Your Monogamy On,
but it’s your call.”

I hadn’t told Evie about Esther’s disappearance. I didn’t want to worry her, much less raise a zillion questions regarding made vampires and ancient
warlocks. Better to keep my trap shut and my fingers crossed.

Besides, Esther was going to be okay. No sense in drumming up a huge drama, when everything would turn out in the end.

At least, that’s what I was telling myself.

“Speaking of calls,” Evie went on, “Mia wants to set up a meeting for Monday.”

Mia van Horowitz was a Jewish princess turned tattoo queen who’d come to DED searching for the perfect man—namely one who could keep it up and satisfy her nympho tastes. She was very human and very scary and she wanted a man who could do it at least three times in one night.

“She says that she might have to lower her standards since we haven’t been able to hook her up,” Evie added. “She sounded really depressed, so you might want to give her a buzz. Also, don’t forget to touch base with Mary Weathers—she’s the florist at the Waldorf. She claims one of our guests stole three dozen begonias and she’s sending us a bill.”

The news just kept getting better and better.

“It couldn’t be one of our guests.” I racked my brain for a mental of someone—anyone—absconding with several vases filled with flowers and came up with nada.

“Maybe it was someone from that tofu convention that was going on downstairs,” Evie offered. “Heaven knows they’ll eat anything green.”

“Good point.” I reached for the phone and Evie shook her head. “You might want to wait until after your seven o’clock.”

“I have a seven? Since when?”

She glanced at her watch. “As of forty-five minutes ago. She called and said she needed a date this very minute, so I told her to come right over.”

“I think I love you.”

“That’s what they all say.” She winked. “Should I show her in?”

I nodded and pushed to my feet just as a tall, voluptuous redhead walked into my office. She was the quintessential party girl in a silver lamé mini-dress, knee-high silver boots and an excited expression.

“Miss Marchette?”

I smiled. “Call me Lil.”

“Awesome.” Her voice was as perky as the double Ds outlined by her fitted dress. Bright green eyes rimmed in silver liner bounced around my office. “Wow. This place is fan-frickin’-tastic.”

“Thanks. And your name is?”

“Tabitha. Tabitha Gallows.” She perched on the edge of a nearby chair. Her fingers twitched and her feet tapped. She looked ready to bounce back up at the first sign of a Katy Perry song.

I could practically feel the energy rolling off her.

Feel
being the key word.

I couldn’t read a damned thing. Her eyes sparkled so clear and glistening, yet I couldn’t see one itty-bitty
thing about her. Which meant she wasn’t the bubbly, peppy human she appeared.

My nostrils flared, but other than a spritz of Very Sexy and the faint aroma of a recent manicure, I smelled nothing but my own eau de cotton candy.

Nix a born vampire.

She wasn’t a made vampire either. I realized that when she didn’t flash a pair of fangs and try to hump my leg in the first five seconds.

Or a werewolf (she didn’t blink much less gaze longingly when I offered her a leftover burger Evie had left in the mini-fridge).

Or a demon (no cursing or vomiting when I accidentally spritzed her with holy water—I had oodles of the stuff left over from Evie’s recent possession).

Which left me wondering
What the fuck
?

“A warlock,” she said, as if reading my mind.

“You’re a warlock?”

“No, silly.” A brilliant smile parted her full lips. “I’m looking for a warlock.”

“So you’re a witch?”

“Hardly.” Before I could question her further, she shifted the conversation back to finding the perfect Mr. Magic. “He has to be tall, dark and handsome. But not too handsome. He should have a few flaws. Eyebrows that are a little too bushy and a quarter-inch scar running across the left side of his chin. And one dimple cutting into his right cheek. And he has to have brown eyes. Dark brown with a hard gleam. No beard or mustache. Short hair. Six-two.”

“Sounds like you have someone in particular in mind.”

“No, not really.” Laughter bubbled past her lips. “Just my own imagination at work. But I’m sure there’s a real man out there who fits the bill.” Expectancy lit her gaze. “Have you seen him?” Silence stretched between us for several long seconds as she eyed me and waited for a reply.

“Without a doubt,” I finally said. “I have over two thousand eligible bachelors in my database.” Give or take 1,488. “I’m sure one of them will fit the description to a T.” I settled behind my desk and reached for a pen. “But before we get ahead of ourselves, the first thing we need to do is get to know the real Tabitha. Your likes and dislikes. Your hopes and dreams.” I gave her my most convincing smile, along with a mental
You should take the ultra-deluxe package.

I know, I know. She was obviously an Other and she was looking for a member of the opposite sex. But hey, it couldn’t hurt to try.

“Why don’t you get started filling out this questionnaire?” I pulled a form from my bottom desk drawer, attached it to a clipboard and handed it to her. “The best matches are tailored to each individual, so the more I know about you, the better.”

“You don’t need a form for that. I love dancing and parties and having fun. End of story.”

“No hobbies?”

“I do like to shop.”

I smiled and made a quick note. “Shopping’s good.”

“I like watching E! and I’m addicted to Oxygen’s
Bad Girls Club
and I never miss Fashion Week.”

“Just jot it all down and I’ll see what I can find for you. Evie mentioned that you need a date fast. Is there a special event coming up?”

“Definitely.”

“A wedding?”

“Not really.”

“Engagement party?”

“No.”

“Office get-together?”

“Something like that. If I don’t have my warlock with me by midnight next Friday, I’m getting fired.”

“That’s urgent, all right. Don’t worry, we’ll find you someone,” I said with the utmost confidence, despite the nagging voice that kept reminding me about Esther and last night’s fiasco and the fact that I was this close to bankruptcy and a Moe’s lime green polo shirt.

A wave of anxiety rushed through me and I attacked my keyboard with renewed determination. Crawling home to my folks would be bad enough. Doing it in lime green?
So
not happening.

Tabitha spent about a nanosecond filling out the form and fifteen minutes tapping her feet and humming to Katy Perry’s “I Kissed a Girl” drifting over my surround sound.

Meanwhile, I cruised my database for possible matches. I came up with a whopping two—a warlock from Trenton with red hair and a potbelly and a werewolf into Harry Potter role-playing (What? I’m doing the best I can here.).

Tabitha didn’t look jazzed about either, but she did agree to check them out. I set up the dates, promised to keep looking and loaded her into a cab bound for a hot new dance club and prospect number one.

I called Mia after that.

“Evie told me you want to lower your standards. Does that mean you’re willing to take two orgasms a night instead of three?”

“Actually, I was thinking zero. I’m embarking on a new phase in my life.”

“The I’m-never-having-fun-again phase?”

“I’m embracing celibacy.”

Yep, zero fun.

“I want you to find me a man who is not into sex in any way, shape or form,” she went on. “A guy who doesn’t sleep around or look at porn or watch the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show during the Super Bowl halftime. I want a man who’ll notice my brains instead of my boobs.”

“Your last date pooped out after the first orgasm, didn’t he?”

“He couldn’t even get it up. I gave him a lap dance, but nothing. I’m tired of being let down. If I have zero expectations, I can’t get disappointed, right? I
figure I’ll just go for the exact opposite of my ideal, that way I’m sure to find
someone.”
She sounded so defeated and lonely that my heart hitched.

“We haven’t exhausted all of our efforts,” I told her. “We can keep looking. We’ll eventually find him,” I said with more certainty than I felt.

“I’ll be too old to enjoy him by then.” She seemed to gather her resolve. “No, this is better.”

“But is it what you
really
want?”

“I really want a man who can come five times in one night. A man who is faithful and employed, and who always remembers to put the toilet seat down. Know any?”

“One celibate with substance coming right up.”

I lined up three dates for Mia—a Sunday school teacher, a city government worker and a pediatric ER nurse named Harmon (no, really). They weren’t the most manly men, but they each had a job and very little interest in sex (too moral, too scared of a scandal and too busy). As for faithful, only time would tell on that but the odds were pretty good.