Page 1 of The Dancer and the Dark
1
Gavin Wallace sat across from the two vampires glaring at each other from either side of the elaborate Russian tea service he’d ordered. He poured the fragrant tea into a delicate blue-and-white cup.
“Tatyana,” he said, “how much sugar would you like in your tea?”
“No sugar,” she said. “A spoon of honey only please.”
“I take my tea black,” Oleg said.
“He didn’t ask,” Tatyana said.
“Neither did you,” the gruff Russian answered. “And yet your caravan encroaches on my territory.”
Gavin swallowed the sigh that wanted to release. So theyweren’tmaking room for polite conversation. At least that would save time. He’d come to his tearoom in Paris for this meeting, and when it was settled, he could return to the States.
Tatyana bit out something in Russian and Oleg started to reply, but Gavin interrupted them both.
“Cake?” He held a plate of petit fours in the center of the table. “I cannot tell you how delighted I am with the new pastry chef here. You both must try them and tell me what you think.”
Tatyana didn’t move her eyes from Oleg’s, but she reached out, took a delicate pink cake, and bit into it, baring two long, slightly curved fangs as she tasted the pastry. “Exquisite.”
Gavin didn’t react when the two immortals began to argue; neither did any of the silent servers near the doors.
His businesses were known for being discreet and neutral. Gavin never had a problem starting a new property in a city because vampires in charge of large cities where immortals might clash appreciated an impartial meeting place where they could be assured of safety.
Gavin took the opportunity of a pause in the arguing to gently intervene. “If I may…?”
The glaring subsided slightly, and both vampires bit their tongues.
“Excellent.” This was, after all, the reason Oleg had negotiated this meeting via his manager in Paris; it wasn’t solely because Tatyana was in Paris for a wine-marketing convention. They had a border dispute hanging between them, and it threatened to upend both vampires’ businesses.
Gavin cajoled and maneuvered the conversation until both combatants were forced to acknowledge the other’s perspective. He revealed nothing of his own thoughts on the matter. His own thoughts were immaterial. And two hours later, he leaned back as business secretaries and contract writers were introduced and terms began to take shape.
In the end, Tatyana and Oleg’s confrontation would be settled with gold instead of lives, a preferable outcome for all. This was why Gavin was so careful to cultivate a neutral position. Conflict was hammered out over tea and cake, not blood and iron.
Did Gavin play host to some truly horrendous people? Undoubtedly. But he never let his disdain be known, and he treated everyone as a guest.
His mentor had offered him a proverb when he’d started his first vampire club, and he’d never forgotten it: never back a cat into a corner.
Every immortal needed an off-ramp, especially the most hot-tempered. Every conflict needed a release valve. Unless there was a place to talk, every immortal dispute would end in violence.
Fortunately, this one ended with dessert.
“So your meeting went well?”
He smiled just at the sound of her voice. “It did.”
“Are you bringing me some of Michel’s petit fours?” Chloe Reardon, his human lover of nearly five years, yawned over the phone. “You better be.”
Gavin glanced at the small refrigerator in the plane he had boarded in Paris. “Of course I am. They’re not going to be fresh though. Michel wasn’t pleased when I told him it would be a few days before I saw you. He was protesting that you needed to come taste them in Paris.”
“Obviously I need to do that.” She groaned a little.
Gavin detected an undercurrent of pain. “Is your knee hurting again?”
“I’m just a dancer turning thirty this year, O kilted one. Nothing to worry about.”
Well, that was impossible.
