Page 9 of Santa's Wish
"Nope. I did. That's the only name that counts now. Gotta get ready for work, sweetness. I'll see you Thursday."
The call ended before I could utter goodbye. "Touchy subject," I said to no one. I studied my phone screen, wondering if any of that conversation had happened, or if I had moved on to the hallucination phase of my hangover.
The call log said it was real. Santa really wanted to rent an apartment to me, a complete stranger, even after my asshole behavior at the club. I still expected him to ghost me, or maybe send a follow-up text saying he changed his mind.
A moment later, my phone pinged with the apartment address and a link to a tenant information form. I scrolled through it. Everything seemed legit, includinga space for me to upload the front and back of my driver's license. Fuck.
I grabbed my jacket from the hook on the outside of my closet door and hooked my book bag over one shoulder. Time to retrieve my wallet from my shitty friends.
CHAPTER 3
SANTA
Despite having Thursday night off,I went into work, same as usual. I offered to work at the bar until midnight, and Jameson agreed. We were short a bouncer, and he possessed the face and build of an avenging angel. He was also one of our best mixologists, which kept him behind the bar most of the time. He liked it so much, he named himself after the whiskey.
Still, everyone could use a break now and then. He'd already given a threatening look to a group of college students that sent them running back into the cold.
At precisely eight, Colette walked through the door. She gave a slight head nod to Jameson and made a beeline for the bar, to-go cup in hand.
When she arrived, I handed her a warm glassstraight from the dishwasher to replace her cup. The boss forbade advertisements for other vendors, including Blood Drive, which supplied half our stock.
"He's late," she mused after taking her first sip from the unmarked glass. She wore her usual power suit, though the cut had changed over the years. She started wearing pants long before they were in style. The heather gray suit offset her deep blue eyes and dampened the brightness of her golden curls.
"Go easy on him," I said. "He's new."
"Oh, I know." She grinned wolfishly over the rim of her glass. "I interviewed him. I may have done a little digging for the empress."
While our empress ran a team dedicated to world economic policy and the advancement of vampires, hiring entry level humans seemed beneath her. "Why?"
"She hates turnover. She'd like to make him a permanent addition to our staff."
Empress Marcella wanted to make Boz a vampire, in other words.
"What if he doesn't want that?"
Colette took another sip from her glass before answering. "He's human. They all want that, eventually. They fear mortality. He was especially concerned about dying a virgin." She leaned in and sniffed me, as though checking to see if I had been working the VIP room before she arrived. "Is that why we're here tonight? Are you trying to remedy that?"
I shrugged. "Maybe."
"He'll be a lot for you to handle, especially if you try to keep it casual."
"Why do you say that?" I already had a hunch, but Colette was a much better judge of character than I was. That was why she was Empress Marcella's regional recruiter.
"I told you, the empress wants him for a lifetime position. Don't break him, or you'll have hell to pay."
"She wants him because he's loyal," I guessed, and she nodded. "Logical." She took it for the guess it was and nodded again. "Boring."
Her nose scrunched when she grinned. "Yes, but he might be exactly what you need."
"Me?" I tried to look doe-eyed and innocent, but her laugh indicated I'd failed. "I'm not quitting my job for any human."
"Maybe not," she said with a shrug. "Sometimes I see threads between people. Harley and Key had a thread back in 1901 when I saw them on the dance floor. You are tethered to that man." She pinched her thumb and forefinger together on an invisible string and moved her hand as though she followed it away from me. I followed her movements to Boz as he sidestepped the sparse crowd on his way to the bar.
"See?" she asked.
"I believe you see it," I said. "That doesn't mean it's real."
"Oh, Santa. All you have to do is believe in yourself. Then, you would know I'm right. He's perfect for you."
