STRESSED!
Ogre’s Assistant
Book One
DJ Martin
Stressed! Ogre’s Assistant Book One
Copyright © 2013 by DJ Martin
Cover Art by Kit Foster Design
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-0-9888547-8-9 (sc)
978-0-9888547-0-3 (e)
Published by The Herby Lady, LLC
The right of DJ Martin to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
Chapter 1
An ogre, a vampire and a werewolf walk into a bar … Someone more creative than me could make a joke of my life.
My boss, Evander Angelich, is an ogre. No, really. Not just a grumpy person but an ogre. He stands a little over seven feet tall; weighs somewhere around 500 pounds; has a very large, round head; small eyes set too close together; a caterpillar for eyebrows; a mop of brown hair on top; and doesn’t have the best personal hygiene. Think sewer backup. Yeah, that bad at times. Unlike Shrek, his skin isn’t green; it’s sort of puce. He also wears beautifully-tailored, custom-made suits instead of too-small breeches and vest. But like Shrek, he’s pretty much a nice guy. I guess Hollywood gets some things right.
Ev owned the largest personal security business in the Midwest and the bulk of the client list would make the paparazzi go ape if they could get their hands on even one itinerary. Most of the guards were ogres or dwarves (short but tough little bastards with no sense of humor) with a couple of wizards thrown in for good measure. Ev chose these species because they can’t truly be harmed by vampires, weres or other predators. Although wizards are human in the greater sense of the word, there is something about their aura that makes bloodthirsty species either not want them or be unable to seduce them.
He owned the company, I ran it. Ask any executive and if he’s telling the truth, he’ll admit his secretary does nearly all his work. Going into the office at 7:30 a.m. gave me a chance to read the reports from the previous night and start wading through all my paperwork before the phone started ringing off the hook around noon. Everyone knew Ev hated rush hour traffic so they waited until later to call him. (That was a lie. Ev didn’t even have a drivers’ license. He had a limo with a driver. He just wanted an excuse to sleep late.) By that time, I had a list of things for Ev to know about and/or do and when the agents and managers started calling, he could play the all-knowing big shot. It was a comfortable relationship that had lasted something over seven years.
My day started out normally. The sun woke me up at 6:00am as it shone through the bedroom window of my garden-level apartment. I originally had room-darkening drapes, but they were expensive and didn’t stay intact for long. My cat, Fudge, climbed anything he could reach and since the window was at waist height, he shredded anything hung there. The curtains were as cheap as I could find – just enough to prevent any Peeping Tom from getting an eyeful. I replaced them about every two months, which was about how long it took Fudge to rip them to the point they were see-through instead of opaque. Everything in my apartment was geared towards a “me first” cat. Instead of the usual ceramic or glass knickknacks most of my female friends had around, the window ledges only held my collection of stuffed animals. They didn’t break when Fudge swept them off to make room for basking.
I made the best of the situation by being a quasi-morning person. The timer on the coffeepot was set for 5:50 a.m. so when I was rudely awakened by so much light, there was at least an immediate infusion of caffeine to make the morning bearable. Although I hate needles, I always wished someone could figure out how to inject caffeine intravenously. I needed the morning jolt. After a half-pot of coffee inhaled while checking email, Facebook and Twitter, I was awake enough to do my stretching. I showered and headed off to work, just three blocks away.
Living in the heart of the city had its advantages. I didn’t have to own a car. Most everything I needed was within walking or biking distance, or a fairly inexpensive cab ride. Although my building was an older one, it had been completely renovated just before I moved in. It was still considerably less expensive than the high-rises a mile or so away and I didn’t need all the fancy stuff like a concierge service, anyway. I have twice the space for half the cost. My building came with a bonus: unlike those high-rise buildings, the owner had also put up good wards – something I needed due to the people I worked with on a regular basis. Magic just isn’t my forte.
The same advantages turned into disadvantages when my boss figured I was always available since I was very single and lived so close. After about a year of him calling me on a Saturday or Sunday morning to come in for one “emergency” or another, we compromised. I’d get no more weekend calls and he wouldn’t sing soprano.
Anyways, as I was saying, my day started out normally enough. Ev’s odor preceded him into the office shortly after eleven. Mario, one of the wizard guards, was waiting to see him. He was unhappy with his current assignment – a pert blond movie star who thought she was a witch but in reality hadn’t a clue about magic. Mario’s comment was, “She has every episode of Charmed and all the Harry Potter movies on DVD. Therefore, she thinks she knows everything there is to know about magic.” He was pretty much over being dragged into “rituals” and then being whined at when nothing happened. My notes suggested switching Mario with one of the dwarf guards currently following a foreign author around. She wouldn’t be dragging a dwarf into anything!
Noon saw my lunch delivered from the deli downstairs. I had a long-standing friendship with the witch who ran it. She could really cook, whether in a cauldron or on a stove! Apart from anything containing peas, she had carte blanche to send up whatever she wanted. This day, lunch was a pastrami-on-rye sandwich with a side of some of the yummiest potato salad I’d ever tasted. The paper that wrapped my sandwich had a note: “Watch your back. I’ve got a bad feeling.” Cassandra wasn’t often wrong with her feelings but when I looked at the mound of paperwork and my calendar, I didn’t see anything that could go any more haywire than usual.
Things went fairly normally until a phone call came in about 3:30. When I answered the phone, the voice on the other end sounded like it was coming from the bowels of Hell. I was used to the echo sometimes generated by cell phones but this positively vibrated through the wires.
“May I speak with Mr. Angelich, please?” growled the voice.
“May I tell him who’s calling?” I answered back.
“Just tell him Happy is on the line. He’ll speak with me.”
Happy? With a voice like that? I buzzed Ev on the intercom and after a pregnant pause and a sharp intake of breath, he told me to put the call through. Tempted though I was to eavesdrop, I had other things I needed to do before I called it quits for the day so I went back to my own work.
Ten minutes later, the light for that line winked out. Ev slammed his office door open, stormed straight past me without a word and out the door. I didn’t think anything of that. Ev often had temper tantrums and went for a walk to cool off. He usually returned after about a half hour, much quieted.
One of the benefits of starting work early is I got off early, too. Ev took the late shift
, often working until nine or ten at night to keep track of all the guards who were out on assignment and be available if anything went awry. Although he hadn’t yet returned, I assumed he would and at 4:00 I shut off my computer, locked up the office and headed home for my standard two-hour nap. It made up for getting up so early. Sort of.
I had just put my pajamas on and snuggled into bed, Fudge deserting his spot on the window ledge for a piece of my pillow, when the phone rang. Damn and blast! I’d forgotten to turn it off. Caller ID said it was Ev’s cell phone. “This had better be good,” was my not-so-cheerful greeting.
Without so much as an “I’m sorry to disturb you”, Ev hurriedly said, “I need you to go to John’s party for me tonight”. In that split second where all sorts of stuff goes through your mind before you answer, I was thinking he sounded out of breath, whiny, and what the hell? I had a nice evening planned with a decent dinner, maybe a bottle of wine and my word processor.
(I forgot to mention: I write paranormal romance novels on the side under a pseudonym. Don’t tell Ev. He’d never let me hear the end of it.)
“Ev, it’s Wednesday. I had plans for tonight and besides, you know I can’t go to one of those sorts of parties and be into work early the next morning,” I replied.
“Whatever your plans were, you can change them. I’ll cover the morning. Just do this, OK? Gregory will pick you up in the limo at 9:30. Stay for a couple of hours, schmooze folks the way you know how and leave. It’s not like you’ve never done this before.”
Guys, ogres in particular, really have no idea what a woman has to go through to get ready for an upscale party – especially if we aren’t in the mood to do so. But he sounded like this was a real emergency. I sighed, said yes, hung up the phone and determined I could at least get my nap in before I’d need to eat dinner and start to get gussied up.
I set my alarm and settled back down. I had to move Fudge – he’d spread over the entire pillow during my conversation. He resettled himself and started kneading in my hair, making it entirely possible it would take another fifteen minutes just to comb out the snarls he was creating. I was used to it and had built an additional quarter-hour into my routine after he came to live with me.
It was getting dark in the apartment when the alarm went off, which suited my mood. My dreams had been off-kilter for some reason and the thought of having to go to a party, much less a late one, didn’t improve my disposition. Still in my jammies, I padded into the kitchen, flipped on the light and started rummaging through the fridge for the makings for a quick dinner. I settled for a salad with leftover shrimp as a garnish. There was enough shrimp for Fudge and me to share without argument. An argument, I might add, that I invariably lost.
Two hours after that, I was as gussied as I was going to get. My dress was a full-length emerald green satin that fit well in all the right places and complimented my waist-length copper-red hair. I wasn’t pleased with Fudge’s coiffure attempt but it had only taken ten minutes to comb out his snarls before washing my hair. I was, therefore, five minutes ahead of schedule. Matching shoes and clutch completed the ensemble that wasn’t quite au courant but still looked good. While silently thanking the fashion maven who declared pantyhose unnecessary, especially in summer heat, I watched out the window for Ev’s limo.
Chapter 2
Gregory pulled up right at 9:30 and we headed for the ‘burbs, where the uber-rich had transformed rolling farmland into fancy estates. During the ride, I mentally reviewed what I knew about this party:
It was being thrown by John Minton, agent-to-the-stars. Even though it was common knowledge in the paranormal circles that he was bisexual, he put on one of the straightest acts I’ve ever seen. The guest of honor was one of his clients and if the rumors were to be believed, his current paramour, an actor who was the latest heartthrob of several million teen girls. He was handsome, if you liked the type: tall, nicely built, dark hair and eyes, pale skin and a very full mouth. Although he looked to be in his early twenties, little did those googly-eyed teenagers know this particular actor was almost a hundred years old. Both he and John were night people. Vampires to you; which should explain why the party started so late. Ev provided security to some of John’s clients and was always hoping to get a few more into his fold. Hence the attendance at the party.
Gregory let me off at the door of a Tara-wannabe mansion. I don’t know how many acres John owned but there was an expanse of lawn to either side of the drive large enough to hold a couple of soccer matches on, with room for at least one more out the back before you got to the pool. (I always wondered what his monthly landscaping bill was. Astronomical, I’ll bet.) White columns framed a large swath of shallow steps, which led to ten-foot high mahogany double doors.
Instead of the usual guard or butler greeting the guests and taking coats, John was doing the duty himself. After all, it was summer so there were no coats to be dealt with.
“Amy, what a pleasant surprise!” he greeted me, taking my hand in his in an attempt at old-fashioned gallantry. “Are you on your own or is Evander showing up at some point?” When I explained that something had come up for Ev and I was filling in, he smiled and his look turned from cordiality to one closer akin to lust.
“None of that, John,” I said, retrieving my hand from his grasp and moving so he’d be outside my personal space. “You know what happened the last time you tried to sink your fangs into me and we don’t want a repeat in front of all your guests, do we?”
John coughed, told me to enjoy the party and turned his smile to the next arriving guest. I smiled inwardly at the memory. The first party I had attended at his house was with Ev, a little over a month after I’d started working for him. No one knew who I was so I was fresh meat (literally, in some cases). Ev escorted me around the room, introducing me to everyone I needed to know. It was a veritable Who’s Who of the entertainment industry … agents, managers, producers, and even a couple of up-and-coming actors I’d heard of.
John had immediately appeared by my side the moment Ev excused himself to use the restroom. I guess he was good looking: tall, athletic body, dark hair, grass-green eyes and sharply chiseled features. A little on the pale side for my taste, though. It was obvious from his demeanor that he was used to women falling over their tongues and assumed I would do the same when he turned his charm on me. He took my hand in his and tried to be seductive. (I am apparently immune to vampires’ bedroom eyes because I have never swooned when they give me The Look.) I knew he was important to Ev so played along as best I could, despite the fact that his hand was like ice. But when he tried to get cozy and started eyeing me as if I were the blue plate special, I pressed my great-grandmother’s silver cross into the exposed portion of his wrist below his sleeve. He screamed like a little girl with the pain. Although vampires normally heal almost instantly, it was a month before he could wear short-sleeved shirts again. That cross was on a charm bracelet I wore every day. I may be a mundane but I certainly am not stupid.
After leaving John at the door, I headed for the bar and grabbed a glass of chardonnay. Although I really prefer a nice, dark red wine, I didn’t want anyone thinking the flute contained something else. With my Irish ancestry and its accompanying pale skin, I’m sure some thought I was a ‘night person’, as well.
I saw many people I knew, clients and business acquaintances alike, and headed for the nearest group to do what Ev wanted me to do – schmooze. I said hello to those I knew, introduced myself to those I didn’t, and basically made nice to everyone. I always avoided being alone with any vamps but with the advent of spray-tan booths, it was getting more and more difficult to tell many from normal humans. (Some disdained the ‘healthy, alive’ look and you could spot those across the room.) Once I got into a group, though, I could always pick them out. Blood is a lot thicker than wine and leaves a coating on the goblet. You just have to look for it.
About an hour later (it seemed more like four – my face was hurting from the continuous smile) I
felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to find His Honor the heartthrob smiling at me. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting. I’m Andy and you’re beautiful,” he said. Spare me.
“Hello. My name is Amy,” I replied. “If you’re looking for someone gullible, I suggest that blonde over there. She doesn’t know who you are.” I refrained from saying “what you are”. Calling someone a vamp to their face in mixed company isn’t polite. He must have missed my point.
“I prefer sultry redheads and you fit the bill. May I have your drink freshened?” Sigh. Ev would consider Andy Deland a real catch for a client and be seriously pissed if I didn’t at least try to bring him into the Angelich Security fold. I kept the smile plastered on my face as we meandered over to the bar. I got a fresh chardonnay, he had his B positive topped off from a wine bottle mysteriously missing its label. Like I couldn’t tell the difference between cabernet sauvignon and blood.
He steered me to the patio where it was easy to get lost in shadows created by pillars and torchlight. Andy naturally gravitated away from the torches. Vamps and fire don’t get along. He chose a cozy spot, out of view from the rest of the guests – even those wandering on the wide expanse of lawn stretching off the patio and leading to the pool. Warning bells went off in my head.
“So, what brings you to John’s party?” he asked. I launched into my standard spiel about Ev’s company, downplayed my role in it and tried to gush a little about some of the clients. The latter was always the most difficult part. It’s tough to be awed by anyone who calls you when hungover, whining about the fact that their bodyguard insisted they leave a party when the guard saw something that could damage either the client’s body or reputation, breaking up the client’s fun. It happens more often than you might think.
Stressed! Page 1
