by Misha Bell
In fact, even if I’m given the option to work from home, I’ll work here at the office.
“I missed you,” Vlad says when the elevator doors close.
I snap to attention, all thoughts of the job offer forgotten. “I missed you too,” I say, proud of how steady my voice is. “I’m sorry about—”
“No.” He takes my hand, his fingers strong and warm around mine. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I should’ve fired Britney after she hacked that guy in sales. You heard about that, right?”
Oops. I guess hacking is on his list of no-nos. “Did you hear me earlier? I got into your computer. And when I did, I saw the email you were writing about her. I’m sorry about invading your privacy like that.”
He squeezes my hand reassuringly. “I guessed your password, and you guessed my pin. I’d say we’re even.”
I want to kiss him, but the elevator opens and people look at us expectantly, so we get out.
The walk to the limo happens in a flash, with me feeling like I’m waltzing on air the whole time. Climbing in, we sit next to each other, and he buckles my safety belt as though that’s a normal thing to do—and I love it.
“How did your sister take the whole article debacle?” I ask when the car rushes forward.
He smiles. “Her phone is off the hook. She thinks the hint of scandal in the article actually helped. She might be right. The original would’ve sounded more like an infomercial.”
Whew. “So she’s going to be okay?”
His smile widens. “Yep.”
I bite my lip. “How about you?”
“All good as well. I contacted Cosmo with a correction to the article, and they fixed it.” He pulls out his phone and shows me the screen.
I skim the article. His name is still there, but I’m no longer referred to as a QA person.
According to this article, I’m Vlad’s girlfriend.
Girlfriend.
Me.
I want to jump out of the car and dance a jig in the middle of Times Square.
“That’s okay, right?” he asks, his dark brows furrowing. “I figured that—”
“It’s more than okay.” The words come out breathlessly. “But why didn’t you make them remove your name from the article while you were at it?”
He shrugs. “Didn’t want to risk it. What if the correction reduces the exposure for Bella?”
I nod solemnly. “Very noble. Sacrificing your privacy for your sister.”
A corner of his mouth twists wryly. “That, or I don’t have that much leverage over the folks at Cosmo.”
The limo stops, and he opens the door for me.
As we get into his building, he tells me about a guinea pig herd he discovered upstate—a place where owners can let their pets play with large numbers of other piggies.
“Monkey and Oracle looked like they enjoyed being together,” he explains as we ride the elevator. “So I started to wonder whether they wouldn’t want even more socialization.”
“Sure,” I say as the elevator opens into his place. “I like the idea of this herd. We’ll take them there one day.”
The part I like the most is that he’s making plans that involve me.
First, I’m his girlfriend, and now this.
The only way I’d feel happier is if he got naked.
Hmm. Maybe this can also be arranged?
“So…” I take off my boots. “You never gave me a tour of your place.”
He hands me a pair of slippers that happen to be exactly my size—making me feel like Cinderella.
“I’m going to fix that oversight immediately.” He opens the door down the hall. “This is my bedroom.”
Check and mate. Bedroom is the destination I needed for my evil plan.
Once we’re inside, I close the door loudly to get his attention. Then, as he watches, I unzip my top.
Dracula displays immediate interest—as does Vlad.
His eyes gleam predatorially behind his lenses as he closes the distance between us. “That outfit has been driving me insane.”
I reach over to unbutton his shirt collar. “Right back at ya.”
“Wait.” He catches my wrists. “There’s something you should know.”
“Oh?” A kaleidoscope of butterflies flaps their wings together, starting a whirlwind in my belly.
He takes a breath, his expression uncertain for the first time since I’ve known him. Softly, he says, “It’s going to sound crazy, but I’ve never experienced this kind of connection with anyone before. The way we are together is like the most elegant, bug-free code that works perfectly as soon as you finish writing it. Fannychka…” His voice roughens. “I know it’s only been a few days since we met, but—”
“You love me,” I blurt—and flush immediately.
I have no idea where this bold statement came from, but I’m absurdly certain I’m right.
He lets go of my wrists, amusement glinting in his eyes. “Is it some American custom to interrupt such things?”
My already-prodigious blush deepens. “I’m so sorry. You were saying?”
He takes my face into his hands, the way he did the other day when he told me he’d like me even without any facial hair. His eyes are the purest, deepest blue as they peer into mine. “Fanny Pack,” he says solemnly. “I love you.”
The storm in my belly morphs into a full-fledged tornado, one that spins higher up my chest, encasing my heart with the warmest, sweetest glow. “And I love you,” I breathe.
He leans in, claiming my lips in the deepest, most passionate kiss. Lips locked and tongues dancing, we stumble to the bed, our clothes falling off as if by magic, and what happens next can only be described by one word.
Lovemaking.
Hours later, as we lie there utterly spent, I secretly pinch myself to make sure this is really happening.
It is.
It’s real.
I’ve gotten the vampire of my dreams, Vlad the Impaler himself.
Who could’ve guessed?
And just to think… it all started with a suitcase full of sex toys.
Epilogue
Vlad
Six months later, Iceland
On our table is a plate of peculiar Icelandic delicacies, including fermented shark and soured ram testicles.
I’m not surprised that Fannychka has bravely tried a bite of every single thing here and liked it, even the poor ram’s nads—a dish I personally skipped. Out of, as she teasingly put it, “male solidarity.”
In the last six months, she’s become a connoisseur of delicacies from all around the globe—at least, the ones you can get in NYC, which is many.
She’s also a connoisseur of sexual acts, positions, and toys, much to my delight. If she ever gets tired of being a game developer, I bet she could write the next Kama Sutra.
This is our first official vacation, and she’s loved it thus far—though more thanks to the geothermal pools and the alien-planet landscapes rather than the Icelandic cuisine.
I keep my face neutral as I watch her drink her apple cider, though the sight of those scrumptious pink lips wrapped around the bottle drives me insane, as usual.
Does she have any clue what I’m about to do?
Maybe. Maybe not. You never know with this one. She can be deviously clever.
I scan our surroundings for clues.
The glass roof and walls of the restaurant create an uber-romantic ambience that could give me away. You can see city lights down the mountain, as well as the night sky above.
Also, we’re the only ones here, so she might rightfully deduce this is my doing and not the restaurant suffering from a lack of patrons.
Hopefully, the not-so-romantic food selection was a good-enough misdirection.
Now I just need the weather to cooperate. The forecast was good, but if not, there’s always tomorrow.
I want her to remember this forever.
So, I carry on a conversation as we eat, but I also wait for my moment.
As par for the course on such auspicious occasions, I can’t help but think back on some of the highlights of our time together.
When I saw her at that Starbucks, with her pale skin and black hair, she’d looked like she stepped out of the Underworld movies—ironic, considering all the vampire jokes she still makes at my expense.
I knew then and there that I wanted her, and I took a picture of her surreptitiously—another bit of irony considering she did the same to me with her app.
When she stepped into my office mere minutes later, she looked like I might eat her—cannibalistically—while the truth was that I wanted to devour her in a very different way, completely inappropriate for the office.
I tried to stay professional—not an easy task given the project on her plate—but then she contacted me with that toy emergency, and all my good intentions went out the window. I was shocked at the protective emotions she stirred up. A part of me knew most people would find her situation humorous, but I was way too worried about her getting hurt.
Things began to spiral even more when I took her to our first lunch and started to learn how much we had in common. By the time she told me she wanted to test the toys on some random guy, I wanted to rip him into shreds.
Then the testing started.
Dracula gets rock hard every time I think about that—including now. It’s a good thing I don’t need to get up anytime soon, else—
“Look, babe, the Northern Lights!” Fanny is gesturing at the glass roof, her blue eyes shining in excitement.
Spoke too soon. I do have to move, erection or not.
This is the moment I’ve been waiting for.
Fanny has been dying to see this wonder, and I can’t blame her. As a kid, I couldn’t get enough of watching these things back in Murmansk.
It’s a perfect distraction, so I ignore the bulge in my pants along with the gorgeous aurora borealis in the sky.
By the time she looks back at me, I’m in position.
On one knee, a diamond ring in hand.
A ring my sister and Ava helped me choose—before I swore them to secrecy, of course.
“Fuck. Me.” Fanny gapes down at me, her pupils the size of a dime. “When did you get down there?”
Seems like she didn’t expect this.
Good.
Ignoring the question, I launch into my spiel. “Fanny Pack, I first want to thank you for all the joy you’ve brought into my life.” I know that sounds like one of my parents’ toasts, but the words are coming from my heart, and the bright glitter of her eyes seems to indicate that they resonate. “You have been the most important thing in my world for the last six months. I love you, and you love me. Will you—”
“Marry you?” she breathes.
I grin. It’s become a tradition of sorts for her to interrupt me during moments like this; she did it even when I asked her to move in together.
I lovingly clasp her small hand. “I was actually going to say: Will you make me the happiest vampire in history by letting me finally turn you, so we can spend an eternity together?”
She spreads the fingers on her free hand. “Yes. Please. I’ve always wanted to sparkle in the sunlight.”
Heart thudding heavily in my chest, I slide the ring on her finger, making it official.
Our big adventure together is about to begin.
THE END
Thank you for reading Hard Code! If you enjoyed Vlad and Fanny’s story, please consider leaving a review.
Can’t get enough of the Chortsky family? Read Bella’s story in Hard Ware!
Misha Bell is a collaboration between husband-and-wife writing team, Dima Zales and Anna Zaires. When they’re not making you bust a gut as Misha, Dima writes sci-fi and fantasy, and Anna writes dark and contemporary romance. If you loved Hard Code’s humor and found yourself wishing Vlad turned out to be a real vampire, check out the Sasha Urban series by Dima Zales. If you want more steamy hotness, especially with a possessive alpha billionaire, check out Wall Street Titan by Anna Zaires. Turn the page to read previews of both!
Excerpt from Wall Street Titan
A billionaire who wants a perfect wife...
At thirty-five, Marcus Carelli has it all: wealth, power, and the kind of looks that leave women breathless. A self-made billionaire, he heads one of the largest hedge funds on Wall Street and can take down major corporations with a single word. The only thing he’s missing? A wife who’d be as big of an achievement as the billions in his bank account.
A cat lady who needs a date…
Twenty-six-year-old bookstore clerk Emma Walsh has it on good authority that she’s a cat lady. She doesn’t necessarily agree with that assessment, but it’s hard to argue with the facts. Raggedy clothes covered with cat hair? Check. Last professional haircut? Over a year ago. Oh, and three cats in a tiny Brooklyn studio? Yep, she’s got those.
And yes, fine, she hasn’t had a date since… well, she can’t recall. But that part is fixable. Isn’t that what the dating sites are for?
A case of mistaken identity…
One high-end matchmaker, one dating app, one mix-up that changes everything... Opposites may attract, but can this last?
I’m all but bouncing with excitement as I approach Sweet Rush Café, where I’m supposed to meet Mark for dinner. This is the craziest thing I’ve done in a while. Between my evening shift at the bookstore and his class schedule, we haven’t had a chance to do more than exchange a few text messages, so all I have to go on are those couple of blurry pictures. Still, I have a good feeling about this.
I feel like Mark and I might really connect.
I’m a few minutes early, so I stop by the door and take a moment to brush cat hair off my woolen coat. The coat is beige, which is better than black, but white hair is visible on anything that’s not pure white. I figure Mark won’t mind too much—he knows how much Persians shed—but I still want to look presentable for our first date. It took me about an hour, but I got my curls to semi-behave, and I’m even wearing a little makeup—something that happens with the frequency of a tsunami in a lake.
Taking a deep breath, I enter the café and look around to see if Mark might already be there.
The place is small and cozy, with booth-style seats arranged in a semicircle around a coffee bar. The smell of roasted coffee beans and baked goods is mouthwatering, making my stomach rumble with hunger. I was planning to stick to coffee only, but I decide to get a croissant too; my budget should stretch to that.
Only a few of the booths are occupied, likely because it’s a Tuesday. I scan them, looking for anyone who could be Mark, and notice a man sitting by himself at the farthest table. He’s facing away from me, so all I can see is the back of his head, but his hair is short and dark brown.
It could be him.
Gathering my courage, I approach the booth. “Excuse me,” I say. “Are you Mark?”
The man turns to face me, and my pulse shoots into the stratosphere.
The person in front of me is nothing like the pictures on the app. His hair is brown, and his eyes are blue, but that’s the only similarity. There’s nothing rounded and shy about the man’s hard features. From the steely jaw to the hawk-like nose, his face is boldly masculine, stamped with a self-assurance that borders on arrogance. A hint of five o’clock shadow darkens his lean cheeks, making his high cheekbones stand out even more, and his eyebrows are thick dark slashes above his piercingly pale eyes. Even sitting behind the table, he looks tall and powerfully built. His shoulders are a mile wide in his sharply tailored suit, and his hands are twice the size of my own.
There’s no way this is Mark from the app, unless he’s put in some serious gym time since those pictures were taken. Is it possible? Could a person change so much? He didn’t indicate his height in the profile, but I’d assumed the omission meant he was vertically challenged, like me.
The man I’m looking at is not challenged in any way, and he’s certainly not wearing glasses.
�
�I’m… I’m Emma,” I stutter as the man continues staring at me, his face hard and inscrutable. I’m almost certain I have the wrong guy, but I still force myself to ask, “Are you Mark, by any chance?”
“I prefer to be called Marcus,” he shocks me by answering. His voice is a deep masculine rumble that tugs at something primitively female inside me. My heart beats even faster, and my palms begin to sweat as he rises to his feet and says bluntly, “You’re not what I expected.”
“Me?” What the hell? A surge of anger crowds out all other emotions as I gape at the rude giant in front of me. The asshole is so tall I have to crane my neck to look up at him. “What about you? You look nothing like your pictures!”
“I guess we’ve both been misled,” he says, his jaw tight. Before I can respond, he gestures toward the booth. “You might as well sit down and have a meal with me, Emmeline. I didn’t come all the way here for nothing.”
“It’s Emma,” I correct, fuming. “And no, thank you. I’ll just be on my way.”
His nostrils flare, and he steps to the right to block my path. “Sit down, Emma.” He makes my name sound like an insult. “I’ll have a talk with Victoria, but for now, I don’t see why we can’t share a meal like two civilized adults.”
The tips of my ears burn with fury, but I slide into the booth rather than make a scene. My grandmother instilled politeness in me from an early age, and even as an adult living on my own, I find it hard to go against her teachings.
She wouldn’t approve of me kneeing this jerk in the balls and telling him to fuck off.
“Thank you,” he says, sliding into the seat across from me. His eyes glint icy blue as he picks up the menu. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
