by Julia Mills
Again, a knowing grin curved his perfect lips and in a reassuring tone, Roarke suggested, “I was going to say that you should follow me in your car. That way, after you speak with my boss, you are free to go.”
Completely taken off guard and feeling more than a little foolish that I was accusing the one person who’d been helpful since all of this shit happened, I blew out the breath I’d been holding, nodded my head, and gave a half-chuckle, “Oh, okay, that sounds good.”
We both seemed to be deep in thought on the ride down to the parking garage. Roarke followed me to my car and held my door as he explained, “I already called one of our cleanup crews to come replace your door and get rid of the mess the vandals left behind. Anything that is salvageable will be left in your apartment for you to go through when you return.”
“Wow, thank you,” was all I could say. If Roarke was so accommodating, I could only imagine what his boss would be like.
Shutting my door, he motioned for me to roll down the window. “I’m in that black Jaguar.” He pointed. “Just follow me. We’re going to the Adolphus on Commerce.”
“A hotel?” I squeaked.
More smiling, this time with a low rumbling chuckle. “Never fear, my boss owns the top three floors.”
I’m not sure that made me feel any better, but nonetheless, I followed him through early morning traffic, into the Adolphus’ underground parking garage, and straight into a complete row of parking right next to the elevators that was marked RESERVED. Before I could get the car shut off, Roarke was opening my door and waiting for me to exit.
We took an absolutely gorgeous elevator, complete with a red velvet covered bench and mirrors adorned with gold frames, to the nineteenth floor, exited directly in front of a huge granite reception desk, and walked in like we owned the place. Or rather, Roarke walked in like he owned the place. I followed along like a country mouse seeing the city for the first time.
Making our fifth or maybe it was sixth turn, my escort stopped, opened a tall door, and motioned for me to enter. Stepping over the threshold, I held back my gasp as I took in a beautifully appointed conference room. It appeared that the boss, as I had come to think of him on the drive over, had good taste and the money to back it up.
The entire wall directly across from me was ceiling-to-floor windows that overlooked the Dallas skyline. The décor was nothing short of a decorator’s dream with a long mahogany table, credenzas, and a podium at the front, high back camel-colored leather chairs. Paintings from Homer, Cole, and Meade decorated the three walls and fresh flowers adorned the table tops. Roarke interrupted my gawking as he pointed to the tray of food at the end of the table and said, “Have something to eat while you wait.”
Looking over my shoulder, I quickly asked, “Where are you going? Are you just dumping me here?”
The second the words were out of my mouth, I wished them back. But it was too late. There was a glimmer in his hooded eyes and a smirk on his lips. “I’ll be back. Just have something to eat. I know you have to be hungry.”
Trying to maintain a modicum of self-respect, I walked forward as I answered over my shoulder, “Thank you. I could do with something to eat and some tea.”
I swear I heard him laugh as he shut the door and I promised myself to give him a rash of shit about it when I saw him again, but for the time being, my stomach was growling at the smell of fresh baked bread, eggs, and bacon, and I needed a cup of tea more than I needed air. It took me a second to make myself touch the Royal Dalton china but hunger won out and I began to eat.
I had just put the cover back over my empty plate and made my second cup of tea when Mr. Monroe, the attorney from the police station appeared, preceded by a tall, voluptuous woman wearing a perfectly tailored black suit, stilettos I knew were Louboutin’s, and black hair that flowed over her shoulders and down her back like ebony water. I watched as the woman glided across the room, took a seat about midway down the table with the sun at her back, and laid her black leather portfolio beside her. I was amazed by the perfection of her makeup, the length of her pointed red nails, and the grace with which she did everything, to and including, placing her silver pen on the table.
The sound of Mr. Monroe’s baritone broke the spell the mystery woman had created as he asked, “Madame de Beaufort, may I get you a cup of tea?”
“That would be lovely, thank you.” Her flowing French accent matched the woman in both poise and perfection. I had no idea who she was or why she was here, but I was enjoying the show.
Placing a cup and saucer then a small pitcher of milk and a bowl of sugar in front of the woman, Mr. Monroe turned to me and, with a smile that looked like he was running for political office, said, “Hello again, Miss Worthy.” Then with a sweeping gesture said, “May I introduce, Madame de Beaufort.”
Unsure what was happening but feeling like some momentous occasion was upon me, I stood, made my way around the table, and held out my hand while saying, “It’s very nice to meet you, Madame de Beaufort. I’m Katharine Worthy.”
Looking me up and down as if I was on the auction block and she were doing the bidding, the Madame finally laid her cold, lily-white hand in mine and said, “It is nice to meet you also, Katharine.” The way her accent wrapped around my name made me sound way more important than I was and I had to admit I liked it, but there was something about the way I could feel her staring at me as I walked away that made me uneasy.
Taking his place directly across from Madame de Beaufort, Mr. Monroe placed his cup then his briefcase on the table before swiveling in his chair and addressing me again. “I hear there was a bit of trouble after our last meeting. Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine. My apartment needs a visit from the Property Brothers.” I sighed then added, “But my mother used to say things can be replaced, people cannot.”
“You mother sounds like a very wise woman,” Madame de Beaufort commented as she sipped her tea while watching me over the rim of her cup.
Feeling completely out of place with exhaustion barking at my heels, I dropped all pretense and asked, “Do either of you have any idea what I’m doing here?”
Neither had time to answer as the door swung open and in walked Roarke. Gone was the black leather jacket, jeans, and flowing dark hair. Now he was dressed in a custom made, perfectly fit, black woolen suit with a crisp white dress shirt, red silk tie with matching pocket square, and wearing black double-buckle Christian Louboutin’s. His hair was combed back and gathered at the nape of his neck with a black leather tie.
He strode into the room as if he owned it, sat in the chair to my right, and just as he opened his mouth to speak, it all came rushing back. I saw the huge oil portrait that hung in the entrance to the Methodist Dallas Medical Center, recognized the voice that had addressed the faculty and staff of the hospital once a year at the annual meeting, and put the name Roarke together with the Roarke Group and jumped to my feet, shouting, “You! Oh my God, it’s you!” Then accused, “Haven’t you done enough?”
Chapter Four
“I’m not exactly sure what you mean?” His voice had become just as formal as his clothing and the shocked look on his face at my outrage only added to the surreal experience unfolding around me.
“You don’t know what I mean? How could I have been so freakin’ blind?” I threw my hands in the air. “How about telling the police that I stole narcotics?” I pointed at him, completely ignoring the others in the room. “Or pressing charges after I was assured that wouldn’t happen?” I pushed my finger into his well-muscled chest. “Didn’t think I’d been humiliated enough?” Another poke to the chest. “Yes, I made a mistake.” One more poke. “Yes, I should’ve found another way to help the kids.” Yet another poke. “But I didn’t, okay?” Two pokes. “And I’m paying the price.”
One last poke to the chest, followed by a spin, and I jumped out of my chair, paced to the window and back, then bent down until I was eye-to-eye with Roarke of the Roarke Group, Roarke Industries,
Roarke Publishing, Roarke Beverages, and a bunch of other companies I couldn’t remember, and let all my frustrations flow. I was squaring off with one of the top ten richest men in the world per Forbes Magazine and acting like a total lunatic, but in for a penny, in for a pound as my grandma used to say. “And you know what, Roarke?” I said his name like it tasted bad on my tongue because right now, it did. “I’d do it all again to save those kids from scum-sucking, drug-dealing vampires.” Plopping into the chair that was a good way from the table, I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at the billionaire, daring him to speak.
Deafening silence filled the room as I stared into his stormy grey eyes. It was disconcerting to see amusement rather than anger, coupled with a great deal of intrigue. An expert in business, I had no doubt Roarke was letting me see exactly what he wanted me to see. A man like him did not amass the fortunes or businesses or power he possessed by wearing his feelings on his sleeves. No, we were engaged in some sort of negotiations that I had not been made privy to until this moment.
I had always heard that the key to success in business was knowing when to talk, when to listen, and when to let the other person speak first. From the looks of it, Roarke had invented the adage. So when he spoke, and it was with cool, crisp enunciation as the color of his eyes began to resemble gunmetal, I was sure it was time for me to listen.
“Katharine, I am not known for my patience. But in this instance, I am summoning all that I have for your, shall we say, explosive behavior, because of all that you have been through. That has now come to an end.” He sat back, steepled his fingers under his chin, and took a deep breath, which I only knew occurred because I saw his shoulders rise and fall before he continued.
“Before we go any further, I’d like to make a few things very clear. The hospital nor its administration filed criminal charges against you. Neither did they or any of their representatives accuse you either in word or in writing of the theft of narcotics.” He sat up and placed his forearm on the corner of the table. “These instances are being investigated by my own people and you can rest assured that I will not stop until I have found the parties responsible and they have been dealt with. Am I clear?”
Nodding because I wasn’t sure I could speak at the moment as the words Roarke and vampire kept circling my brain, I sat perfectly still as he looked deep into my eyes. It felt as if he was rifling through my mind to make sure I did indeed understand and was going to comply with his request. Finally, after long tense seconds in which I held my breath, he spoke again.
“Now, for the reason I brought you here.” He paused and I again felt like he was looking into my soul. “I have a way to help with your recent money issues, the loss of your job, and even in having your nurse’s license reinstated. Not to mention, finding good homes for all the children that are in your care.”
The children! Oh crap, I felt horrible. In all the confusion of being arrested, released, and sitting in a room with not only one of the most influential vampires in the world, but also two other fanged creatures, I had completely forgotten to ask about my kids.
“How are they?” I gasped, scooting to the end of my seat and using my feet to get closer to the table. “Where are they? Can I see them?”
“Please know that they are well and also asking for you. But for the time being, we need to keep you and the children separate. I want to draw out the drug dealers who were abusing them and terrorizing you before you can be reunited.”
I guess what Roarke said made sense, but I was suddenly filled with a sadness, a whole new sense of loss that I hadn’t expected. It wasn’t like I ever thought I was going to keep the kids and raise them as my own or anything like that, but I felt responsible. I had gotten used to taking care of them, having them smile when I popped in to check on them, and basically being important to someone other than myself.
“As I was saying,” Roarke went on, either unaware or not willing to give into my sudden mood change. “I have a proposition for you. For thirty days, I would like you to be my courtesan. You will be trained, paid handsomely for your time, and at the end of our time together be allowed to leave and return to your life.”
I was stunned, unable to think, barely able to breathe, certainly shocked into temporary paralysis. A courtesan? Was this guy for real? I had heard of vampire courtesans but only as whispers and idle gossip. In my little corner of the world they didn’t exist and I, most certainly, was not one of them.
Searching my brain for what I’d heard about the girls who were in service to the vampires, I remembered that blood and sex go together in a vamp’s mind and that drinking their blood doesn’t turn you into one unless your system is overwhelmed with it. There was also something about a bond that can be created between a human and a vampire when they shared blood, but it sounded gross so I had blocked it out. Other than that, I was totally clueless and still unable to do anything but stare at Roarke like he’d just said we were flying to the moon to plant daisies.
Watching as he stood and buttoned his jacket, I could feel our meeting coming to a close and was more confused than ever. Just about to force myself to speak, I slammed my lips shut when he beat me to the punch. “Madame de Beaufort is here to give you the initial screening and go over the contracts with you. She will also be in charge of your training, which I know will be a formality should you choose to take me up on my offer.”
He stepped away from his chair. “Mr. Monroe and I have business to discuss.” He stopped, leveled his powerful gaze at me, and added, “Whether you stay or go, the choice is yours.” He turned and exited the room.
The last few moments played over and over in my head until Madame de Beaufort cleared her throat, nearly scaring me to death because I had forgotten she was there, and said, “Shall we begin?”
I looked up, surprised to see her right next to me holding a red file folder, and gave a barely discernable nod. “Good. I like my girls to be decisive and to be able to think on their feet.”
Her girls? A courtesan? Vampires? How the hell had I gotten involved with not only drug-dealing scum-sucking vampires, but the high-society, seemingly law-abiding ones too? These fanged assholes had been the reason I was the last living person in the Worthy line. They had been indirectly responsible for the death of my parents by starting a riot in the little town I grew up in about thirty minutes from Dallas that resulted in a fire and a building collapse that claimed the lives of eighty-two people, including Bob and Mary Worthy, my mom and dad.
Then there was my brother, Jeremy. He had never gotten over the death of our parents. In the end, he quit his job, lived on the streets, and chased vampires. He said it was his way of ridding the world of the parasites who killed innocent people like Mom and Dad.
One night he was chasing a group of younger vamps, the ones they called rogues, those who didn’t follow all the fancy rules and sucked the blood of unwilling and unsuspecting victims. Jeremy was just about to light the arrow on his crossbow and burn the suckers down when one of them snuck around, jerked him up by the collar of his coat, and threw him to the vamps waiting below.
The police report said he had over two hundred bites all over his body. I only ever saw his face and followed his wishes to the letter by having him cremated and taking his ashes to the same hill behind our old house where we’d scattered Mom and Dad’s.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen. A quote my favorite history professor used quite frequently floated through my mind. Had I fallen? Had I ever been mighty? Was Roarke’s offer the only way I was ever going to have a normal life again? Lord knew if I wasn’t a nurse, I didn’t know what I was. Since kindergarten, it’s what I had worked toward. It was my calling. I could flip burgers or stock shelves; I was able. It would pay the bills, but I wouldn’t be fulfilled. If this vampire could give nursing back to me, then didn’t I have to try? And to his credit, the man was quite easy on the eyes.
Deep in my own thoughts, I forced myself to tune back in to Madame de Beaufort’s speech just as she s
aid, “Before we go any farther, we must get one thing straight. Yelling at Roarke, acting like a lunatic, and flailing about is not appropriate behavior for a vampire courtesan and will not be tolerated. Should it occur again, you may consider your contract null and void and you will be required to return all funds previously given to you.” She tapped the tip of her long red nail on the table as she raised a single eyebrow and asked, “Am I clear?”
When I nodded, she added, “And nodding is not an answer. Yes, we have preternatural hearing as well as many other acute senses, but it is just common courtesy to verbally respond when asked a question. So, let’s try this again. Do you understand, Katharine?”
The thought of nodding just to be a bitch crossed my mind. I also considered clawing her eyes out, stomping on her toe, and calling her a cow, but since she’d made it clear I was not only outmanned but outclassed, I put on as sweet of a smile as I could muster and replied, “Yes, Madame de Beaufort. I understand.”
“Thank you.” She opened the file she’d placed on the table, sat in the chair next to mine, and after reading what looked like chicken scratch, asked, “What do you know of the vampire courtesans?”
I wasn’t sure what she specifically wanted to know and it wasn’t like I’d ever met one. At least, I didn’t think I had, so I answered with the only things I knew. “Wealthy vampires pay a courtesan for thirty days as a way to feed without breaking any laws or harming unsuspecting humans?”
She nodded and made a note in her cryptic script then with raised eyebrows asked, “And?”
Now, I was at a loss. What else could she want me to say? Thankfully, the Madame picked up where I was failing. “Blood is a vampire’s only source of nourishment. They do not eat food but do enjoy fine wine and spirits. As with your chicken, shall we say, I am sure you have a certain way you like it to taste. A blend of spices that is your favorite, yes?”
