“No, Kap…you don’t need to remind me I’ll feed tonight,” I promise. “Now, give me the rundown on the Boston property.”
The Boston waterfront is one of our latest ventures in the expansion of the Lenox Hotel properties. Currently, there are eight scattered all over the world, including London, Paris, Millan, Sydney, Las Vegas, and Tokyo. Not to mention, of course, my personal favorite, New York City, where Kap’s offices and the JDL International headquarters sit.
While all aspects of JDL International are one hundred percent legitimate businesses, trading on all platforms, including the New York Stock Exchange, we are a world-renowned company known for our attention to detail and the discerning tastes of the luxury crowd. Our discretion for both our human and non-human guests is our number-one priority.
All Lenox Hotels around the world also serve as a haven for any vampire or other species requiring food, shelter, or asylum from persecution. While we follow all employment laws and don’t discriminate against humans working for us, the majority of our employees tend to be non-human, coming from a variety of different species and backgrounds. The only requirement for working in front of the house is that they must at least be able to pass for humans, even in New York.
“Jaxon, are you even listening to anything I’m saying?” She knows me too well and is one of the few people who is never afraid to call me out on my bullshit… clearly. Her no-BS attitude is one of many traits that have gained her my respect and adoration over the years.
I run my hands up my face and through my hair as I gaze across the city. “No, not a word. I’ll meet you in the office in about an hour. We can go over the business then.”
“Fine.” Her frustration with me is evident in her tone. “If you could be so kind as to feed before our meeting. I would appreciate your undivided attention when going over multi-million dollar investments. And you not looking at me like I am a slab of Kobe beef.”
“Watch your attitude with me, Kap. I’m not as nice as you think I am.” My voice is deep and stern, and if it were anyone but Kap, they would be reduced to a sorry, shaking mess.
“Ummm, hmm, yeah. Meet me at my office in an hour, ready to pay attention.”
I let out a laugh as I disconnect the call. She has always been one of my favorite people. No sooner than I tossed the phone down on the bed, did it vibrate again. Zachriel’s smug face and extended middle finger appear on the screen.
“Zach, man. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Zachriel is one of the original seven Blood Angels, his fall about five hundred years after mine. Needless to say, we are about as close as brothers. Despite our friendship, we are also opposites. Our similarities begin and end with our height and body type, which all Archangels possess. We both stand six feet six and have a similar, natural muscular build. The kind that screams don’t fuck with me.
But I tend to wear my dark black hair shorter, more board room appropriate. Although these days, I seem to need a haircut. Zach wears his hair long and generally pulled back into some ultra-trendy man bun. And I ridicule him about it every chance I get. But his tattooed, bad-boy, scruffy features work wonders on his adoring fans.
He is currently one of the hottest rock stars to hit the airwaves in decades, and the sleep-all-day, party-all-night lifestyle of a rock god is the perfect cover.
“I just rolled into the city for a few shows. Think I’ll hit up Rise tonight. Won’t be the same without you.”
“I’ll be at the Lenox for a meeting with Kap in about an hour. I’ll meet you up there when I’m finished.”
“Is she still fucking hot?”
All I can do was shake my head. He knows better. “She’s off-limits, Zach.”
Kapalaran or Kap, as she prefers to be called, is part of a very elite group of humans. Through our long lives, the seven of us were able to locate families with angelic-genetics deep in their DNA that enable them to protect us during times of weakness, like extreme sunlight or starvation.
In return, we protect them as if they are family, which includes each other. While they are human, most, including Kap, enjoy a dramatically slower rate of aging, which can be extended further by drinking the blood of one of us, once a year.
“So that’s a yes, she’s still fucking hot.”
“She doesn’t put up with any of my shit. Do you honestly think even if she weren’t off limits to you, she would put up with your man-whore ways for more than a minute? Besides, she’s married.”
“Maybe I’ll just, you know, stop in and say hi. Doesn’t her niece or something work for you too? Maybe I’ll stop in and see her, then. Give her the panty-dropping Zach smile. What’s her name? Sherry, Cheryl …. Shellie. She’s a tight little piece of ass.”
I know he is kidding. Messing with Kap or anyone in her family is strictly forbidden, not that he doesn’t follow his own set of rules. But I am pretty sure he won’t cross me like that, so I let it slide. “Goodbye, Zach. I’ll meet you at Rise after my meeting.” I disconnect the phone without letting him finish.
MAITLIN
“Fuck.” I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, questioning every life choice I’ve made up to this point. I don’t know why I bother—they are all undeniably wrong, or… questionable at best.
It has been exactly six weeks since I packed up all my belongings in Boston while Neil, my cheating, now ex-fiancé, tried to explain what he was doing in our bed with his assistant riding him like a prize bull.
To complicate things, he was my boss, so I had to quit my job or face jail time for murdering him and hiding his body in the mailroom. And while the latter seemed much more appropriate, I’ve never looked good in orange, even if it is the new black.
In retrospect, picking up everything I own and schlepping to New York City may have been a hasty move on my part. But since his father, Neil Colebrook Sr., owns the company, it was really for the best. Truth be told, I miss the job way more than I miss Neil.
Lucky for me, I have Shellie, my crazy as hell, live-by-the-seat-of-her-pants best friend to thank for taking my sorry ass in off the proverbial street. More accurately, I suppose I should thank her grandmother for leaving her the swanky brownstone on the Upper East Side, and enough money that she can pretty much do what she wants—and she does—including not charging my sorry ass any rent.
I do, of course, insist on paying her something. I mean, I’m not entirely destitute. Seriously, I can’t not pay her for the fantastic apartment and the fact that she is essentially saving me from being homeless.
Or a fate much worse—going back to my parents. At twenty-eight, that is not going to happen. They have already made it quite clear that moving in with Neil and working at his company was a bad idea. The last thing I want to do is prove them right.
Granted, in my haste to grab everything I could while Neil trailed around me naked, trying to explain that “it wasn’t what it looked like,” I neglected the fact that we joined all of our finances. Sadly, when I tried to use my card, it was declined.
According to the plethora of voicemails Neil left, if I agree to talk to him, he will unlock the account. So until I get back on my feet, I’ll take Shellie’s generous hospitality, because it will be a cold day in hell before I listen to anything Neil has to say.
In the meantime, I have quite literally blanketed the marketing world with my resume. So it’s only a matter of time before I have a big-girl career again and my life back in order.
But, until that time, Shellie got me a bartending gig at the Lenox New York, the hotel where she works, not that she has to. She says it’s to help her find hot, rich guys who don’t care that she has money because they also have plenty.
I think her logic is slightly flawed, but who am I to judge? Besides, the job pays okay. Nowhere near what my marketing degree paid, but it’s a stable gig and leaves most of my days free to interview.
Knuckles rap on my bedroom door. “Mait, you just about ready? We’re gonna be late if you don’t get your cute littl
e ass moving.” Shellie’s voice brings me back from my mental meanderings.
“Give me a sec, I’m just finishing up,” I answer while pulling my long, chestnut-colored hair up into a messy yet stylish bun on top of my head, then swipe another coat of mascara on. I opted to do a smoky eye, which makes my light blue eyes pop even more.
I learned while bartending in college that sexy eyes get just as many tips as good cleavage. Luckily for me, I have both.
The uniform at the Lenox is quite a bit more conservative than any other bar I’ve ever worked for. It consists of a black, knee-length skirt and a crisp, white button-down. Whoever thinks that a white blouse is a good idea to wear while tending bar has probably never worked behind a bar a day in their life. Most nights, I leave wearing more spilled drinks than I served.
I’m giving the uniform my best attempt to look conservative but am failing miserably. I still look like Jessica Rabbit dressing to go to church. But what can I do? I have hips, a tiny waist, and boobs. Conservative isn’t in my wheelhouse.
I do up one more button than I would. “Looks like you’re trying too hard,” I say to my reflection as I undo the offending final button.
“Come on. We’re going to be late,” Shellie barks at me from the other side of the door.
When I finally exit the bathroom, Shellie stands in front of me wearing the same black, knee-length skirt and white, cotton button-down impatiently tapping the toe of her black-heeled stiletto. The only difference is, on her, the outfit seems to have the desired conservative effect. We are both five feet six, and theoretically, we’re the same size. Where I have curves, however, she has none.
“Damn, girl, why don’t I have your genetics? We’re wearing the same damn thing, yet you look hot. And I look like I’m about to guide you over to the periodical section of the fucking library?” Shellie squeezes her A-cups together, making a lame attempt at cleavage. “Do you think I need a boob job?”
I can’t help but laugh at her absurdity. “No, you don’t need a boob job.” I smile and look down at the straining buttons across my chest. “And if I breathe too deeply, my genetics are going to bust loose.”
*~*~*
Once we finally got to the Lenox and stuff our belongings into our lockers, Shellie heads to Arch, the posh restaurant that reeks of the old world charm that nowadays is tough to find. It is where billion-dollar deals are made and brokered over Kobe beef and fifty-year-old scotch that cost more than I currently make in a month.
The beautiful and opulent dark teak wood, high ceilings, ornate carvings, and plush leather make it the perfect backdrop for business. It’s a charming throwback to another era. I suppose it isn’t even a throwback since The Lenox was built a hundred years ago. It isn’t a homage to a bygone era; it is the era itself.
If Arch is for business, then Rise is for play.
Sitting atop the luxury hotel, it overlooks the entire city with its three hundred and sixty-degree view. It is trendy, sleek, and modern, and no expense was spared. The glass and chrome half-moon bar sits dead center, the ambient glow from the under lighting casting golden shadows across the bamboo flooring.
On the back side of the bar is a stone fireplace that is lit nightly. Even on hot summer days like today, thirty stories up there is pretty much always a chill in the air. Trees and plants are strategically placed along with high top tables and rustic seating areas, allowing small, intimate gathering spots.
It is the type of place where the who’s who of New York come to see and be seen. And on a beautiful Friday night in July like tonight, it is going to be slammed… all night.
By the time I get to the roof, it is just about six-thirty, and the Friday night after-work crowd is starting to filter in. It will still be a few hours before the place is bustling. But after sunset, it will be wall to wall people all vying for the attention of myself and my nightly partner in crime, Leif.
“How’s the night been so far, big guy?” I ask Leif while I check the stock on my side of the bar. As his name suggests, he is your everyday Norse god. He stands over six feet tall and has dirty blond hair that, when it is out of its top-knot, just brushes his broad shoulders. He also sports a beard and a full array of tattoos that peek out from his collar and his rolled-up sleeves.
Truthfully he’d be more at home at a biker bar serving beer out of questionably clean glasses than at Rise mixing cosmos. Combine all that with the fact that he is probably the nicest guy I have ever met, and he’s your essential panty dropper.
Perhaps, in another life where I haven’t sworn off men, I would have been all over that. But thanks to Neil and his extracurricular activities, I learned my lesson about dating someone you work with… or is it for? It doesn’t matter, lesson learned. So instead of lusting after Leif, we’ve become friends… how’s that for fucking growth?
“Oh, you know, just our average Friday night of making cosmos and dirties underway,” he jokes while shaking said martini shaker. “Any new news from the asshole?”
I love how he refers to Neil as “the asshole,” which, of course, he is. “Not unless you consider the endless stream of voicemails he’s left me telling me to talk to him.”
“You know the offer still stands. I have a few friends, and we’d all be more than happy to take a ride up to Boston and …”
I put my finger over his mouth, silencing him before he can say another word. The last thing any of us needs is for someone to overhear him threatening to maim or kill Neil. “Don’t say it. Because one of these days I’m going to take you up on the offer.”
Leif and I have an excellent working rapport. We laugh and joke while mixing drinks faster than any other bartenders currently working at Rise. This is probably the reason we are typically the only ones scheduled on Friday and Saturday nights. Anyone else will get in our way and slow us down.
By the time midnight rolls around and the bar is in full swing, my sleeves are rolled up, and that pesky button across my chest has long since popped, revealing the white lace bra underneath. So much for their conservative image, but hello tips. My once cute, meticulously-styled messy bun now looks like I stuck my head in a blender while making a frozen margarita.
I take a moment to fix myself in the sliver of a mirror I can see between the bottles behind the bar. It is going to be a quick fix, fiddling with my hair tie, trying to get the mess on my head to look less…homeless and more purposely messy.
An odd feeling washes over me. I run my hand over the back of my neck, where all the little hairs are standing on end. I take a glance over my shoulder, half expecting to see Neil standing there watching me. But there’s no one.
I bend forward once again to see my tattered reflection while securing my hair, and that’s when my eyes meet his. They’re dark and penetrating, seeming to cut through the crowded bar to gaze straight into mine. I can feel my heart beating in my chest, and hear the sound of my rushing blood pounding in my ears as I stay captivated by his stare.
Despite the heat from the July night, I feel my nipples pucker. A chill runs over my skin, and I can feel a rush of excitement between my legs. His eyes close, and I watch as he inhales the air, a devilish smile creeping across his handsome face and … fuck me, are those fangs? The last thing I need is some aging raver. No, thank you.
I spin around, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man across the bar. Instead, I feel my heel catch on the rubber of the mat, and my balance falters. I let out a squeal as I twist my ankle and nearly tumble to the ground.
“Whoa, there killer.” Leif reaches out and grabs me before I can plummet to the ground in my haste to see who those eyes had belonged to. His hand rests on my arms as he steadies me. “You’re shaking like a leaf. What got into you? Are you okay?”
“I just… I thought I saw.” I stumble over my words, not able to comprehend what my mind thought it saw.
“Was it Neil? That fucker better not have shown his face here. He’s a dead man if he’s here.” The anger emanating from him is palpable.
> I love that my coworker has such a protective stance about me and is willing to do bodily harm to my ex. But that isn’t what I saw. I can’t even explain to him what I saw without sounding like I am on drugs or crazy…or perhaps both. All I can do is shake my head no as I steady myself and peek around Leif’s massive body.
I expect to see nothing. Instead, leaning on the opposite side of the bar stands the most captivating man I have ever seen.
All thought of what I cannot have possibly seen vanishes as I push away from Leif and try in vain to fix my disheveled clothing and hair before approaching him and asking for his order. After all, this is a bar, and I’m a bartender. I’m sure that’s why he’s here.
“Hi,” Is the only word I can muster, my throat suddenly dry as a bone.
JAXON
The music pumps through the rooftop bar as people drink, dance, and hunt. For blood or sex, it doesn’t matter. At this time of night during the summer months, Rise becomes more of a nightclub than just an expensive bar in which to be seen. The sweet smell of sweat and sex permeates the night air, and satiating my hunger here would be easy, though dangerous.
I spot Zach and his entourage holding court against the back wall with a group of unsuspecting, star-struck women cooing over him. I’m about to make my way over when my eyes land on the stunning brunette behind the bar. She is mesmerizing, and I can’t pull my gaze from her.
It has been a few months since I’ve been up to visit Rise, so she must be relatively new. There is no other explanation, and I would have never forgotten her. I rarely forget a face, and hers would have been seared into my memory by fire.
I stand transfixed by her as I watch her from the rear of the bar. She laughs and playfully engages with Leif, the other bartender. He’s a male shifter, whom I’ve spoken to a few times when the bar was less crowded. He was friendly enough and someone I might call a friend. However, tonight, the desire to rip his throat out for smiling at the sexy brunette is… unsettling, to say the least.
Jaxon (Blood Angel Chronicles Book 1) Page 2
