Page 8 of Claiming Her Vampire

“Why?” He studies me now.

“I needed a change.” I keep my fake smile in place. I don’t trust this man.

“I see. Do you have family here?” He tears his eyes away when a loud thud comes from upstairs. “Remodeling,” he explains when I jump.

“I have a friend I’m staying with.” Maybe this wasn't the best idea. I’ve been on too many interviews, and none of them seemed so curious about my life before.

“That’s good. We all need friends.” Did he just roll his eyes at himself?

“Sure,” I agree cautiously.

“Can you start tonight?” he asks suddenly.

“That’s it? The interview is over?”

“Listen, we are short-staffed. Our best waitress quit. We need someone right away, and you have more experience than any other applicants,” he says hurriedly.

“Alright, is there a uniform?”

“Yes.” Another thump causes me to look to the ceiling. “But let's worry about that later. I have some paperwork for you to fill out. The others should show up by the time you get done with that. They can show you how it all works here.” He stands up and backs away even further. “Give me a few, and I’ll bring the papers.” He moves unnaturally fast from the room.

I have second thoughts, especially when I hear more thuds from upstairs. The only thing that keeps me in my seat is the amount of money I would be making here. I would have to get three waitressing jobs to equal it. I found the job online and the benefits are too good to be true. I had to see if it was legit.

Maybe that man is having a bad day. He didn’t even tell me his name. I take in my surroundings. The space is enormous. Two long bars sit opposite each other with a large dance floor between them. Everything’s dark: the walls, the floor, and the seating scattered around. When it’s flooded with people and the lights are dimmed, it would be almost impossible to see.

I’m not a big drinker. I have indulged a little, but I never liked being out of control of my actions. The one time I got drunk, I was so out of it. The stories from my friends the next day are not flattering. I like to talk and take my clothes off, and dance. Since then, the most I have had is a glass of wine. While I was with Tom, he didn’t allow me to do that, even though he drank as much as he wanted. Tom didn’t have any rules for himself. He had lots of friends. Once a week, he had a poker night, never at our place. It was too small. He kept his house and gathered all his friends there. I didn’t mind, and it gave me time to myself when I could let my guard down.

The problems started when he arrived home, almost always drunk, ready to battle with me over anything he could think of. That was the first time he hit me. I remember the shock more than the pain of his fist hitting my face. It hurt like a bitch, don’t get me wrong, but I couldn’t believe he punched me. I was confused; I had never been in a fight before. I never raised my hand to anyone. I should have left then and never let it get as far as it did.

That was a chapter I will never forget. The fear. The pain. The anger.

“Here we are.” The white-haired man throws the papers onto the bar, sliding them down to me. When he left, he was pristine. Suit pressed to perfection, hair perfectly in place. Now his tie is crooked, his jacket wrinkled and unbuttoned, and his hair is sticking up in every direction. I study him clinically. He’s a handsome man. But I feel nothing but an appreciation for his beauty.

Is that blood on his collar?

“Are you alright?” I ask, not able to stop the words.

“Of course.” He runs his hands through his hair. “Dangerous going through a work zone.”

“What’s your name?”

“I’m sorry, Sebastian. You can call me Bash.”

“Bash. Serenity. You can call me Ren. My friends do.” I hold out my hand.

He looks from my hand to me with actual fear on his face. “I wouldn’t want to get you dirty. I think I got some dirt on mine. From the construction.” He rubs imaginary dirt from his hands.

Dirt? Blood? What are they doing up there? “Okay.” This just keeps getting weirder.

“If you could fill those out for us. That would be great.” He smiles, awkward. Either he doesn’t do it much, or he’s in pain.

“Do you have a pen?” I ask. He reaches into his jacket pocket and throws it toward me. I arch an eyebrow when it bounces twice before landing in front of me.

I realize this is the first time I have been alone with a man since being with Tom. I should be afraid or nervous but am just filled with confusion. By now, I can tell if a man is a danger to me. Bash is not, no matter how off he is. He’s going out of his way not to be close at all. I appreciate it; his reasons don’t matter.

“I’ll check on you soon,” he mutters and practically runs away.

I hope I don’t have to work very closely with him. He may have a heart attack and die if he’s forced to.

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