Page 16 of The Biting Bargain

And I just took another look at my bank account. Of course, the 10,000 bucks didn't get transferred.

As if things weren’t bad enough, my mind keeps circling back to my client. Vincent. Just thinking of his name puts my body back into that strange buzzing aliveness.

By now I've replayed every detail of our encounter back and forth, gone over every nuance of the conversation, every little detail I can remember.

I really felt like I was handling my first stint as a luxury drone just fine, despite the mess with my bruised forearms. He bit me. He drank my blood. And he didn't seem like he didn't enjoy it. I mean, he's a filthy rich vampire for all I care, but he's also just a guy. If he wasn’t hiding a freaking bazooka in his neatly pressed trousers, he was very pleased indeed to have me straddling his lap.

Heat rushes to my head as I remember the kiss.

Thekiss.

Damn, I never knew a simple kiss could be that good.

Let's better ignore how turned on I was.

But technically, I fulfilled my part of the bargain, didn’t I? He got to drink my blood. And the... perks afterwards actually seemed to have been to his liking as well, or am I totally wrong?

So, what the hell happened? Why break that… kiss, I try desperately to forget, and snarl at me and then yell and smash a table and take off? What the hell was that?

He must have ratted me out to Jasmin, about the sculpture, about breaking the "Bite Only" rule, about whatever it was I’ve done wrong, to make sure they didn’t pay me. I should be mad. But instead, I'm worried about him, numbskull that I am. He would probably laugh at me if he knew I was wasting a single thought on him.

Colin shoots me a sour look as I stumble past him, but I ignore that, too. Colin is always in a bad mood, it's his Blue Ogre nature. And of all my bosses from all my jobs — currently there are three — he is my favorite.

Working at the Midnight Harbor is the only job where I’m treated as a decent human being, actually.

I find the phone in the back office — an ancient analog apparatus, with a dial and everything, because Colin hates any "new" technology like the plague — and pick up the receiver lying next to it. Dad, as usual, is in the middle of yelling a sentence.

"…and I fucking told that bastard of a son of a bitch three fucking times that the transformer is trash and that I want my money back, but Benno ripped me off again, and guess what, shit hit the fan and our entire supplies for the next two weeks are going down the fucking drain!"

"Dad, slow down," I try to interrupt him, but I need another two tries before I remotely figure out that basically the main freezer unit has shorted out, the basement of our restaurant is completely flooded, and Grandma is busy trying to salvage the supplies while Dad and the staff try to rescue what’s left.

"You need to get over here," Dad informs me, and as always manages the feat of simultaneously sounding like I'm his princess and like the whole mess is somehow my fault anyway. "Help your grandmother, or we'll have to shut this place down by tomorrow. For real this time."

He hangs up.

"You better make sure you get home," Colin rumbles, standing behind me like a brick wall.

"That okay?" My voice trembles as I turn around. Apparently it's not enough that some local thugs want to basically enslave me, apparently the universe has it in for the restaurant my family has been running for over fifty years. What the hell else is going to go wrong?

"You're a good daughter, Pol." Colin pushes me gently out of the office. "Trevor can cover for you here. Get the hell out and help your old man."

Sometimes the universe throws you little favors. I grab my purple red coat and bag and dash out of the door into the gathering dusk of Twin Pines.

ChapterSeven

Polly

Seven hours later,I stumble out of the subway station with aching feet, carrying two gigantic baskets filled with plastic containers. Each one is filled with steaks and weighs what feels like a ton.

"Before we throw them away, we eat them," Grandma growled, who has been in the kitchen since the fridge failure, cooking, frying and baking everything Dad and the temps had saved from the freezer.

Now I feel like I spent a month in the trenches. I was alternately mopping the floors, assisting Dad who was yelling at Benno, the filthy electrician, on the phone, helping Grandma, and serving the guests who, despite everything, flocked to the restaurant tonight. Because freeze over, or Grandma would have both her arms sawed off, than the "Bukowski’s Family Restaurant" closing.

That happened exactly one time when Mom took off, and according to Grandma, that was exactly one time too many.

"It's a shame you didn't learn a proper trade, girl," Grandma told me as she handed me the baskets full of steak containers. "What this place could use right now is a skilled clerk, not a wannabe tailor with fluff in her head."

I bit my lip and said nothing — as usual — and on the ride home I stared with burning eyes at the advertising posters for some private college hanging all over the train, promising you the career of your dreams if you just have enough money and brains between your ears not to fail the entrance exam three times.

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