Page 31 of The Biting Bargain

"Wow, you must have made quite an impression," Marigold says when I finish. "Companion? Like on the fetish blog?"

"Without the sex part," I add quickly, pulling my legs up to my body. "He just needs me for show. To make a good impression in his Masonic vampire club."

"Yeah, right." Marigold grins. "Why would he bother with you when he can hire any actress for a job like this?"

"Well, thank you very much."

"Come on, you know exactly how I mean it, Pol." Marigold grins wider. Now that my life is no longer in danger, she's hell-bent on analyzing my love life again. "Something happened at Club Sanguine that you’re not telling me, right?"

"Maybe..." I say — trying to ignore the memory of that strangest and best of orgasms bubbling up inside me like champagne in a bottle. Holy crap, and how "something" happened. My head is still spinning just thinking about it. But that was just an accident, right? Vincent has made it painfully clear that this arrangement is just a business deal and I'm just going to be his arm candy. And that's probably for the best, considering what happened the last time we lost control.

"So it’s just a follow-up to your drone job at Club Sanguine?"

"Kinda," I mutter. "Bite Only", though."

And I'm not even sure about that. Is he going to drink from me? Will he bite my wrist this time? We have not talked about that at all.

"Okay, as long as you're safe and not under duress,andthe guy treats you decently, you have my blessing," Marigold says. "He does, doesn't he? And you're really fine, right?"

"Yeah, I'm really fine." I nod in affirmation. "Please don't worry about me. I know what I'm doing. Two million, Marigold! Two frickin’ million!"

Not only can I make the Patrick problem go away. I can buy Dad a new refrigerator, a good one with Nasa technology and laser beams. I can gift Grandma the Caribbean cruise she's been dreaming about for as long as I can remember. And I can help my girlfriends, who all have their own little problems to deal with, I could throw some money at…

"You could finally sign up for that fashion design school thingy." Marigold looks at me sharply. I shake my head.

"I'm not good enough."

"Bullshit." Marigold glares. "Those schools teach you to be good. It’s literally their job. And your portfolio will knock their shoes off."

I slump down and fake a smile. "Let's talk about how I'm going to spend the money when I get it, okay?"

"All right, killjoy." Marigold pouts, rattling with dishes. "Check in with us, though, will you? So we know you're okay."

"Sure thing," I mutter. I have to pick up my stuff these days anyway, right? Clothes and such. My charger, my laptop... God, I haven't thought all this through. I don't even have a toothbrush here.

"And also call if anything happens." Marigold looks at me pointedly. "Anything. Do you hear me?"

"Yeah." I laugh, and at that moment there's a knock on the door and Aidan, the outrageously cheery PA/medical doctor enters, wheeling in a cart full of takeout. "The only thing happening right now is my dinner."

"At three in the morning?"

"Hey, you're baking at three in the morning."

"Totally your fault." Marigold smiles. "Eat something. Sleep. Check in tomorrow."

"Sure thing."

"Good girl."

At least she's no longer worried. But I still text her the number of my new boss’s PA, just in case something comes up.

ChapterTwelve

Vincent

Good girl.

My little companion behaves. She’s on the phone. But she isn’t contacting that scumbag Stellan Di Angelo. Also, no calls to the press to sell the story of Vincent Renard the werewolf, the scoop of the century. She called a few friends or some family members, I reckon, but didn't tell anything that would compromise me. Apparently it sank into that cute little skull of hers that she will only earn her money — and her freedom — when she plays the game by my rules.

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