Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92941 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92941 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
“I’m aware of that, you menace.”
“Mr. Miranda would help me bury a body,” I continued, looking at my bitten-down nails. “Your body if needed.”
“Sometimes I hate you a little.”
“You love me.”
“You’re a pain in my ass.”
“I swear I won’t be late again.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“I really am good at my job.”
“Any animal with opposable thumbs could do your job.”
“But would they be as discreet as I am?” I asked, leaning against the doorway as he walked behind his desk.
“I heard you talking about your job to Rena when you walked in here,” he replied dryly.
“Yeah, but I didn’t tell her anything.”
“You don’t know anything.”
“Exactly.”
“You’re giving me a headache.”
“We still on for dinner on Thursday?”
“Pete’s making some Italian recipe,” he confirmed.
“Pedro,” I corrected cheekily.
“I know my husband’s name.”
“Then why don’t you use it?”
“He’s going to have to help me bury a body,” Noah muttered as he dropped into his chair.
“Just because he went by Pete growing up in order to fit in with the whiter-than-white kids at his school doesn’t mean we can’t honor the name his parents gave him now that he’s an adult,” I murmured gently, my lips twitching.
Noah stared at me for a long moment. “He still goes by Pete,” he ground out through his teeth.
“Whatever you say,” I replied breezily.
“You call him Mr. Miranda, for fuck’s sake!”
“Well, yeah, because he was my math teacher. It would be weird if I called him Pete. Some bonds cannot be broken.”
“I love you,” he said, his eyes a little wild.
“Aw, I love you too.”
“No, I’m reminding myself. I do it when I want to toss you out the window.”
“Does it help?”
“Sometimes.”
“Oh, good. You know we’re on the first floor. At best, tossing me out the window would end in a bruised ass.”
“Might be worth it to see the look on your face.” He took a deep breath. “But I can’t today. We’ve got a potential client coming in at nine.”
“Really?”
“He said he wanted to see the lab while it was in use.”
“Strange.”
“It’s fine. At least you’re not wearing that stupid hat anymore.”
“My hair look okay?”
“Not even close.”
“Ah, well,” I shrugged, running my fingers through the tangled locks. “You win some, you lose some.”
“Go do your job,” he ordered, pointing.
“Plus, I think he’s already seen me in the hat,” I said, tapping the doorframe.
“What?”
“There was a guy out at reception when I came in.”
Noah was out of his seat and shoving me toward my sterile work area before I’d even finished my sentence.
“Good luck,” I called out as he hurried toward the front.
Walking over to the scrub area, I stashed my backpack under the counter and pulled off my jacket. I dropped my rings into a little bowl on the countertop, pulled my hair back into a tight bun, and pushed my sleeves above my elbows so I could start washing. I did it all without conscious thought, the ritual second nature.
The smell of the disinfectant soap was calming as I scrubbed underneath my fingernails and soaped up my hands and forearms. When Mr. Miranda had first offered me the job—much to Noah’s dismay—I’d been a little skeeved out about dealing with other people’s blood all day. I’d felt almost frantic as I cleaned up before and after mixing, but that anxiety had disappeared pretty early on. It was just blood. It wasn’t as if I was actually having to deal with the people it came from.
I hummed a song from beginning to end and then rinsed my arms, using the massive roll of paper towels to dry. I’d learned the hard way that if I didn’t dry off well, it would be nearly impossible to get my gloves on.
I’d just gingerly shaken the sleeves of my base layer and sweater down, both wool—it was cold as hell in the sterile area—when Noah and the man from the lobby stepped into the office area. I didn’t turn to look as their voices grew closer. I had a job to do, and I wasn’t kidding when I’d mentioned how important discretion was. Vampires didn’t like anyone knowing where they sourced their blood. We didn’t advertise. There was no sign outside the door. Somehow, our clients just knew who we were and what we sold. Rena was the only person who knew what I actually did for a living, and even though she was a bit of a blabbermouth, she’d never say a word to anyone else about it.
I pulled on my smock with the attached gloves, still keeping my back to the hallway, and then stepped into the mixing room.
“Hello, my beauties,” I murmured, taking in the space. “Start playlist.”
Music immediately started through the speakers, and I smiled as I strode across the room. Noah hadn’t liked me wearing headphones as I worked, so he and Mr. Miranda had come in and wired in a sound system one weekend. He’d tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal, but the system must have cost a mint because it was excellent.