My Boss Is A Vampire

Mireya Solis was twenty minutes late, and she didn’t care.

She pushed through the doors of Nocturne Capital Group with a lightness in her chest she hadn’t felt in months. The morning had been quiet. Peaceful. Mark had passed out drunk on the couch before midnight, which meant no screaming, no broken dishes, no bruises to cover with makeup. She’d woken up to sunlight instead of dread, made Elvin breakfast without rushing, and even hummed while braiding her hair.

It was a good morning.

The kind that made her believe, just for a second, that things could get better.

The lobby stretched wide and polished before her, all glass and steel and cold elegance. Her reflection caught in the mirrored walls as she hurried toward the elevator bank. Dark hair pulled back tight. Modest black blouse tucked into gray slacks. She looked professional. Put together. Like someone who had her life under control.

She didn’t.

Maura, the receptionist, didn’t even look up from her computer as Mireya rushed past. The digital clock above the front desk blinked 9:47 AM in bold red.

“You’re late,” Maura said.

“I know,” Mireya replied, forcing a smile. “Traffic.”

Maura didn’t smile back. She never did.

Mireya kept walking.

The elevator carried her to the eighth floor, where the administrative staff worked in a maze of gray cubicles and fluorescent lighting. Her workspace was in the back corner, crammed between filing cabinets and a window that overlooked the alley. She shared the area with three other junior employees, all of whom pretended she didn’t exist most days.

She pushed the door to her office open and stopped.

Inhaled and exhaled.

Her desk was buried with files

Folders upon folders in uneven piles, paperwork spilling over the edges. Post-it notes clung to everything. File tabs stuck out at odd angles.

She blinked. Once. Twice. Thrice.

“God,” she whispered.

She had stayed late last night. Cleared every last document. Organized everything by department and date. Her desk had been spotless when she left.

“What the hell?” she whispered.

Diane sat two desks over, her fingers hammering the keyboard like she was angry at it. She didn’t look up. Trevor was at his station across from her, earbuds in, head bobbing to music Mireya couldn’t hear. Emeka’s chair sat empty, his jacket draped over the back.

Nobody said anything.

Mireya dropped her bag onto the floor and sank into her chair. The springs creaked under her weight. She pressed her palms flat against the desk and closed her eyes.

Just breathe. Just get through today.

She started to bow her head, ready to say a quick prayer, when something slammed onto her desk.

Her eyes snapped open.

Jules.

Ah! Modafucker!

Jules stood over her, a folder clutched in one hand. He was tall and lean, with sharp features and a smile that never reached his eyes. He does that every time.

“Morning, Mireya,” he said.

“Uhmm, morn…. Morning,” she replied carefully.

He flipped the folder open, scanned the contents, then tossed it onto the pile in front of her.

Late again today, I see. At this rate you’ll get the best late comer award of the year.

“I can explain…..”

“These need to go upstairs,” he said.

Mireya frowned. “Upstairs?”

“To Mr. Vale. He’s waiting.”

Mireya froze.

“Mr. Vale?” As in Lucien Vale, CEO

No, the one at your local supermarket, He retorted.

Lucien Vale. The CEO. The man who occupied the entire top floor and only appeared in emails and quarterly board meetings. She’d never even been in the same room as him.

“I don’t usually deliver to….”

“You do today,” Jules interrupted. “He asked for these specifically. Don’t keep him waiting.”

He turned and walked away before she could argue.

Mireya stared at the folder. Her hands trembled as she picked it up. Why would the CEO ask for her? Why today?. A junior admin who processed invoices and filed expense reports. She didn’t even know what department he wanted these for.

But she couldn’t refuse.

She stood, smoothed her blouse, and headed for the elevator.

The ride to the top floor felt longer than it should have. The numbers climbed slowly. Eighth. Twelfth. Sixteenth. Twentieth.

Her reflection stared back at her from the polished steel doors. She looked pale. Nervous.

‘Just hand him the folder. Say thank you. Leave.’

The elevator door opened.

The top floor was nothing like the rest of the building. The walls were dark wood paneling. The floors were black marble, polished to a mirror shine. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the far wall, offering a view of the Chicago skyline that made her breath catch.

It was silent up here. Too silent.

She walked slowly down the hall, her heels clicking softly against the marble. At the end of the corridor sat a set of double doors, carved from dark oak. A brass nameplate gleamed beside them.

CEO LUCIEN VALE

Her pulse hammered in her throat.

She raised her hand to knock, but her nerves betrayed her. Her fingers found the handle instead. She pushed.

The door swung open.

And she saw him.

Lucien Vale stood near the center of the room, his back to the windows. Sunlight poured in behind him, casting his face in shadow. He was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a black suit that fit him like it had been tailored to his body. His hair was dark, swept back from his face. His eyes were pale. Cold.

But it wasn’t him that made her freeze.

It was Ayra.

The Senior Manager sat perched on the edge of Lucien’s desk, her head tilted back, her throat exposed. Her eyes were closed. Her lips parted. Lucien stood between her legs, one hand gripping her waist, the other cradling the back of her neck.

And his mouth was open.

Mireya saw them.

Fangs. Green eyes.

Long. White. Sharp as glass.

They weren’t fake. They weren’t part of some costume or joke.

They were real.

He was going to bite her.

Mireya’s breath caught.

SLAM.

The door she had left open swung shut on its own. Hard enough to shake the room.The folder slipped from her hands. It hit the floor with a loud smack.

Ayra’s eyes flew open.

Lucien’s head snapped toward her.

His fangs retracted. Instantly. Like they had never been there.

But his eyes stayed the same. Pale. Predatory. Locked on hers.

Ayra gasped and straightened, her hand flying to her throat.

Mireya stumbled backward, first step, second, her shoulder hit the doorframe.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I didn’t mean to….”

She didn’t finish.

She turned and ran.

Her heels pounded against the marble as she bolted down the hallway. Her chest burned. Her hands shook. She didn’t look back. Didn’t stop. Didn’t think.

She just ran.

Because she had seen something impossible.

Something that shouldn’t exist.

And now Lucien Vale knew she’d seen it.