Chapter 5-At the party

Grace halted in her tracks, a jolt of panic spiraling through her. She was not afraid of her boss, at least not in the physical sense. She knew he would never lay a hand on her or fly into a manic rage. But she was afraid of his ability to sweet-talk her. The old man surely knew how to guilt-talk her. He was so good at it. All he had to do was call her the best secretary on earth and flash that adorable grandfather sort of smile, and she was a goner.

Anger, dread, and annoyance warred for her attention as she reread his messages. He was bluffing. He would not fire her. He wouldn’t come over to her little apartment uninvited, would he? 

"Fuck it," she thought.

With shaky fingers, she pulled up Honey’s number. Two rings later, and her best friend’s reassuring voice echoes on the line. "Hey, what’s up? You okay?"

Grace could hear soft chatter in the background. A female voice says goodbye—Honey’s mother. That means that she and her boyfriend, Gerald, have already left for their weekend in the Bahamas. She invited Grace to go with them but obviously turned her down because she hadn’t wanted to be the third wheel. Two madly-in-love couples and her? No thank you.

She wished she’d accepted the invitation because she would be all alone this weekend and the old boss wanted her help again.

"Honey, I have a problem. My boss wanted me to go to the office and finish some papers," Grace blurted out.

Honey gasped. "What? No! Why would you agree to—"

"I didn’t agree to anything! He didn’t even ask if it was cool. He just messaged saying he wanted the papers, or he would come... well fire me."

"What the hell?" She sounded as disappointed as she felt.

"I know, right?" Her panic spilled over. "I can’t see him, I'm tired and I'm drowsy. I've been partying last night…"

"You did what?!" Honey’s shocked tone echoed in her ears.

"It was just a boring farewell party, OK. No biggie." She replied, "No way she would admit doing a one-night stand," but the old man is... oh, fuck me... I'm still too upset about the impending doom of my employment. If he comes over, I might end up punching him in the face."

"Grace—"

"Honey, do you think if I turn off all the lights and lock the door, he’ll assume I’m not home and leave?"

"Knowing the old man? He’ll wait outside the door." Honey cursed. "You know what? I shouldn’t have agreed to go to this mom’s game of Sunrise and Bahamas. I should be home with you. Hold on, I’m telling Gerald to turn the car around—"

"No way," Grace interrupted. "You are not canceling your trip for me. This is your last chance to do something fun."

Honey’s boyfriend was a businessman, which means his schedule will be jam-packed now after a week of vacation. Which means Honey won’t get to see him as much. She refused to be the one who ruined a rare weekend of freedom for them.

"I just want advice." She swallowed hard. "So please, tell me what to do. Should I ask Tara if I can crash in her room?"

"No, you don’t want to be in the apartment if the old man is wandering the halls. Maybe Maya—no, wait, her new boyfriend is in town this weekend. They’ll probably want to be alone." Honey sounds thoughtful. "What about Lennie?"

"She and Jasper just moved in together last week. They’re not going to want a last-minute houseguest."

"Hold on a sec." There’s another long pause. Grace heard Gerald’s muffled voice, but she couldn't make out what he was saying. Then Honey came back. "Gerald says you can stay at his place this weekend. It's practically empty," the murmur of voices filled the background again. "You can sleep in the guest’s room," she added.

"Are you sure it’s okay?" Lily asked.

"Of course, totally fine. Gerald is texting his butler right now to let him know. You can head over at any time."

Relief trickled through her, along with a pang of guilt. "Put me on speakerphone? I want to talk to Gerald."

"Sure. One sec."

A moment later, Gerald’s deep voice comes on the line. "Don't worry about anything, the apartment is practically empty and everything you need is there."

"Thanks for the heads up. But are you sure it’s cool? I don’t want to impose."

"Of course, sweetheart. Just bat those big blue eyes at my butler and he’ll cook you up a nice dinner. Don't worry, I have food there that will keep you busy for days." Gerald chuckled.

Grace nodded her head in silent awe. She knew Gerald was living in the most expensive apartment in the city. Honey even told her that his neighbors were celebrities and elite people.

"I’m not worried, though. I know how to handle the kitchen. I really appreciate your offer," she told Gerald. "Seriously, I owe you the two of you."

"Naah."

Honey spoke up. "Text me when you get there, OK? And then turn off your phone so the boss can't harass you."

She smiled and hung up, feeling immensely better. Maybe it was smart to get out of the apartment for the weekend. She could view it as a nice little retreat, a few days to clear her head and regroup her senses before going to the office on Monday and dealing with too many heartbroken office mates. After all, it would be a possibility that it would be their last week on the job.

She needed a clean break this time. No contact whatsoever, at least for two days. 

Truthfully, Grace didn't know if she’d survive a month without a job or if she would die of boredom. She learned to love her job so much for years, and being out of it was a total disaster. For now, she would go to Gerald's apartment and reminisce about the moment she had with the billionaire. 

She smiled, but an alarm bell wailed in her head, alerting her to her stupidity. Nope. She was not letting go of her crush on the man. It doesn’t matter that he was capable of being sweet—and hot at the same time, as earlier proved.

She squared her shoulders and walked faster, ignoring a tingly feeling that someone was watching her, determined to stick to the game plan. Office workload and she was over.

Day one of her work-free, stress-free existence has officially commenced.

******

In the evening, at James Grayson’s mansion. He surveyed the crowd below his enormous, red-carpeted staircase.

There was a point in James’s life for disguises. Whether they were literal and hid his face, or metaphoric to preserve his real identity, he was exceptionally comfortable with the pretense that it was almost all too natural for him.

Besides, knowledge, after all, was strength only if it gave him insight into his adversary. He’d rather have a blade to his throat than dwell with humans and their boring parties. But that has changed since modern technology is everywhere. And as per his friend Louie, it was time for them to adapt to the wonders of the latest technology and inventions because even the vampire hunters used them to their advantage.

He sighed, thinking about his best friend who died at the hands of his rivals.

Standing in a crowd of over a hundred sexually feverish mortals, he was ready to nourish his dark side—maybe toss some fresh blood over the chain-link rail of his sex drive and stand back as the red fluid banquet was devoured by the willing human donors, the gnawing longing shortly alleviated.

It never lasted. But that was why he’d arranged this festivity.

The party was confidential, private for his brotherhood, and members-only, and there were only three rules. No phones. No minors are allowed, and when someone brings a human as their plus one, their memories should be wiped clean after the party.

After those conditions were satisfied, one could scratch the itch for whatever vice one desired. There were areas for fetishes, and rooms for fucking, feeding and every tie-up, chain-down sort of gig was available as long as there was no killing the humans.

Especially here in his banquet hall.

Of all the areas in the sprawling, multi-block mansion compound, this was the biggest. Replenished with swirls of white cigar smoke, pierced by lantern glow, surrounded by gigantic and expensive furniture, only the hardest of hardcore humans were allowed in here.

And masks were always worn, even on nights when the rest of the party vampires didn’t require them. Nobody was allowed to know or see the faces of the vampires in the rooms. Humans, nevertheless, were an exception. After all, when the party was over, they would recall nothing but being so intoxicated that they wouldn't be able to remember anything.

Through the eye holes of his luxurious dark and silver-plated mask, James looked down, way down, to the crowd below.

It was like a scene out of those ancient films from the 60s: an almost naked human body suspended high above the ground, arms outstretched, head leaning to the side, swaths of cloth outstretched like wings all around the body. With real blood on the flesh, a red-scarlet thick wash fell like rain from the ceiling, hitting her breasts, dripping over her stomach, licking down her thighs so that she glistened under the remote lantern.

Not dead, of course, but very much alive. High on vampire blood, which drives mortals insane due to its addictive nature. One single drop would make someone feel delirious from its heavenly sensations of being indestructible. Humans, however, thought it was just a new drug on the market and the elite crowd would do everything to taste the addictive new substance.

"Do you want some blood, sir?" he was asked from behind.

James smiled and didn’t bother hiding his fangs. None of the humans knew that he was a real, ancient vampire. A pureblood, the oldest, the leader, and not just an Edward Collen-wannabe with cosmetically altered canines and fake hair.

"Sure, sweetheart, I’ll take her first," he mumbled.

"That could be arranged, sir." The beautiful masked waitress added, then she whistled loudly and put her hand up to signal someone downstairs to roll the frame holding the naked woman, excitement building for the first event. And for a moment, James Grayson III contemplated materializing down there just to freak them all out—just because he could, just because he liked building confusion.

Rather, he surged down the staircase with the ease of a king over his kingdom.

When he was below at the woman’s level, her body acknowledged in a starving arc, her head falling back, her mouth opening, her beautiful familiar eyes begging him. From the mask, James breathed in his heavy, familiar scent as he tried to see her silhouette. She wasn’t drugged. She was achingly conscious, the scent of her arousal flaring, her skin and heartbeat calling out for release.

And the woman, even with a mask on, was familiar.