The vampire in the corner office

The job from hell

The email arrived at 6 a.m.: Congratulations. You start Monday. — A. Voss.

Mia stared at it over a bowl of cereal that had gone soggy from shock.

"He's hiring you after you caught him mid-crime-scene?" Grace said, mouth full of the same cereal, stolen from Mia's bowl. "That's either really good news or you're about to become a Dateline episode."

"I need this job, Grace."

"I'm just saying. Cold skin. Blood. Never in photographs. Ring any bells?"

"Don't."

"I'm not saying vampire. I'm saying maybe vampire."

Mia threw a spoon at her.

Monday came anyway. Voss Tower swallowed her whole — forty floors of black glass, a lobby that smelled like money, and an office on the top floor that belonged to a man who apparently didn't understand the concept of "good morning."

"You're late," Adrian said, without looking up from his laptop.

"It's 8:59. I'm early."

"I expect assistants at 8:45."

"You didn't tell me that."

"I'm telling you now."

Mia set her bag down with more force than strictly necessary. "Got it. Noted. Anything else, or should I just start guessing your preferences via osmosis?"

That got him to look up. Just for a second. Something almost like amusement passed behind his eyes before it was gone.

"Coffee," he said. "Black. No sugar."

"You drink coffee?"

His jaw tightened. "Was there a question in there somewhere, Ms. Bennett?"

"Just an observation. You strike me as more of a—" she paused, weighing her next words carefully "—liquid diet kind of guy."

The silence that followed was so complete Mia could hear the elevator ding four floors down.

"Coffee," Adrian said again, flatly. "Now."

She got him the coffee.

By the end of the first week, Mia had learned several things about her employer. He never ate lunch — not once, not even when catered trays sat untouched in the conference room. He scheduled his most important meetings after 7 p.m., when the rest of the building had emptied out. He wore sunglasses indoors on the rare days he came in before noon. And he flinched, almost imperceptibly, every single time she got a paper cut.

"You okay?" she'd asked, the third time it happened, licking a cut on her thumb from an aggressive stapler.

Adrian had gone very still, eyes fixed on the small bead of blood, jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumped.

"Fine," he said, voice rough. "Get a bandage."

"It's literally nothing—"

"Now, Ms. Bennett."

She got the bandage. She also, that night, started a list on her phone titled Things About My Boss That Are Weird, and by Friday it had eleven entries.

She didn't tell Grace. She didn't tell anyone.

But she kept adding to the list.