Vampire Bride

Chapter Seven

Charlie

The blanket snuggly around my head is the only escape from the loud ringing of my cell phone. I toss and turn, trying to find a comfortable spot again after being woken up. However, a shuffle of papers coming from the kitchen sets my nerves on edge. Someone’s in my house…snooping. As gently as possible, I slip out from underneath the blanket and tiptoe out into the hall.

My teeth clench together as I watch Maxwell dig through my papers that I left lying out on my kitchen table. You want to play dirty, fine, I say to myself. Making my way back to my room, I throw on some clothes. With my nerves on edge and my senses spiked, I hear the soft click of my front door. Waiting a few extra minutes before following him, I remember to keep my distance several feet behind as I duplicate his fast paced walk down the unlit sidewalk.

The night air has a slight chill and I’m thankful when he finally enters a hotel. It’s one of the fancier ones in town, which makes me slightly grunt in response. He likes to live the luxurious life all right. I remain outside and peer through the glass doors, waiting for him to head to his room, but a man immediately approaches him, the same man who accompanied him at Junction 22.

As the man leads Maxwell away, I decide to change my plan of just following him to becoming more hands-on. There’s not a lot of time to put my plan into action and I face the possibility of being caught, but the urge to dig my fingers in his things is overpowering. When they’re completely out of sight, I walk in, heading straight for the front desk. I stare at the man behind the counter, thinking about how I can charm him.

“Good evening, miss, what can I help you with?” His eyes scan my attire as he eyeballs me.

Not allowing my self-consciousness to ruin my chances, I put on my best act. “The guy who just walked in, Maxwell is his name…well, you see, he snuck me in through the back door and things happened that I’m not proud of. However, I left something behind. I need to get back in the room without him knowing.”

“I can’t help you with that. I’m only allowed to inform him and he can bring the things down for you or he can assist you in gathering them.”

This is going to be tougher than I thought. “Listen, one-night stands are the worst ideas in the world and I can’t look at him again.” I see a wedding band on his left hand and try to play up my stupidity of not being able to settle down with one person. “I’m sure you think I’m a bad person just throwing myself on some man seeing as your married, happily I assume, but please spare me a little embarrassment. There has to be something I can do for you?”

I see him waver, just the slightest bit, but he’s contemplating my silent offer. “Hmm, hmm? I plan some high end parties. A nice evening all planned out for your wife.” I continue to ask, edging him toward the correct answer.

“My wife would be impressed if I gave her an anniversary dinner.”

“Deal,” I shout before he has a chance to change his mind. “Just find his room, make a key and nobody has to know about this, just like your wife doesn’t have to know that I created the perfect evening. Maxwell Barnett.” I wait. It kills me, but I wait.

He stares at me, knowing that what I’m asking of him is wrong and could get him fired, but within a few seconds, he taps at the keyboard of the computer and hands me a room key. “Room 218,” he whispers.

Snatching up the pen on the counter and reaching over my boundaries to collect a piece of scrap paper, I scribble down the number to my office. “Call me during work hours. Just tell me about our secret key and I’ll get you all set up. Thank you.” I grab the thin plastic card from his hand before he can change his mind and make a dash for the stairs. Who would think that being a party planner would get you what you want.

My knuckles lightly knock against the door to make sure he’s not back yet; with no answer, I slide the key card in. A rush of air bursts out through my tightly closed mouth as I quickly enter the dark room, praying that my knock wasn’t too light and he’s somewhere in here…staring at me.

Afraid to turn the light on to give my presence away, I dig out my cell phone from my waistband to light the way. Deeper and deeper, I go into the suite to start my search and once my phone lights up each room, I know he’s not back yet. Time to get down to business. I haven’t the faintest idea what I’m looking for, but I know something incriminating is here. There just has to be.

My mind’s getting sleepy and my thoughts are screaming loudly inside my head to go home, but something inside me is forcing me to continue to look around. “You’ve been living here a while, haven’t you,” I whisper to myself.

I dig through drawers and closets, even suitcases. Nothing, I find not a single thing. I stare in defeat at a built-in bookshelf. I scan the books, wondering if he owns all of them or if they came with the room. An unwelcome urge draws me to one in particular. Unable to tear myself away from it, I remove it from the shelf. I rub my fingers over the soft leather binding, fanning out the yellowed pages before opening it to the first page. The title page, it reads The Travors Bloodline.

Could it be? Is this book about Maxwell’s bloodline…my bloodline? Does a thing such as this even exist? I shove the book in my purse along with the key card, intending to read every last word in it as well as returning to this room to snoop some more. Sneaking down the halls of the hotel and peeking around every corner before I turn them is one of the hardest things I’ve done. My heart races with fear as thoughts of being caught fill my mind.

I take several sighs of relief as I unlock my front door and search the house to find it empty. I’m not the slightest bit interested in the book, because my eyelids demand my full attention. Changing back into my pajamas, I crawl into bed, trying to find that comfortable spot again.

Morning comes sooner than I anticipated and the clock, once again, is not my friend. Thoughts of being late cloud my judgment in picking out my clothes. A little mascara, a dab of lip gloss, and my hair in the messiest ponytail ever, I reluctantly leave to start my day.

Adjusting my sunglasses, I stand outside The Liberty Hotel, keeping my sleepy eyes away from the shining sun. As the door attendant opens the door for me to enter the luxury hotel, I try not to trip as my full arms block my view. Morgan trails behind with her sighs of admiration.

Before I can reach the front desk, a woman steps beside me. “You must be Ms. Preston. I’m Daisy, the hotel manager that will be on shift tonight. I can show you to the ballroom. Would you like me to grab something?” I’m a little taken back that she knows my name, but I’m assuming the director of events relayed the message of my arrival.

She starts talking before I can say a word. Something about how excited she is. I, on the other hand, hope this party goes by fast, because my mind is elsewhere. All I can think about is that book I found in Maxwell’s hotel room. I read the entire thing this morning, hence my tiredness and almost lateness.

The book consisted of what looked like diary entries. Who wrote them, I’ve no idea. The information on those pages opened my eyes to who Maxwell really is. A monster. On the walk to the ballroom, I will myself to think about the party that’s ahead of me instead. There’s so much that we have to do, I can’t let my mind wander.

Daisy’s voice breaks my thoughts. “Here we are. Is there anything I can help with?”

“No, but thank you,” I say, dropping my bags on a nearby table. With a quick rub of my forehead in dismay, I walk away from Morgan and Daisy. “Let’s get to work,” I say, glancing back at my assistant.

Morgan smiles friendly at Daisy as if she knows her. Daisy just nods and politely smiles back before speaking in my direction. “The linens are folded and piled on the far table. When you’re ready for the staff to set them just come find me.” As she stomps out of the room, her clacking heels echo throughout the large empty space.

Without wasting time, we get to work. We barely stop our tasks as the florists, the lighting and the construction crews arrive. Not much later, the DJ and the aerial art performers finally arrive as well. Everyone’s hard at work getting things done when I feel a vibration in my back pocket.

“Hello, Juliet.” I’m uneasy about starting a conversation with her after the message she left me last night. I listened to it several times, thinking about what to say. I still don’t have an answer.

“You never called me back, did you get my message?”

“Yes, I did get your message, but today’s really hectic. I’m sorry that you feel angry, but he’s not my boyfriend as you think he is. He’s some crazy obsessed stranger that I want nothing to do with. I didn’t find it important to tell you about him or anybody else for that matter.”

“I wish I had somebody as hot as that obsessed with me. What’s so bad about him anyways?”

I don’t know; let me think...oh yeah, he’s a dead bloodsucker that’s almost three hundred years old. “It’s hard to explain, just know that I would pry him off and hand him over to you if it were that easy. I have to go; I’ll talk to you when I talk to you, which should be in a few days when you tell me you had a chit-chat with Wilson. Love you.” I hang up just as she starts grumbling.

By the time I end the call with Juliet there’s less than an hour before the party is supposed to begin. With the lights set on dim, music filling the air, and the aerial dancers dressed as strippers hanging from their silk fabric, I know things are finally coming together.

With everything going smoothly, I grab the bag that I threw in the corner and go to the bathroom to change into clothing that’s more appropriate. After I’m all dolled up, I run right into my clients on my way back to the ballroom.

An inner battle of keeping my facial expressions at a minimum from the sight of such a ridiculous dress the birthday girl is wearing takes a toll on me, but I put a smile of joy on my face effortlessly. She treats this party as if it were Cinderella’s ball. I allow them to enter the room without me. Her parents approach me minutes later with looks of satisfaction.

“The guests should be arriving soon, please go make yourselves comfortable.” I usher them back into the ballroom. I, on the other hand, hang out outside the closed ballroom door to keep guests at distance until we’re ready to start. A number of minutes later, Morgan informs me that the birthday girl is concealed and ready for her grand entrance. I therefore let the crowd of guests that has accumulated enter.

Morgan and I stand in the back corner of the room, observing our work. I ignore the speech little miss rich pants makes to the crowded room. My head drops in my hands when her parents say their thank you as well. Any respect I have for my clients dissolves as neither my name nor Morgan’s are included in the list.

Con number one for planning rich people’s parties: no recognition. Pro number one for planning rich people’s parties: free entertainment. Even though I’m at work technically, I still allow myself to have a good time, partially. Morgan dances in the corner by herself and I sing along to every song in my head.

I continually look at my phone. It states in the contract that at midnight myself and anyone else that’s considered my staff leave. The clock reads ten pm. And my once happy mood dissolves at the thought of two more hours before I’m able to leave this hell hole. Being surrounded by sixteen-year-olds is not my idea of a good time, not to mention careless parents who allow stupid teenagers to become more stupid by letting them drink spiked punch.

Obnoxious, cocky teenagers are the least of my worries as my feet start to hurt and sweat begins to gather in certain areas on my body. Silently, I beg for it to be done. When all hope’s gone a cool draft encompasses my overheated body, making the remaining time seem manageable.

The air conditioner must have kicked on. But it’s when a tip of a nose and the occasional touch of soft lips graze the back of my bare neck I know it’s not the air conditioner. I should know by now that sudden coolness comes with a price.

I jolt around to face Maxwell. I have no idea what he said because of the loud thumping of my eardrums as blood rushes to my head. “What the hell are you doing here? How did you know where to find me?”

“I always find you.”

“Oh, stop with the bullshit, I know you were in my house last night. I might be unorganized and messy with my papers, but I know they had been moved around.” Without thinking, I jab my index finger into his chest.

His smirk makes my skin crawl. I decide to keep my detective skills to myself. He’ll know soon enough about my findings. Just when I thought the night is almost done it seems to have just started since he doesn’t look as though he’s going to leave willingly.