Filthy rich VAMPIRE

Chapter 2- Thea

Someday I would be on time.

Today was not that day.

The sun had already set by the time I raced through the back entrance of the Herbst Theatre. I was in such a hurry that I accidentally banged into a catering cart with my cello case. I squeaked, stopping to check that I had not destroyed any of the dishes. Thankfully, the chocolate tarts looked sinfully perfect still. A familiar pair of brown eyes peeked around the three-tiered dish of pastries, and I heard a sigh.

"Sorry, Ben!" I flashed an apologetic smile to the pastry chef.

"Cutting it close, huh?" he asked as he pushed the cart safely past me.

"I think we both are," I pointed out. Most of the Green Room should already be ready for the reception.

Ben shook his head, his wide mouth curving into a grin. "I know better than to leave chocolate unguarded for too long around you people."

"That's fair," I agreed with him. Nearly anyone who worked in the events business long enough had perfected the skill of pilfering off catering trays and artfully rearranging them to hide the evidence. No chocolate tart was safe around this crew.

Most of the people here worked for the catering company connected to the San Francisco War Memorial and Performing Arts Center. The complex hosted the city's ballet, symphony, and opera, as well as a veteran's memorial. With some of the largest and most beautiful buildings in the Bay Area, more social events happened here than performances. These days, weddings and galas did more to shore up the center's expenses than productions of Swan Lake or symphony orchestras. That's why I was here. Not because I worked in catering, but because the string quartet needed a cellist.

I continued to the kitchen instead of the dressing room. The only thing I needed more than an extra five minutes was a cup of coffee. It was the only way I was going to keep myself from nodding off midway through the gig. I propped my case outside the kitchen and sneaked inside, doing my best to stay out of the way. I only got as far as the coffee maker before I got caught.

"Don't even think about it." A kitchen towel smacked the counter near my hand. "I'm cutting you off."

I froze, my hand still poised to grab the pot, as Molly, the head chef-director of catering and keeper of coffee-stepped between me and my fix. I blinked innocently as if she hadn't caught me stealing coffee in a bustling kitchen.

"I didn't have any coffee today," I lied.

"Try again." Molly crossed her arms and glared. Her corkscrew curls were pulled into tight pigtails with a handkerchief tied over them to keep her hair out of the food. She always wore it that way, along with her chef's jacket and checked pants. The handkerchief was the only thing that ever changed. Today's was crimson paisley. "You're practically vibrating. How much caffeine have you had?"

"Okay, I had a latte on the BART." I paused, hoping she would move away from the machine. She didn't budge. "And a cup before I left my apartment." The two I had after my shift at the diner didn't count. That had technically been last night.

"Two, huh?" She swept one more suspicious look over me as if she was checking some invisible meter on my forehead. "You have more caffeine than water in your bloodstream. I'll brew some decaf."