The Vampire's Assistant

Chapter Eight

After the night of Ms. LeClerq's visit, work was excruciatingly awkward. I came in the next day, prepared to pretend as if nothing had happened like any normal, red-blooded American would do. I was apparently the only one with that plan, however. Mr. Northman would hardly look at me. When I brought him his True Blood, he accepted it without even glancing up from his computer. If he needed something, he barked an order at me. Basic courtesy and manners were nonexistent. It was like starting work there all over again.

It hurt but what was most disheartening was that I knew Mr. Northman could tell just how much it hurt me. Since "The Incident" I'd become increasingly aware of just how sensitive to my emotions he really was. "Sensitive" was a gross understatement. He could read me like a book. I hadn't really minded before; if anything it seemed to make him even more courteous towards me. But now I couldn't help but feel that he was revelling in the sadness and anger he brought on me.

I decided that if he wanted to be callous and cold toward me, then I would do the same. I avoided him like the plague, which wasn't easy considering I was his personal assistant. I only ever approached him about business matters that I absolutely had to and I was sure to use detached, formal language when addressing him. When my shifts were over, I gathered my things and left the bar without a word.

The staff immediately took notice and started to gossip. I'd long assumed that they all thought I was sleeping with Mr. Northman and now I guessed they thought he'd tired of me. I didn't particularly care what they thought, but they sure were nicer to me. Getting the cold shoulder from my boss seemed to have endeared me to my co-workers.

As I was getting ready to leave one night, a couple of the dancers approached me and invited me to go out with them. It was the first time it had happened in the whole time I'd worked at Fangtasia. I thanked them and started to decline the offer, but thought better of it. Why shouldn't I go out and have a little fun for a change? I'd practically been a hermit for months now, diving so completely into my job that I hadn't bothered to make any friends in Shreveport. I took them up on their offer.

To my surprise, it wasn't just a couple of dancers I went out with. It was all the dancers and some of the waitstaff, too. We went to an after-hours bar and I resolved myself to having a good time, despite my dark mood of late. In my late teens I had been quite a party girl and it was easy to slip back into that mindset once I allowed myself to. I danced and drank and let my mind be blissfully free of worry and responsibility for the night. It was a good time and I had thoroughly banished all thoughts of my uncomfortable work situation until I was sitting in a booth, taking shots with two of the dancers.

The bolder of the two, Melanie, mischievously grinned at me and said, "So, Abby, I have to ask. What is the deal with you and Eric?"

I was feeling more than a little buzzed and the name didn't immediately register with me. I never called Mr. Northman by his first name. When the realization dawned on me, I frowned.

"There is no 'deal' with me and Mr. Northman," I said firmly and slung back another shot.

Melanie exchanged a look with Sarah, the dancer next to her. "Please," she scoffed, "there is obviously something going on between you. Or at least, there was." They giggled. I scowled.

One of the Fangtasia waiters, Chris, slid into the booth with a handful of shooters. He looked between the girls and me and his friendly smile faded. "What're we talking about ladies?"

"Abby and Mr. Northman," Melanie answered with a cruel smile.

Chris studied my face for a moment and frowned. "Maybe Abby doesn't want to talk about that."

"Maybe there's nothing to talk about!" I snapped. "Is that so hard to believe?"

The girls stared at me with identical looks that plainly said it was hard to believe. "Everyone has a story with Eric," Sarah said.