sure who I was looking for. I'd only spoken to him briefly over the phone and of course there were no pictures (contrary to popular belief, vampires are perfectly capable of showing up in photographs. Camera flash, however, irritates their skin so they tend to avoid photo opps).
"Look for a tall, pale guy with black eyes and black hair," Jim had said.
I glared at him. "Great. You might as well read me the definition of 'vampire' out of the dictionary."
"No worries, kid, you'll find him. Besides, there's always the rose."
"The what?"
"The Rossi Rose. No Rossi leaves home without it."
"So you're telling me he'll be holding a rose between his teeth? Like some sort of demented Lothario?'
Jim shrugged. "Could be."
With that helpful tidbit in mind, I continued to search for our elusive client. No roses as far as I could see.
"Ms. Eaton?"
I jumped several feet.
"Pardon, I did not intend to scare you. Are you Corrie Eaton with W&B?" asked a cool and cultured voice from behind me.
I turned towards the source of the voice. Wowzer. Mr. Rossi, I presumed, was gorgeous. Not handsome, per say - he was far too pretty to be called anything other than beautiful. As Bossman had said, Rossi was tall, pale, with black eyes and black hair. Really, though, that was the understatement of the century. Rossi was tall, all right. He towered nearly three heads over my admittedly diminutive 5'3 frame. I met Shaq once when I was in middle school. If I had to guess, I'd put them at roughly the same height. Unlike Shaq, Rossi was fashionably slim, though I was aware his narrow frame belied his inhuman strength. His coal black hair, however, was definitely longer than fashionable, caressing sharp cheekbones before falling in shiny, effortless waves to his shoulders. And his eyes...while Rossi at first glance looked to be just a few years shy of 30, his ancient, knowing eyes revealed his true age. Not a spark of light dared to trespass on the pupil-less, midnight black. A girl could lose her soul in eyes like that, and I didn't mean that figuratively.
Suddenly aware that I was staring (okay, ogling), I blurted out the first thing that came to mind: "Where's your rose?" And then mentally berated myself for the less-than-professional introduction.
"Look for a tall, pale guy with black eyes and black hair," Jim had said.
I glared at him. "Great. You might as well read me the definition of 'vampire' out of the dictionary."
"No worries, kid, you'll find him. Besides, there's always the rose."
"The what?"
"The Rossi Rose. No Rossi leaves home without it."
"So you're telling me he'll be holding a rose between his teeth? Like some sort of demented Lothario?'
Jim shrugged. "Could be."
With that helpful tidbit in mind, I continued to search for our elusive client. No roses as far as I could see.
"Ms. Eaton?"
I jumped several feet.
"Pardon, I did not intend to scare you. Are you Corrie Eaton with W&B?" asked a cool and cultured voice from behind me.
I turned towards the source of the voice. Wowzer. Mr. Rossi, I presumed, was gorgeous. Not handsome, per say - he was far too pretty to be called anything other than beautiful. As Bossman had said, Rossi was tall, pale, with black eyes and black hair. Really, though, that was the understatement of the century. Rossi was tall, all right. He towered nearly three heads over my admittedly diminutive 5'3 frame. I met Shaq once when I was in middle school. If I had to guess, I'd put them at roughly the same height. Unlike Shaq, Rossi was fashionably slim, though I was aware his narrow frame belied his inhuman strength. His coal black hair, however, was definitely longer than fashionable, caressing sharp cheekbones before falling in shiny, effortless waves to his shoulders. And his eyes...while Rossi at first glance looked to be just a few years shy of 30, his ancient, knowing eyes revealed his true age. Not a spark of light dared to trespass on the pupil-less, midnight black. A girl could lose her soul in eyes like that, and I didn't mean that figuratively.
Suddenly aware that I was staring (okay, ogling), I blurted out the first thing that came to mind: "Where's your rose?" And then mentally berated myself for the less-than-professional introduction.
