Last Kiss from the Vampire by Jennifer McKenzie

Author:Jennifer McKenzie [Mckenzie, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-09-19T16:00:00+00:00

BONUS PREVIEW OF “SHADE OF DARKNESS”….

Bev is my hero. She has been since we met, the first day on my new job. A new job was always a chance to start over for me, but working at Pendleson & Meyer was doubly so, since I’d relocated to a new city. I’d been there for four years, and Bev was the only true friend I’ made—men included. So much for fresh starts.

“How about a steak dinner instead of hitting the gym?” Bev said, standing by my office door, her oversized purse slung over her shoulder. “It’s a rhetorical question,” Bev added. “Steak dinner is the correct answer.”

And that’s part of the reason Bev is my hero.

“Bev,” I said.

“Yes Liv?”

“How about a nice steak dinner instead of going to the gym?” I gathered my things and called down for a company car to drive us.

“Hmm,” Bev replied. “Great minds do think alike.”

To me, skipping the gym was no biggie. I’ve gone to the gym for years, off and on, but I’ve long since gotten rid of my teenage fantasy of one day being a size six. I’m a big woman. That’s that. Get over it. But Bev loves the gym—not for the exercise, but for the eye candy, and the possibilities. Bev is always open to new possibilities, and as a result, she often encounters them.

One of the biggest reasons Bev is my hero is that we are the same size. My size sometimes bothers me, but her size never bothers her. Somehow Bev managed to avoid all the self-consciousness associated with being a plus-size gal in a skeleton-girl world. Although I always try to learn from Bev, I’m not always successful.

The company limo brought us into the industrial side of the city. Well, it used to be the industrial area, but all the manufacturers had long since vacated for cheaper climes. For a while, squatters, alkies, addicts, and artists were all that could be found below Seventeenth Avenue, by the river—those and the occasional street whore—but then the city became an appealing place to live again. Gentrification had turned many of the factories and warehouses into condos, and some of the unsalvageable ones got torn down. But the old Sugar Factory still stood tall in all its splendor, and it housed the best steakhouse in town—Vladstok’s.

The Sugar Factory was a monstrous complex, built of red brick that was blackened from soot and time. Vladstok’s took up the first two floors. There was talk of reclaiming some of the unused space, but Victor Vladstok, the owner of both the steakhouse and the Sugar Factory it sat in, did not seem interested in changing things.

Bev and I climbed out of the company limo and wished Stanley, our driver, a good night. A long-coat wearing man, complete with military style hat, opened the front door to Vladstok’s for us. His bearing was military erect, and he didn’t even crack a smile, but just stared with steely eyes straight ahead, as if he were guarding Buckingham Palace.

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