40Author's Note: Once again, this chapter is pretty much identical to the original chapter two, with the exception of a few descriptions and words and whatnot. Chapter three is where the changes begin, so if you can bear with me until then, that would be great!
My plan was to be as inconspicuous as possible as I snuck in the back door to the restaurant, but that plan failed miserably when I literally bumped into Roger Gurkin, one of the busboys, as he was exiting for his smoke break.
"Sars!" he exclaimed. Sars was the nickname Roger had stuck me with for some unexplained reason when we'd first met, and though I hated having the same nickname as a deadly respiratory illness, I always responded to it anyway.
"Roger," I whispered, hoping he would take the hint and lower his own voice. "Is Stu pissed off?"
"Stu's not even here," he replied, placing a cigarette between his lips and lighting it. "He had a 'family crisis' he needed to attend to. I think his kid, like, poisoned the babysitter or something. He left nearly an hour ago."
"Oh thank God," I breathed as a feeling of relief washed over me. "That sucks about the babysitter, though," I made sure to quickly add.
"Whatever. I did a lot worse stuff than that to my babysitter when I was a kid," he said dismissively, taking a long drag of his cigarette. As he blew the smoke out, he narrowed his eyes at me. "Hey, weren't you supposed to be in at six? It's, like, six-thirty now."
"Actually," I said, glancing down at my watch, "it's six-twenty-two. And if you don't tell Stu I was twenty-two minutes late for work, then I won't tell your mother that her underage son inhales a dose of lung cancer at least five times during every three-hour shift he works. Deal?"
Roger smirked. "That blackmail isn't going to work anymore in two months when I turn eighteen."
"Sure it will," I said. "Whether you're smoking legally or not, your mother is still going to have a cow when she finds out you're already a habitual smoker. Now if you will excuse me, I have to get to work."
With a flick of his cigarette, Roger mumbled something inaudible and proceeded to stick the earbuds connected to his MP3 player into his ears. Within seconds I could hear the muffled sound of some crappy metal band screaming as Roger's eardrums started to die a slow, tortuous death. It was highly plausible that he'd already forgotten our entire conversation.
Of course, there was no way to avoid Stu finding out I was late, because he checks our timecards everyday. But at least I had managed to avoid getting yelled at for the evening, which was good enough for me.
After punching in, I darted into the ladies room to check my hair, which now looked like I had just rolled out of bed and then stuck my finger in a light socket. Wetting my hands with a little water, I smoothed it out a bit, but the only thing that could possibly save it was a good shampooing. And since the restrooms at Benny's Burger Barn were not equipped with shower stalls, and not that I would use them even if they were, I was just going to have to deal with it looking the way it did.
Following the assessment of the rest of my appearance, I almost considered trying to rid my uniform of the blood spots. I wisely chose not to, however, as it would be way too time consuming, and plus a huge wet spot on my blouse would look about as attractive as the bloodstain did. My customers would just have to take me as-is.
Plastering my best fake grin onto my face, I headed out of the restroom. I made it no more than three feet before running into Michelle Stippler, one of my fellow waitresses.
"Sarah!" She stared at me, wide-eyed, shifting the tray she was holding onto so that she was using both hands to balance it. "Where have you been? I've been worried!"
Her gaze flickered down to the spot on my blouse as though she had radar for stains and a silent alarm had just gone off inside her head. Either that, or the bloodstain stood out more than I had realized. A questioning look came over her features.
"Ketchup," I explained weakly. It was the lamest explanation I could come up with, but the best I could do on such short notice. "I've been here only a couple of minutes, and I've already had a mishap with the condiments."
Michelle smiled. "Happens to me all the time. Listen, I'm glad you finally showed up. It's been crazy tonight. And also, some hot guy has been here for nearly a half an hour waiting for you."
I blinked in confusion. "Some hot guy what?"
Michelle giggled. "Julie's been drooling over him the whole time he's been here. She keeps asking if she can be of any service to him, but he keeps telling her that he's waiting specifically for you." She furrowed her brow. "Why didn't you tell us that you had a boyfriend?"
"Because I don't," I said in a genuinely baffled voice. I had no idea why any guy – any hot guy, for that matter – would be waiting for me. That is, unless I was the lucky winner of the Win a Date With a Hot Guy contest; a contest I did not remember entering, and was pretty sure didn't even exist anyway.
"Where is he?"
"Table six," she answered with a grin. Wiggling her eyebrows, she added, "Perhaps he is your secret admirer."
I chuckled as she sauntered off with her tray. Girls like Michelle had secret admirers, not me. So naturally, I was quite curious as to whom the table six hot guy was, and why he had been willing to wait so long to get me as his server.
I momentarily wished that I had spent more time trying to fix my appearance in the rest room, but that moment quickly passed when I saw exactly who was sitting at table six. And instead of my heart leaping for joy, it deflated and sank inside my chest. The guy at table six – Mike Grover – was no secret admirer of mine. In fact, it was safe to say he was the complete and total opposite. And when he glanced up and caught my gaze with his own, I could have sworn the temperature in the room lowered one or two degrees. That's how cold we were with one another.
Mike Grover is a fan favorite amongst heterosexual females ages 12 and up. His impossibly good looks, I'm sure, have a lot to do with attracting the attention of women wherever he goes, and no doubt were the reason why neither Michelle nor Julie had kicked him out of the restaurant yet, despite the fact he currently wasn't even a paying customer.
At approximately six feet, two inches tall, he is the perfect height with the perfect build, slim but muscular, with what I could only guess was a set of perfectly sculpted abs hiding under his shirt. His shortly cropped hair, just long enough to comfortably run a hand through, is the color of dark chocolate, and has that Johnny Depp quality of looking absolutely great, no matter what. His eyes are a teal blue color that you'd think could only be obtained through special contact lenses, but I'm sure that's their natural color, because everything about Mike's appearance, including perfectly straight, white – but not abnormally white – teeth that I swear sparkle every time he flashes a smile, is special and sets him apart from every other male in the world. He is, in many ways, a god-like creature. A freak of nature gone right.
And I, thank the dear Lord, am completely immune to the spell he has cast over the opposite sex.
The reason for my immunity is simple: I have found out, firsthand, that the phrase "beauty is only skin deep" applies directly to Mike Grover. He is, on a good day, a pompous ass with no soul. And how anyone else fails to see that is beyond me.
I met Mike about four years ago, when I first started working for the local PD as a vampire bounty hunter. My older brother Billy, who is a cop with the same PD, was so worried that I would get myself killed during my first solo mission that he made a call to the Department of Supernatural Investigation, or DSI for short, and requested that they send down an agent to watch over the apprehension and to intervene if I appeared to be failing.
Mike was the agent they sent down, and even though at the time of his arrival I was kicking vampire ass and taking names – or, at the very least, not getting myself killed – he apparently still felt it was his duty to butt in and he managed to successfully take over the situation within seconds, finishing the job for me and making me look incompetent and incapable on my first day on the job. He was then arrogant enough to expect me to thank him for it all.
Needless to say, I never thanked him. I've also never forgiven him.
But that particular instance was just one of many over the past four years that has made me loathe his very existence. He has been a constant thorn in my side ever since I met him, showing up frequently to my apprehensions and attempting to steal them from me, mostly to no avail. I think that after a while, he began to see me as competition, which I also think made him feel somewhat threatened. Plus, I don't think he can fathom how a girl like me could take on a three hundred pound bloodsucker without backup and live to tell about it. However, instead of becoming fascinated with my ability, he became agitated and determined to put me in my place.
And I have become determined not to let him.
Trying to remain as calm as possible, I approached his table with a cool, confident stride.
"What are you doing here?" I demanded, attempting to keep the irritation in my voice to a minimum.
At the sound of my voice, Mike glanced up from the menu he was holding in his hands and grinned. "I'm fine, thanks. And how are you?"
"Cut the small talk, Grover," I said with a sigh. "You know, I'm not the only waitress who works here. I'm sure either Michelle or Julie would have been more than happy to assist you."
"I don't doubt that," he said, tossing the menu aside. "And I'm willing to bet they would have been a whole lot nicer about it than you are being. However, I did not come here for Michelle or Julie. I came here for you."
I crossed my arms tightly over my chest. "And why, exactly, did you come here for me?"
Leaning forward, he said in soft voice, "I wanted to see how you're holding up."
"Holding up?" I repeated. "What is that supposed to mean?"
Mike leaned back in his chair. "You know…after losing your job with the PD and everything."
I couldn't help it, my jaw dropped open in surprise. I narrowed my eyes at him. "What the hell are you talking about, Grover? I haven't lost my job with the PD. In fact, I just came from an apprehension. That's why I was late getting here."
He lowered his gaze to my blouse, where it lingered longer than I would have liked. "I see that," he said finally, returning his eyes to mine. "Wearing your waitress uniform to an apprehension? Probably not a good idea. Especially when that bloodstain does not resemble ketchup at all. Have you tried running cold water on it?"
I tapped my foot impatiently against the tiled floor. "I do not need stain removal tips from you, thank you very much. And about me getting fired from the PD, I'm sorry to say that you have been grossly misinformed."
"Oh really?" he said, arching an eyebrow. "Because my information came directly from a member of your local PD. You might know him. I believe you refer to him as 'brother'."
My breath hitched in my throat. Billy? Why the heck would he be going around telling people that I had been fired, when I most certainly had not been?
"You look confused, Davis. Don't tell me that your own brother didn't even let you in on the fact you're getting pink-slipped? I mean, I figured he would have at least told you before he told me." He shrugged. "Weird."
I glared down at Mike with an if-looks-could-kill expression, and was more than disappointed to discover that they couldn't. And then I suddenly realized that I was shaking. Not because I was cold, or having an epileptic seizure, but because I was positively fuming.
"How dare you," I said in a low voice. "How dare you come in here and attempt to unnerve me with your…inane lies. I can't believe you actually traveled an hour to get here just to try and piss me off. I'm flattered."
Mike snorted. "I wouldn't be, if I were you. I was already in the neighborhood and I thought I'd drop by. I know how much your other job means to you, so after I heard the news, I was concerned about you."
"Oh bullshit," I said, louder than I had meant to. The couple at the table behind Mike looked over at me with wary expressions. The woman mumbled something to her date, probably saying how glad she was that I wasn't their waitress.
Lowering my voice so that no one else but Mike could hear me, I said, "It will be a cold day in hell when you are concerned about me. And while we are on the subject of hell, why don't you go there? I'm thinking now would be good."
He gave me one of his famous smirks, the kind I'm always itching to wipe off his face with my fist. "Hey, are there any of those 'how was the service?' cards lying around here? I'd love to fill one out right about now."
I opened my mouth to retort, but was interrupted by Roger tapping me on the shoulder.
"Hey, Sars? Um, there's a dude passed out in your car."
I sighed and closed my eyes, silently praying that nobody but me had heard that. With one more glare at Mike, I spun around and pulled Roger far away from the table.
"I know there's a guy in my car," I whispered to him as soon as we were out of Mike's hearing range. "It's okay. He's…a friend of mine."
Roger cocked his head to one side. "He must be one hell of a friend to be willing to sit in your car and wait while you work an entire shift."
"Yes," I agreed, nodding my head, putting on my best fake smile. "He's the best."
Roger, bless his soul, accepted my explanation with no further questions. "Cool," was all he said as he stalked off to pick up dirty dishes from a nearby table.
"You have friends?" came a surprised voice from behind me.
I jumped and turned around to see Mike standing only a few inches away from me.
"Are you leaving already?" I asked, feigning disappointment. "You didn't even get to hear what the Special of the Day is."
"I'm guessing it's bitchy service, with a side of unwarranted sarcasm," he said dryly. "Thank you, but I've already had enough of that for one day."
He brushed past me, but then immediately stopped and turned back around. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his business card. As he shoved it into my hand, he said, "I expect you to call me tomorrow with an apology after the PD sends you packing."
I crumpled up the card without even glancing down at it and threw it back at him. He reached out and caught it, all the while never taking his gaze away from mine.
"Expect this, jackass," I said, and then proceeded to raise my hand and extend my middle finger as far up as I could.
His eyes widened and a look of pure amusement fell across his face. I wondered briefly what he thought was so funny, but then I remembered where I was: in the middle of the restaurant I was currently – but probably not for much longer – employed at.
The couple from earlier was now whispering back and forth as they stared over at us, and Roger was laughing and giving me the thumbs-up. Michelle, who had been in the process of walking by us, stopped and frowned at me.
I could feel my face turning red as I lowered my hand. I gave Michelle an, "it's okay" look, to which she responded with a slight nod. She continued on her way, and the couple stopped stealing glances at me. Nobody else around us seemed to have even taken notice of the incident, and for that I was relieved.
But that relief was short lived.
"DAVIS!" a voice bellowed from somewhere over near the bar. I could recognize that bellow anywhere. It was Stu's bellow. His angry one.
I inhaled sharply and glanced at Mike, who was looking as though Christmas had come early for him. I didn't want to look over at Stu. Some small part of my brain, the part apparently containing all of the dead brain cells, thought that if I couldn't see him, then he couldn't see me. That never seems to be the case, though.
He made his way over to where Mike and I were standing with lightning speed.
"Sarah, in my office. NOW," he said, his face slowly turning purple. He turned to Mike. "I am so sorry for her behavior, sir."
Mike put on his best hurt expression. "I have been deeply offended by this woman. What kind of business is this, hiring someone like her? I will never eat here again!"
"You've never eaten here in the first place!" I shouted.
Mike turned to Stu. "Are you going to let this woman raise her voice to me?"
I stared at him in disbelief. He was deliberately making matters worse.
"I am very sorry sir," Stu apologized again. He stared at me with wild eyes.
"My. Office. Now," he said in a controlled voice, even though he looked as though he could burst a blood vessel at any moment. "Michelle," he said, pointing over at her, "get this man a free gift certificate for fifty bucks."
Michelle nodded. She avoided my gaze as she brushed past me. She looked up at Mike. "Right this way, sir."
"Thank you," he mumbled to Stu. He glanced over at me with a smirk before following Michelle.
I resisted all urge to follow him, jump on his back and strangle him from behind.
"Come with me, Sarah," Stu demanded in a grim voice.
I sighed. I had a feeling I knew exactly how this trip to his office would end.
The inside of Stu's office was rarely seen by anyone. He only invites people in when he wants to fire them, or ask if they would mind working on Christmas. Since Christmas was still a couple of months away, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out how things were going to go down in that office.
I took a seat across from his desk and stared down at my hands in shame.
He plopped down into his executive chair and buried his face in his hands.
We sat in silence for what seemed like forever before he finally removed his hands and sighed.
"I have just spent the last hour in the emergency room while my little boy's babysitter had her stomach pumped, waiting to find out not only if she was going to live, but if she was going to press charges." He shook his head and slouched back in his chair. "And then I come back here to find out that you were late again, and then I see you verbally assaulting a customer and using an obscene gesture, in front of other customers. Do you have any idea how bad it makes us look when one of our waitresses goes around flipping off customers and calling them names?"
"But he wasn't a customer," I pointed out. I knew it was a bad idea to try and argue my side of the story at the moment, but I had to try anyway. "He's a jerk who was just here to torment me."
"Sarah, I don't care if he was an extra terrestrial being who was just here to perform invasive experiments on you. It is our policy here to be kind to all customers, even if they are being 'jackasses' to us."
"Well, that's a stupid policy," I said, regretting the words as soon as they were out of my mouth.
But amazingly enough, he ignored what I'd said. "It is also our policy for employees to arrive on time for work, yet another policy you seem to have absolutely no respect for."
"Stu, I have another job. One that doesn't always work on a schedule."
Stu nodded. "I am very well aware of that. But that excuse can only go so far. I'm sorry, but I cannot put up with this anymore. I have to fire you, Sarah."
"No!" I exclaimed. His words came as no surprise to me, but they hurt nonetheless. "Please, Stu, I need this job. I promise that I'll be on time from now on. In fact, I'll be early every day. And I promise I won't go flipping off anyone else. That was just a one-time thing."
"I'm sorry, Sarah," he said softly, "but I need employees that I can rely on. And I just don't feel like you're one of them anymore."
"But-"
"My mind is made up, Sarah," he said firmly. "Don't bother coming in to work tomorrow. And make sure to hand in your uniform-" He glanced down at my blouse with a raised eyebrow. "On second thought, keep the uniform. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to call my son and make sure he hasn't tried to poison anyone else since I left."
I sat there, frozen, paying no attention to the rest of what Stu was saying to me. I had just been fired. I had never been fired from a job before. It sucked. It sucked a wholelot.
I barely recalled getting up from my chair and exiting the office. I felt numb. What was I going to do now? Find a new job, of course, but that was easier said than done. Especially when I needed to pay my rent as soon as possible.
Sighing, I leaned up against the wall outside of Stu's office and shut my eyes tightly. That migraine that had been threatening to surface earlier was beginning to make its appearance.
"Fired?"
My eyes flew open to see Roger standing before me with a sympathetic look on his face. I could smell the faint odor of cigarette smoke emanating from his clothing and assumed he had just returned from yet another smoke break.
"Yeah," I said in a deflated voice.
"That sucks," he said. He paused for a moment, as if debating on whether he should say anything else.
"Um, by the way," he said finally, "I don't think that dude in your car is that great of a friend after all."
I narrowed my eyes at him. "What are you talking about?"
"Well, he's not there anymore."
My heart stopped beating. "He's not what?" With a burst of panic beginning to build in my stomach, I pushed past him and rushed for the back door.
I ran out into the parking lot as fast as I could, praying that Roger had been looking at the wrong car. It would be entirely possible, since Roger's not the most observant boy on the block. But he wasn't mistaken. I could see before I even reached the vehicle that Beeker was no longer in it.
I began to panic. Where could he have run off to? How could he have run off? He was out like a light when I'd left him. The sedative shouldn't have worn off yet.
I ran around all sides of the car, peering in the windows in hopes that perhaps he had just slid down into a fetal position or something. No such luck. He was nowhere inside of the car and I was screwed.
I let out an exasperated scream as I began to pull at my hair. How could I have been so stupid as to bring a vamp with me to work? Why did I think I could get away with leaving him in my car unattended? If Mike had been lying before about the PD firing me, they would certainly have a valid reason to do so now.
The only thing I could think of to do at the moment was jump into the car and just start driving around. A half-sedated vampire shouldn't be too hard to find, and I doubted he had managed to get too far. So I climbed into the driver's seat and shoved the key into the ignition. I noticed that the cuffs were still attached to the steering wheel, and that the one that had been attached to Beeker's wrist had been unlocked.
With an exasperated sigh, I put the car in drive, and then immediately placed it back into park when I noticed something small stuck to the corner of my windshield, underneath the wiper blade.
"What the hell?" I rolled down my window all the way and reached out and around to retrieve the piece of paper. It was a crumpled up business card.
"Son of a bitch," I hissed as I stared down at it. I could feel the blood begin to boil in my veins.
Mike Grover had stolen my vampire.