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From the back of the room, Sara snickered as she typed at her desk. She flipped through the slender stack of profiles on her desk. Not everyone who has a tail is a jerk. That was careless of me. The hours are strange, the clients are even stranger, but I like it here. Life was good, if a little strange. My job was to set up new profiles and match up clients, in addition to running the office.
It was the easiest job in our small office. She usually finished it within hours and then flipped her computer over to gaming mode, spending the rest of the day playing Warcraft. Across the room, Sara sucked in a breath. Some guys were into it; they expected a werewolf chick to be fiery and aggressive.
Everyone in our office hated her. When Sara panicked, she really panicked, and it was my job to calm her down and take care of the situation. Her life depended on it. I made my voice soothing. Rosie always cancels on the cats. If someone cancelled on a date, they were charged an inconvenience fee. But our boss, Giselle, always waived her fees, and Rosie abused the privilege. The only reason Rosie was still allowed in the dating service was because the pool of female Alliance members was so small compared to the male membership.
Especially ones as attractive and willing to date as Rosie. So we put a note on her profile that she preferred canine dates in the hope of deterring some clients. Her eyes flicked back and forth across the screen.
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One of the Russells. And his account is flagged. It also meant Giselle had circumvented the regular setup process and had set this account up herself. She had a vested interest in its success. Not if we valued our jobs. She hunched over the keyboard and began to type frantically.
Just give me a minute. Let me call Giselle and see how she wants to handle it. Giselle was on vacation, so I needed her cell number.
I hated the thought of calling her and disturbing her while she was out, but I hated the thought of her firing me even more. Otherwise, leave a message. I knew better than to do it again. Back to square one, then. Not only did Giselle have a sensitive read: Sara turned her worried gaze to me. See if she logged where she was heading with her Russell date tonight.
The date, time, and location of a date were recorded and detailed, for their protection as well as ours. Still, she had good taste, and the restaurant was pricey. At least she was getting this guy to treat her right.
The phone on my desk rang again. I automatically went over to pick it up.
How may I help you? Now was not the time. Now I was starting to get irritated. We rarely had so many calls so close together, and it almost never happened before dark, which was our busy period due to the vampires waking up. Since it was midafternoon, it meant the freak was probably calling back again.
Time to fix this. I marched back to my desk. Warmth flooded through my body at the liquid sound, and I felt my face flushing at the sensation.
I thought you were—never mind. How can I help you, sir? Leader of the Russell clan—oh, hell— and very much a VIP with our service. No picture in the database, and his history was brief, his profile number brand-new. My superseductive caller was apparently named Beau Russell. Tall, blond, and handsome, to match his cougar genes. A sensual face to match the sinful voice.
And lots of muscles. The gall of shifters, always talking down to humans. A bit of simple research could have avoided this heartache. Should I talk to her? Obviously he was on good terms with my boss. Obviously this was bad news for me. It made my thighs quiver traitorously. Female shifters were rare, and if I counted out both men and undead, we might have a problem getting someone for tonight—let alone the next week.
Just as I gave him my name, the door to the office rang and a gorgeous man walked in, a pair of sunglasses obscuring his eyes. He was beautiful—tall, dark, tanned. His suit was expensive, and he grinned and flashed pearly white teeth at me. Even at my desk, I could smell the thick musk of his cologne. A bit heavy, but typical of the confident sorts. Sara immediately got up and went back to the filing room, as she always did when a shifter entered the building.
The man must have come in for a new profile setup. Giselle preferred that I handle those in person, and I raised a finger to my customer, indicating that I needed a moment. He nodded and sat down directly across from my desk, eyeing me with interest.
I felt the heat rise in my cheeks and hit the Enter key a few more times, just to distract myself. Look busy, look busy. Are you a vamp? Between the phone call and the man across from me—who looked altogether too interested in my conversation—I was going to die of embarrassment. My search results finally came in and the computer pinged at me. One lone, lousy profile popped up on my screen.
Harpies had a bit of a reputation. They gave psycho-girlfriend new meaning. They tended to get unhinged over small stuff, and then things got really ugly. Shit hit the wall, no joke. Lie and say you are married. I hoped she was all right. Leave the details to me. I was starting to get a little irritated at his high-handed demands. Giselle was going to flay me alive if I went out with a client. Then again … I stared at the star on his profile. Maybe if I went out with Mr.
Russell, I could convince him to keep it a secret. He seemed nice enough. My protest came out as a dry squeak. This was such a bad idea. Thinking hard, I glanced over at the file room and saw Sara pacing, rubbing her arms. That was a bad sign. Right now she had a lot to stress over: A panicked knot formed in my throat as Sara slammed the file room door shut.
Since it was my job to keep Sara from getting agitated, that meant getting rid of the shifter who sat across from me. And to do that, I had to get the other shifter off the phone. I turned away from my desk, trying to get a semblance of privacy. Everything in me shouted big mistake, but I had to do something. Sara was seconds away from losing it.
I rolled my eyes at his cockiness. See you then, sweet Bathsheba. I set the phone down with relief. One problem down, one to go. The man across from me smiled. I dashed into the file room and closed the door behind me.
Immediately, I put a hand to my mouth, gagging at the thick, cloying perfume. So, am I totally fired? Let me manage this. Just not the perfume bottle. I gave her a thumbs-up and slipped out of the room.
Jason smiled at me as I returned to my desk. I usually got them set up faster while still being polite and chatty, but Jason was a talker and a flirt to boot. I worked steadily, sneaking glances at the closed file room door. Jason was determined to hit on me.
I declined his advances and kept things strictly business, sending his request for a date to a pretty little were-fox that I thought might suit him. Once Jason had his profile paperwork printed out and his latest flirtatious comment rebuffed, there was nothing else for him to do but leave.
Then, I bolted up from my desk and ran to the file room and opened the door. A sleek gray wolf lay on the floor, her head between her paws.
I picked up her torn shirt, examining it to see if it was mendable. With a roll of my eyes, I went back to my desk and opened my bottom drawer, then lifted a big, manila envelope to reveal a stack of emergency shirts. I picked out a pink one and shut the drawer again. Living with a werewolf meant a lot of torn clothing. I went back to the file room and dangled the pink shirt in front of her. I grinned and tossed the shirt down at her.
Part of me wanted to wear something that was about as sexy as a funeral. Beau Russell was planning on getting laid, I wanted him to understand as soon as he looked at me that he was not scoring tonight. I needed something that screamed off-limits, puritanical, and possibly Amish. But the feminine part of me rebelled at not looking my best. Beau was probably handsome and confident. Protecting Sara had become my life, and everything I did revolved around her.
And yet … here I was, about to go out on a date. Just me and some guy looking to meet a pretty girl, charm her, and hopefully score. To make matters worse, we were going to a fancy restaurant.
I needed to look like I belonged there, to be glamorous and confident. After all, I had to be on my guard around Mr. I needed to be supremely self-assured, and poised as hell.
After work, I spent an hour picking through my closet. Most of my clothes were practical, and nothing seemed quite right for a date. I ended up settling on a sleeveless, swingy A-line dress in black, edged with aqua satin. It was pretty and feminine. The skirt was shorter than I remembered and the neckline deep enough to show generous cleavage, which was probably why it had sat in my closet unworn for so long, the tags still attached.
It's enough to say that nothing about the writing has improved. If anything, the characterization has degraded. The blurb might lead you to believe that the writing is full of intelligence and research.
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It might make you think that the dialogue is smart, witty and sharp. You might think that the romance heroes are sexy and the heroines are strong but funny. It's all a lie. One big fucking lie.
Once again the plot was pathetically simple and juvenile. I honestly feel that the writing is cheap and sloppy as hell. There is nothing witty about them. Bathsheba is a capitulating moron who has no sense - common or otherwise. Beau is an obsessive, controlling psychopath. From the moment he meets her he controls everything about her. Their first date is nothing but creepy, gross sexual innuendo.
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Just a few hours after meeting her he has drugged her and kidnapped her to his hotel for her own safety, of course. Within days he's kidnapped her again and dragged her to a remote location where he puts her completely within his control. The entire book continues like this. I'm sure some will dismiss this as a caring man, concerned about his woman and taking care of her. My response would be to tell them to go volunteer at a woman's shelter at some point because that's exactly where Bathsheba would wind up one day.
When is the picture of what's sexy and appropriate going to change? This is not sexy. Abusive isn't sexy and Beau shows ALL the signs of an abuser. Spend three months helping a woman escape her abusive, controlling husband and come back and tell me this shit is still okay.