“This is so cool,” she concludes.
“Mrs. Potts designed it all. So, the compliment is entirely hers,” I inform her.
As we move on in the tour, she continues her questioning, clearly getting more comfortable as we go along.
“How long have you lived here?”
“Nine years, give or take. Sometimes I travel to my other homes, for a change of scenery, or when Mrs. Potts tells me I need a change.”
“More houses, huh?”
I swear there is a tone of judgement in there somewhere, but I don’t take it personally.
“Now the library is on the second floor, east wing, but the west wing of the second floor is an area that is off-limits.” My words make me sound like some kind of super villain with dark secrets to hide, which I suppose I do have. But honestly, I hadn’t even thought about the west wing in many years. It’s locked securely with a key, so it’s not like she could just stumble in there. Locked away like my haunted memories. Locked, but not forgotten.
Tressa thankfully doesn’t question my words, nodding along like it is perfectly normal for people to have secret locked wings of their homes.
When we reach the library, Tressa lets out another audible gasp and her hand flutters to her ample chest.
Her reaction is a welcome one, because this is without question my favorite spot in the entire house. It’s something we have in common, I suppose.
The ceilings rise to an astonishing thirty feet and bookcases line every wall. A series of ladders are situated to accommodate the higher shelves. Beneath the large picture windows rest several leather club chairs, meant for curling up and reading, and in the middle of the library are half a dozen long study tables. A grand chandelier hangs above us, and Tressa tilts her chin all the way up, obviously appreciating the way it glimmers in the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the large windows.
Her fascination at the stacks of books is practically palpable. I wander further inside, and she follows.
“Wow. This is beyond anything…” She lovingly runs her finger along the spine of a first-edition copy of Theo Bryant’s Abyss. It’s always been a favorite of mine, and there’s something irritating about watching her touch it.
“Brown University?” I take a glance at the resumé she handed me downstairs. I hadn’t intended to bother with it, but now find myself needing a distraction. Something to do with my hands. Some mundane conversation to break up the silence. “Impressive.”
“Oh, thank you,” she says, voice shaky and a little unsure. “And what about you? University educated, I presume?” She tips her chin toward the library and its rather impressive collection of classical literature. Texts in Greek and Latin and covering such varying subjects as world religions and political geosystems. I either have a predilection for expensive and rare texts, or a vast hunger for knowledge. These are the options she’s weighing in her mind as she waits for me to respond. Truth be told, I suppose it’s a bit of both.
“University of Cambridge,” I say, leaving out the detail about being one of the first graduating classes in the economics curriculum. I don’t want to frighten the poor girl any more than she already is, and I’m guessing she’s aware of the university’s status as one of the oldest institutions in England.
“I thought I detected a bit of an accent.”
I nod. I was born in London, but have spent the last ninety years living in the States, give or take some odd years when I’ve needed a change of scenery. I’ve lost some of the sharpness to my vowels, and over the years have taken on more of a lazy attitude toward all things British. I can only barely keep up with who’s in the royal family anymore. Why bother? It’s a shit-show, all of it.
Putting the thoughts out of my head, I direct her attention to the filing system. “Mrs. Potts believes you’re the right person for this job. Establishing order is my goal. I often can’t find the text I need. And sometimes I discover curiosities… like the fact that I own three copies of A.A. Milne’s classic children’s book… which is probably two too many.” Quite possibly three too many, but I don’t say that part out loud.
“You own three copies of Winnie the Pooh?” Tressa’s eyes widen in surprise.
I nod, wondering, not for the first time what she must make of me. No matter, it’s none of my concern to wonder such things. I shouldn’t give another passing thought to what some mortal thinks about me. I’m the man who will be signing her paychecks. Nothing more.
“Any questions?” I ask. I assume she has some.
Her full lips part and her tongue wets the lower one. Well, that’s rather distracting. “I don’t think so.”
She looks innocent and pure, and I doubt she’s been in the company of many vampires before. Maybe I’m her first. It’s an idea that excites me more than it should.
“Very well. You can begin straight away. I’ll show you to your quarters. The third floor is where…”
I turn to begin walking, ready to lead the way, but Tressa doesn’t follow. She’s still standing at the edge of the library and has now placed one hand on the delightfully rounded curve of her hip. Not that I should be noticing such things.
She bites her lip in the most distracting way, hesitating for a second, before blurting out what’s really on her mind, “I’m sorry, but you’re a… a…”
She’s figured me out already. She’s every bit as intelligent as I assumed. “Yes,” I say simply.
I tilt my chin, studying her response. The pulse in her neck jumps, and the faint rhythmic sound of her heart thudding dully against her chest goes straight to my lower half. Curious. I haven’t felt anything remotely like arousal in the last several years. But there it is—the unmistakable lengthening of my dick in my slacks. It’s rather inconvenient, I’d forgotten about that. Public erections are not to be trifled with.
I wander around to the far side of the table separating us, so that she doesn’t catch a glimpse of my body’s response to the noise of her blood pumping. “Is that going to be a problem, Miss Porter?”
She draws a breath and straightens her shoulders. “I don’t believe so. Equal opportunity and all that, right Mr. Tryst?”
My mouth twitches with amusement, but I fight off a grin. It’d be in my best interest to establish a professional boss/employee relationship right from the start, wouldn’t it?
I have other humans who work for me, and this will be no different. My caretaker, Mrs. Potts, is a human, and as she pointed out earlier, she’s never distracted me in the slightest. She’s sturdy and reliable, and does her job well—which consists of laundry and cooking and the like. With a little luck, Tressa will prove to be equally as reliable. If only her scent didn’t distract me… But, whatever, it’s fine.
She still hasn’t moved from the spot she’s claimed at the entrance to the library. “You wouldn’t um…”
“Bite you?” I supply, rather helpfully.
She draws a quick breath and nods once.
“Not unless you ask. Very, very nicely.”
She smiles a crooked smile, but she still looks unsure.
“Any other questions?”