Creature of Habit (Creature of Habit #1) (13 page)

"Mr. Palmer," I said, pulling his attention away from my arm and back to my face. "If I'm going to continue working here, there are a few things we need to discuss.”

His brow furrowed in concentration as though I was speaking a foreign language but he quietly said, "Proceed."

“The tension between us? It has to stop. I am an educated, smart, hard-working woman. I'm not sure how old you are Mr. Palmer, but I highly doubt it is much older than me. I will be respectful to you but I will not be treated as though I am less than you," I announced with conviction although even I could hear the shake in my voice.

He lifted an eyebrow this time and I watched incredulously as his posture relaxed, and he leaned lightly against the wall. I knew my face was red and my eyes were burning, tears betraying my anger. I sucked them back in and heard him say, "Please continue," in an encouraging tone.

Oh shit. I was starting to panic a little at his change in demeanor. There was no way this was going to end well. Resolved in my self-destruction, I figured I may as well put the final nail in my coffin.

"Well," I heard my voice crack so I cleared my throat and began again, "If you want me to do something, I will. If you want me to clean your gutters or wash your windows, that's fine. If you want me to sort your ties alphabetically, by color, brand, and location of purchase," I rolled my eyes before continuing, "I will do it. But you give me the common courtesy of a day’s notice so I can be prepared. And from now on, I expect you to say please and thank you when applicable. If there is one thing I'm not, it's your doormat. And if you can't handle these simple requests then I will gladly pack my things, again, and go."

Finished with my tirade, I now just wanted to disappear. I glanced nervously for an escape. All I had to do was grab my purse and coat on the way out the door.

Or not.

Mr. Palmer was still watching me intently but now a slight smile played on his lips. I was entranced by their deep red tint, curving upward, taunting me with their perfection.  "And if I do these things you'll stay?"

I lifted my eyes from his mouth, and stuttered, "Wha...what?”

The amusement lit his eyes. "If I submit to your requests, you'll stay."

"Yes. I will stay."

"Good. Ms. Chase, will you please come with me to the garage so I can so you how to work the garage opener? It is a bit different from a normal system, since it’s linked to the security system."

I nodded and was shocked at the change in tone. It was still formal but he did say 'please' and he asked nicely. He gestured for me to walk ahead of him so I took the lead, adjusting my ponytail as I passed him and walked toward the back door.

~*~

On my way back to Mr. Palmer's from the post office I stopped at the little coffee shop I had begun frequenting on my lunch breaks. I maneuvered my car through the crowded street looking for a place to park near the building.  I typically preferred to walk to the business district, since it was so close to Mr. Palmer's home, but I wasn't comfortable since the attack.

Things were better at work but still not perfect. Mr. Palmer had stayed true to his word and adjusted his attitude. His treatment toward me was slowly improving. I was showered in ’please’ and ’thank you’, offered compliments on my work and given nothing excessively outrageous to perform.

The problem was not his effort to treat me with more respect, the problem was him.

The man truly puzzled me. He was physically so beautiful and graceful. Yesterday I found myself mesmerized by his elegant hands as he pulled a record out of its sleeve, gently cradling the edges of the black disk, careful to never touch the grooves on the surface. I watched as he held it close to his face and inhaled the distinct odor of vinyl. A small smile of contentment crossed his lips.

Yet, when I asked him what song was playing or more about the musician, his body stiffened for a moment and the natural grin on his face was replaced by a more superficial one. He answered politely, but robotically, before he hastily retreated from the room.

He was just so freaking weird.

I found a parking space on the street and walked to the coffee shop. I paused for a moment at the door, noticing a sign plastered in the window. It was a photo of a girl, maybe fifteen or sixteen, dark hair, happy blue eyes and a huge smile. She was wearing a gold cross pendant on her neck that hung in the middle of her chest. Over her picture were the words MISSING-HAVE YOU SEEN ME? I felt my stomach turn and I saw a flash of Sasha’s wicked face flitter across my eyes. I saw at the bottom it said the missing girl’s name was Jenna.

I shook my head, pulled the door open and walked to the counter.

"Hi." I smiled. "I would like some tea…preferably something calming?" A wave of nausea passed over me and I forced the image of the girl on the poster out of my head.

"We have a really nice Chamomile, would you like that?"

“Sounds perfect,” I said, and waited while she prepared my order, drumming my fingers on the counter. "What do you know about that sign in the window? The missing girl?"

"Her mother came by and put that in the window. Apparently she went missing one night when she was out with some friends at the movies. She left her seat to go get something from the concession stand and never returned. The police think she ran away but her mother is convinced something happened to her."

"That's really sad. I hope they find her."

The girl nodded and pushed my cup of tea across the counter. "Did you recently move around here or something? I've noticed you coming in fairly often."

"No, I don't live around here, but I took a job in the area a couple of weeks ago."

"Oh really? Where?" she asked as she rang up my purchase on the cash register.

"I'm working for Mr. Palmer as his personal assistant. I don't know if you know him. He doesn't go out much." I explained and took a sip of my drink.

"Grant Palmer? Sex hair? Jaw that could cut glass? Wickedly aloof? Man who makes my uterus ache at the sight of him?" she laughed. "That Grant Palmer?"

She nailed it, although I wasn't sure about the uterus part. "So you do know him."

"He comes in a couple of times a week, orders the same thing, smiles at me, and heads to his favorite table outside. I've dropped hints a couple of times trying to let him know I was available, but," she sighed wistfully, "he doesn't seem interested."

I was shocked. I looked at the girl in front of me. She was pretty, with long black hair, smooth brown skin, and legs you could climb. Her eyes were a gorgeous blue and she had a stunning birth mark on her cheek that looked like a tiny bird.  If we were in LA or New York I would think she was an actress or model. "Really? He is a little socially awkward, maybe he didn't notice you were flirting."

"No, I was more than obvious. He is definitely not into me.”

“I wouldn’t take it personally, he’s not the most sociable person.”

“Not to sound egotistical, but I've come up with another theory," she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

"Oh really?" I said, conspiratorially. “What kind of theory.”

She laughed again and leaned forward as if telling me a secret. "It's quite simple. Any man that good-looking, that rich, and that single who can resist this," and she pointed to her chest, snugly wrapped in a tight black t-shirt with the name of the shop across her ample boobs, "is playing for the other team."

"You think he's gay?" I asked, incredulously.

She nodded confidently back, a smirk on her face.

I had a distinct memory of Mr. Palmer, holding a trash can full of broken furniture, with the tall gorgeous blond behind him on the stairs coming down from his private rooms. I could almost envision the two of them behind closed doors, standing close together, reveling in one another's tall, muscular beauty. I swallowed hard at the thought.

It made perfect sense.

All of his odd behaviors and quirks could be explained by this simple fact. He had a huge secret he was keeping and this could make anyone tense and stressed. Add a high profile life to the scenario and it made things even more complicated. No wonder he seemed lonely. And angry. I felt angry for him. No one should have to hide their true nature.

“Fucking establishment,” I said. “I can’t imagine what would happen if people found out he’s gay. I mean, we’re in the Bible belt and everything.”

“You have no idea,” she said. “The town I come from? He’d be tarred and feathered.”

“People are jerks.”

I paid for my tea and gave her a final wave, heading back to work with a completely different outlook.

Chapter 24

Grant

"Yes Olivia. She's fine."

Olivia. She had called me twice a day for the last week, harassing me about Amelia, but with no solid details of her own to share.

“Is she there?” she asked. “If she isn’t there you can’t be sure.”

"No, I can't see her at this very moment, but it is sunny and hot outside so I thought it was a safe day to send her to the post office without fear of another attack." I clenched my hand in my hair, trying to remain calm. The phone call was exactly the reason I didn't live at home any longer. I needed my space and people out of my head and my future. I decided to be proactive. "Have you had another vision? Is that what you're trying to tell me?"

“No. I haven’t,” she admitted.

“Olivia,” I said, pondering something that had been bothering me since the meeting with the coven. “What does Miles really think about Ms. Chase?

“Have you not discussed it?”

“No,” I said.

“That’s unlike you. Normally you two have gone over everything a dozen times.” From literature to religion to medical practices, Miles and I tended to have extended conversations on everything. Olivia was right, I’d been avoiding the subject of Amelia.

“Well, what do you think he’s thinking?” I asked.

“I suspect he’s worried about the Council. You’ve already pushed their stance on involvement in the human community with the Foundation. He’s gone to bat for you before.”

“You don’t think he will again?” I asked.

“I think you may want to talk to him about Amelia, tell him your true feelings and concerns.”

I laughed. “You don’t think that will make things worse? Miles is open-minded but consorting with humans is a pretty big violation. The biggest, in fact.”

“I think Miles is fair and I think your happiness is very important to him, but you and I both know he takes the rules of the Council seriously and you’re precariously close to breaking them. You should tell him before it goes any further.”

“I haven’t made any decisions.”

“No,” she said, and I heard a small snort. “Honestly, I think you’re safe for a bit. You and Amelia never seem to be on the same page anyway.”

She
had
seen something. “What are you talking about?”

“You know the rules—your rules, in fact. No peeking into Grant Palmer’s life.”

“Olivia,” I warned, running my hand through my hair.

“Be careful, Grant. This isn’t a situation you’re used to.”

I sighed. I could concede that I was way out of my league. "I will."

I disconnected and continued to look though the files I'd stored up on the third floor. The only entrance to this level was through my private study. I kept huge filing cabinets up here for old newspapers and other information on the ‘cases’ I worked. Once upon a time this was supposed to be my studio and remnants of that life were currently shoved back against the wall and covered by a huge cloth. Another reminder of the life I gave up for the one I chose to live now.

I went back six months and began looking for any weird incidents I may have overlooked the first time. Anything that sounded like the altercation between Amelia and Sasha. I'd only searched at that time for information concerning the ritualistic murders but nothing else. I’d been so focused on Caleb that it was entirely too possible other crimes had slipped through the cracks. I laid the papers out on the floor and began the tedious process of tagging anything of interest.

With different colored Post-its I marked each event that seemed even remotely suspicious including, but not limited to, vandalism, muggings, or abductions. Halfway through the March papers, I realized I'd run out of stickers and went downstairs to the supply closet in the kitchen.

As I approached the second floor stairs I braced myself for the onslaught of Amelia's fragrant scent and presence. I'd heard the garage door open moments before and I knew she had arrived at the office. I arranged my face into what others considered socially appropriate and walked into the kitchen.

"Good afternoon Ms. Chase," I said, observing her attempt to get a coffee mug off the top shelf.

"Hi," she grunted, straining to reach on the tip of her toes.

I processed the moment, watching her struggle with the height.
Oh, right
, I thought, with a sudden flare of irritation at myself for being so dense. "Let me get that for you.”  I easily plucked the cup off the shelf and placed it on the counter.

The small gestures stumped me every time. Simple things like holding the door, allowing the person to walk ahead of me, or offering to carry in the boxes and bags from the car. Things I hadn't considered in many years. It made me question how other humans felt about my interactions with them…had I failed?

I walked over to the storage closet and rummaged around, quickly finding the notes I needed due to Amelia's excellent organizational skills. I was prepared to turn around and tell her this when I noticed out of the corner of my eye that she was watching me. Oh the irony.

Her eyes were questioning, tightened at the corners, and I felt them linger. Her interest excited me because no one ever paid me much notice—not for long at least. When they did I could tell what they were thinking by their increased heart rates or listening to their whispered comments. Women were impressed by my appearance and men were in awe of my intimidating nature. Everything about me drew people in for a moment but then, just as quickly, those same qualities made them uncomfortable and they scurried away.

Amelia stood behind me, her heart rate even and breathing normal, inspecting me. Again, I had no clue what she was thinking and the thought of that was thrilling.

I turned finally and faced her, noticing a light pink tint to rush up her neck.

“Thank you for organizing the closet so well. I found just what I needed." I held up the pad of garish pink notes.

"You're welcome," she said, the same quizzical look on her face as before.

"I'm going to be upstairs and would prefer not to be disturbed. If you need me call my cell, okay?" I said under her scrutinizing gaze. I shifted my feet, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

We stood in a sort of tense stand-off until she turned her back to me and hunched her shoulders while she stirred her cup of tea. I took a step backwards, ready to leave the room when she spoke suddenly and stated in a low shaky voice, "I know you have a secret."

My still heart plummeted to my ancient stomach, igniting a feeling of absolute dread and horror. These were the words of my deepest fears. Miles had warned me—this is what Olivia was trying to tell me. I’d gotten too close. My mouth became dry and I had to force myself to breathe in order to appear normal.

I steadied my voice. "A secret?"

The sound of her metal spoon, tracing the edge of her cup, was the only noise in the room until she said, "The signs were all there. I mean, they’re stereotypical but stereotypes are for a reason, right?"

“I’m, uh, not following.”

“Well, you’re freakishly neat and tidy. Your closet alone should have sent up a red flag.”

Okay. This was true. I had an extreme case of obsessive compulsive disorder, but that was hardly an identifiable trait of being a vampire. It was more of a personal quirk exaggerated by the vampirism. I braced myself for more.

“Obviously your body is like…killer.” Her heart beat like a hummingbird's wings and I could almost feel the heat of nervousness rolling off her body. Only this silly woman would be embarrassed as she destroyed my life. Abruptly she said, "I mean, killer. I know a lot of men who would die for your physique."

She thought I looked amazing. A smug grin crept across my face before I shook it off, wondering for the millionth time what thoughts were running though her head. I was aware women found me attractive, as it was one of the lures that made humans such susceptible prey. To hear Amelia say those words brought about a rush of feelings I wasn't used to, but was it really important to say right now?

"Your skin is flawless, unblemished. And your hair…it’s a work of art."

“My hair?”

I hated my hair. Loathed it. It was the one thing that drove me absolutely insane post transition, but that alone was nothing definitive. I mean, look at Miles. He was bald. Forever.

She stepped closer and peered at my neck and chest. “You man-scape, right?”

I shook my head silently, afraid to speak. I had no idea what this 'man-scaping' thing was but I knew I didn't have it.

"Huh," she considered and turned back to the counter, her long hair swaying a bit as she took a sip of her tea. "You probably have more clothes than Kanye West."

The uneasy knot in my stomach quickly morphed into one of confusion. Kanye West? Who?

She continued, rambling now. "Sometimes you speak like you've never been around a woman, and you never have company, and the only time you did it was a man. Who, coincidentally, was also unbelievably gorgeous."

What? I literally was unable to follow her train of thought. What man was she talking about? I searched my memory and came up with the only male visitor we'd had.

Elijah.

She stilled, palms flat on the counter. When she spoke it was low and with conviction. "Like I said, I know what you’re hiding, Grant.”

Here it comes. Images of what would come flashed in my mind. Would she run screaming? Would I have to kill her? In over a hundred years I'd never had a moment of exposure like this.

“I want you to know that I support you—no matter what.”

I waited for a beat. I waited for the earth to stop. For the fear to sink in her eyes.

“Uh, what?”

Amelia spun around and looked me in the eye. The wrong emotion was written across her face. Instead of fear she looked, as she had just proclaimed, supportive? "You're gay.”

I was stuck in the moment, hands clenched, prepared for exposure but I heard her words echo in my ears. Gay?

"I, um…what?" I stumbled over my words. I never stumbled over my words. Everything about this woman completely bewildered me. She reduced me to a bumbling idiot.

Apparently a gay, bumbling idiot.

She took a step forward, bringing a fresh wave of her scent toward me, the excruciating aroma of lemons filling my senses. Her normally pale cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. Her eyes were shining and her lips were puffed out with satisfaction, having ’outed’ me.

I'd never found her more attractive.

"You're gay,” she said again. "It's okay. I totally support you and your decisions. Well, not decisions since I feel we are all born one way or another, but regardless, I think it's great."

She thought it was great that I was gay. I supposed that was a preferred alternative to me being a blood sucking monster.

She was still talking and I picked her up mid-sentence, "…and you know, I hate sounding so stereotypical but you really do just have way too much clothing for a straight guy. Not to mention the fact the girl at the coffee shop, the really cute one? She told me she has never seen you with a woman, either. And that she has slipped you her number more than once only to find it still on the table when she cleaned up. I mean, she’s really pretty. Come on, you're young, single, incredibly gorgeous, rich, successful. You," she stepped closer and jabbed a finger in my chest, "are totally gay."

The minute her warm fingertip made contact with my chest, even through the barrier of clothing, sparks of heat spread across every inch of my body.

Focus, Grant. Now was not the time to get the warm and fuzzies for this girl. She thought I was gay and apparently so did everyone else. I’d severely underestimated my presentation to those around me.

She withdrew the tip of her finger and I instantly missed it. I absently rubbed the spot with my thumb trying to feel the sensation again.

She stepped back and picked up her tea and said, "No wonder you’re angry all the time. Keeping a secret like that must be exhausting. Then to make matters worse, I’d caught you red-handed with that hottie the other day!  Don’t worry, I won't tell anyone. It’s your decision when you want the world to know." She smiled and winked leaving me alone in the kitchen.

I stood for a moment fighting the urge to tell her otherwise. As ridiculous as it sounded, this was possibly the best mistake she could make. My real secret, that I was an eternally frozen twenty-two year-old vampire that kept up a charade of normalcy by posing as the CEO of a multi-million dollar organization was beyond horrific. Add on the fact I had a side job of fighting crime and tracking bad guys during my long, endless nights, and things became absurd. The only thing more absurd was that I was currently battling conflicting desires of hunger and lust over the most fragile girl I've ever encountered.

I ran my hands up my face and fisted them in my hair. I wasn't sure when my life had turned into an epically bad horror film, but clearly it had. Oh wait. I did know. It was the day Amelia Chase entered my life. That was the cosmic fate that now added the term ’gay’ in front of Vampire CEO Crime Fighter.

As much as it pained me, instead of denying her theory I quickly decided I was going to remain non-committal. If my being gay explained my odd behaviors or physical appearance, then I could live with it. The theory gave me a bit of freedom and it ensured a reason to keep my distance. I needed a good excuse to force me away from the feelings and emotions that had been building since the day she tainted my home. It was all one more lie in my elaborate charade but I needed her to stay close to me while maintaining the image I had crafted. If this meant from now on, in my home, Grant Palmer was gay, then so be it.