“Why did Lucian make you drop your night courses and switch to days?” he asked almost gently in that deep bass rumble of his.“Were you donning your leathers and—”
“No,” she assured him quickly. “Nothing like that. I do learn from my mistakes.”
He waited. Silent.
Ildaria could have refused to explain. It wasn’t really any of his business. But she found she wanted to. She didn’t wanthim to think she’d run off half-cocked and repeated her error. “I didn’t go looking for trouble this time. But a lot of badstuff happens at night on campus, and I can’t just ignore someone’s screams for help. So . . .” She grimaced and admitted,“There have been three instances since starting my night courses here in Toronto where I’ve stumbled across someone in troubleand tried to help.”
She noted his wince at this news, and sighed inwardly, completely understanding it, but not sorry she’d helped. Pushing hisreaction away in her mind, she continued, “One of those instances where I helped was apparently caught on camera.”
“Crap,” G.G. breathed.
Ildaria nodded, completely agreeing with that assessment of the situation. It was crap. “So, Lucian has decided that Vasco was right and I’m a trouble magnet. That being the case, Lucian has decided the best way to keep me out of trouble is to make me switch from night classes to day classes when there is less crime on campus for me to happen upon on my way to and from class.”
They were both silent for a minute, and then G.G. pushed his plate away and turned to face her. Ildaria waited warily, unsurewhat to make of the thoughtful way he was eyeing her, but then he said, “Marguerite said you were taking accounting at uni.”
Surprise sent her eyebrows upward, but she nodded. “I major in accounting, minor in business.”
G.G. nodded slowly and then said thoughtfully, “And my dog likes you.”
Ildaria tilted her head, trying to sort that one out. She wasn’t at all certain what one thing had to do with the other.
And then he said, “Would you like a job?”
Ildaria stilled, startled by the question, but after considering his comment about his dog liking her, asked, “Dog sitting?”
G.G. nodded. “And doing the books for the Night Club.” When her eyes widened in surprise, he added, “I’ll pay you for both.An accountant’s full wages, plus an extra twenty dollars an hour for looking after H.D. while you do.”
Her mouth dropped open at that offer, excitement building within her at the thought of being paid for two jobs in one, butthen she frowned and pointed out, “Wait. You already have a dog sitter. They just didn’t come in today for some reason.”
“I had a dog sitter,” G.G. said dryly, and explained, “She quit yesterday after H.D. bit her. Walked out in the middle of the night without telling me and left him alone to eat holes in my clothes and chew the hell out of one of my running shoes.”
“Oh.” Ildaria blinked, wondering what clothes the little fur ball had chewed holes in.
“And I’ve been looking for a bookkeeper since I bought this place . . .” G.G. shook his head with irritation. “The fact thatI can’t hire a mortal has made it impossible to find anyone.”
Ildaria completely understood why he couldn’t hire mortals. This club was for immortals. It served blood-based drinks, notalcohol. The accounts payable would be to various places but would include Argeneau blood banks. The drinks made were variationsof blood, sometimes just different blood types: A+, A-, B+, B-, etc. Sometimes customers wanted specialized blood like thatof people who were high on various drugs, or the sweet blood Marguerite had asked her to pick up on the way back from university.Sweet blood came from untreated diabetics and had a high sugar content. A rare blend to find since when the blood was testedon donation, the donor was advised that they were diabetic and should seek medical attention, reducing the donor base.
Sometimes, though, the blood was mixed with things to make it more interesting. Here a Bloody Mary was a true Bloody Mary, made with the standard Worcestershire sauce, hot sauce, lemon juice, lime juice, black pepper as well as celery and a lemon wedge for garnish. But there was no tomato juice or vodka in the Bloody Marys here. That was replaced with blood.
Actually, she thought now, G.G. would have trouble explaining having blood banks on the accounts payable list to the tax peopletoo and she supposed he had to cover with switching names out from blood banks for alcohol distributors. He probably had tokeep two sets of books, she decided. An immortal was really the only way he could go when it came to hiring a bookkeeper.She didn’t know a lot of accountant immortals. Ildaria was sure there must be some out there, but considering the small poolto search from . . . well, finding a bookkeeper would be impossible.
“So?” G.G. prompted when she remained silent, lost in her thoughts. “Want a job? Or two jobs, I should say.”
“Si,” Ildaria said at once, feeling a lot of her stressors drop away like ashes crumbling in a fire. He was going to pay herfor both watching H.D. and doing the books. It was like two full-time jobs in one. Her money troubles just went out the door.She’d be able to pay for the fall semester, get her own apartment, and maybe even buy furniture for it if she was careful.Damn. Things were looking up.
“Thank God,” G.G. said, relaxing in his chair and smiling at her. Shaking his head, he added, “Actually, I suppose I shouldbe thanking Marguerite. She’s the one who suggested you might be able to help me.”
“Marguerite did?” Ildaria asked with surprise.
“Yeah. When she called this morning about the blood, we got to talking and I was telling her about H.D.’s sitter quitting and needing a bookkeeper and she mentioned that you were taking accounting and looking for a job. And then she suggested sending you to pick up the blood instead of my having
