Everyone there had loved her. Some still clung to the hope that she was alive. Austin promised to do his best to solve the mystery of her disappearance and left with a box of copied videotapes of Darcy's old newscasts. He stashed the box in the trunk and drove to his apartment in Greenwich Village.
He settled on the couch with a beer and a sandwich and began watching Darcy's old reports. He'd expected it to be boring, but she made him smile and laugh with the crazy situations she got herself into. He was watching her attempt an interview with a pregnant hippo at the Bronx Zoo when he finally fell asleep.
And dreamed of Darcy.
When he woke, the television greeted him with static and snow. He turned the TV and VCR off, noticing the time. Six-forty in the evening. Crap. He'd be late to the seven o'clock nightly meeting.
He called the office, but Sean surprised him by telling him to take a few days off.
"Have you signed the contract yet?" Sean asked.
"No sir. I'll take care of that." Austin hung up and dug through his papers 'til he located the contract from DVN. An odd paragraph caught his eye. Why not ask Darcy about it? After all, he knew where she would be tonight.
The auditions at DVN were scheduled to begin at ten P.M., so Austin arrived at nine. He slid two stakes into an inside pocket of his jacket. That and the silver crucifix under his shirt would have to suffice for protection.
He hesitated outside the entrance. The letters DVN glowed in neon over his head. Act normal, he warned himself. You don't know vampires exist. You're a dumb innocent. Yeah, and he felt like a sheep meandering into a lion's den.
He pushed open the door and entered. The lobby decor was dramatic, done in shades of black and red. A few men lounged in red leather chairs. They looked at him and sniffed. He strode toward the receptionist desk. The girl was well coordinated with the room, dressed in black with a red scarf around her neck. Even her hair was dyed black with bright red highlights. She was sharpening her red-painted nails with an emery board.
"Good evening."
Without glancing up, she pointed at a clipboard. "If you're here for the auditions, sign in," she began with a nasal voice.
"I'm here to see Darcy Newhart."
She looked up and sniffed. "What are you doing here?"
"I need to see Darcy Newhart. It's a business matter." He showed her the brown envelope in his hand.
"But you're a—" She snapped her mouth shut, apparently realizing she shouldn't admit that she wasn't as alive as he was. "Uh, sure. Her office is down the hall. Fifth door on the right, just before you get to the recording studios."
"Thank you." Austin proceeded down the hall, aware that every vampire in the lobby was staring at his back. He knocked on the door. No answer.
"Miss Newhart?" He cracked the door. No one there, though the papers on her desk indicated she'd been there recently. He slipped inside and closed the door. It was a small office—no windows, old desk, old computer. The two chairs facing the desk looked like they'd been retired from an old hotel.
His wandering gaze snagged on a large paper cup on her desk. It had an opaque plastic cover snapped on top with a straw stuck in the hole. He picked it up. It was almost empty. And icy cold. That was good. What vampire would want his blood cold? He lifted the cup to his nose and sniffed.
Chocolate? There was another flavor he wasn't sure of, but the chocolate was definitely there. He grinned. She had to be alive. Still, he should have a taste, just to be sure. He started to peel off the cover.
The door opened. Darcy Newhart strode inside, then stopped short. Her mouth fell open. His did, too, and he didn't even have the excuse of being surprised. But he'd forgotten how strongly she affected him. His physical reaction was immediate, causing his heart to race and his groin to swell.
Her hair was loose about her shoulders. She was dressed in khaki slacks and a blue T-shirt that molded perfectly to her breasts. The shirt was devoid of any pithy sayings like Hot Babe, which would have been ridiculously redundant in her case.
"Good evening." He focused on her face, so he would stop ogling her gorgeous body.
"Hello." Her cheeks flushed a becoming pink. She slowly shut the door. "This is a bit of a surprise, Mr. Cartwright." Her gaze landed on the cup in his hand, and her face turned pale.
"Sorry." He shoved the cover back on and set the cup on her desk. "It sure smelled good. Chocolate milkshake?"
"Not exactly. I—" She rushed forward, grabbed the cup, and dropped it in the trash. "I'm… lactose intolerant. Would you like something to drink, Mr. Cartwright?" She motioned toward the door. "I could get you—"
"I'm fine. Thank you." He smiled, trying to put her at ease. "Since we'll be working together, why don't you call me Adam?"
"Okay." She slipped past him and around the desk. "What can I do for you… Adam?"
"It's about the contract." He opened the clasp envelope and removed the papers.
"Shouldn't you have your agent help you with that?"
"Frankly, it has Ms. Stein confused, too." At least, Austin figured it would. He turned to page six and pointed at the tiny print at the bottom of the page. "Here it is. DVN will assume no liability for injuries incurred during the term of employment. This includes loss of blood, puncture wounds, and fatalities."
He glanced up at Darcy. Her face had turned deathly pale. "It seems a bit extreme, don't you think?"
She tucked her hair behind her ear with trembling fingers. "It's fairly standard for DVN. They like to cover all the bases. People tend to sue over the most trivial of things these days."
"I wouldn't call puncture wounds or fatalities trivial."
She waved a hand in the air. "Anything could happen. We'll be filming in a huge penthouse. You could fall down a flight of stairs, or trip on a rug and—"
"Fall on a fork?"
"Excuse me?"
"Puncture wounds, Miss Newhart. How exactly do you expect me to be punctured?" With a pair of fangs?
Her eye twitched. "I agree the wording is a bit unusual, but the intent is clear. DVN cannot be held responsible for any injuries that may occur during the show."
"Are you going to require us to do anything dangerous?"
"No, of course not. Believe me, Mr. Cartwright, I'm going to great lengths to insure your safety."
"You're concerned for our safety?"
"Of course. I hate to see innocent mort—people get hurt."
She'd almost said mortals, which seemed a bit odd since she was a mortal herself. Wasn't she?
Dammit, this indecision had to end. "You're a kind person, Miss Newhart." He took her hand in his.
Her fingers were cold.
"Thank you." Her gaze dropped to their joined hands. "But I'm not the one you need to impress.
There will be a panel of five female judges deciding the outcome of the contest."
He enveloped her hand with both of his. "I'm not interested in your five judges or the contest."
Her gaze jerked up. "You don't want to be in the show? Please don't let the wording in the contract dissuade you."
He slipped two fingers around her wrist. "Do you think I could win something called The Sexiest Man on Earth?"
"I–I think you have a sporting chance. And it would certainly look good for your acting career, don't you think?"
He pressed his fingertips into the soft skin of her wrist. "I really don't want to be seen as a sex toy."
Except by you.
"I understand. I would feel the same way." Her cheeks blushed. "But you haven't heard the latest news. Our producer, Mr. Bacchus, has just announced that the winner will receive a million dollars!