Page 4
Story: Petty AF
I tensed. Logically, I knew any rejection would likely be from a scheduling conflict since my request had been last minute, but that didn’t ease my anxiety. Taking another deep breath, I steeled myself before opening the message.
Task Accepted.
two
~ Deaton ~
IarrivedattheCentennial,a luxury hotel on the city’s upper west side, ten minutes before my scheduled meeting time with River Brighton. Instead of heading into the lobby, however, I entered the attached cafe and found an empty table on the narrow patio.
The wrought iron chairs had been built for function over comfort, but it was a pleasant night with a cool breeze blowing in from the bay. Mostly, however, I had chosen an outdoor location because, in my experience, it made people feel less confined, essential for a first meeting.
I’d learned the basics—human stylist looking for networking opportunities at the Legacy Gala—through his initial request, but that didn’t tell me who he was as a person. Wanting to learn more about him, including his expectations for the evening, I had spent the last forty-eight hours exchanging messages with him through the MNSTR app.
I had found him to be surprisingly open and genuine in his responses, and he had a quick wit that made talking to him a pleasure rather than a chore. He had admitted to knowing very little about paranormal customs and etiquette, and he had asked for help navigating some of the different aspects of shadeling social interactions.
There had been no arrogance in his words, nothing to suggest he considered himself above me, or anyone else, for that matter. If anything, he had been a little too self-deprecating.
His excitement shined through in his messages, but he continuously spoke of the gala with an undertone of disbelief. Like someone who couldn’t quite accept that he deserved to be there.
From what I gathered, he had more than earned his place on the guest list, but I worried others would see his modesty as a weakness to be exploited.
I considered it my job to make sure that didn’t happen.
Settling back in my seat, I tugged at the collar of my dress shirt and straightened my tie, subtly trying to ease some of my restless energy. The full moon that brushed the top of the skyline had me on edge, and a quick glance at my surroundings told me I wasn’t the only one.
A female a couple of tables away kept crossing and uncrossing her legs, and a male in the corner had adjusted the cuffs of his jacket at least four times in as many minutes.
The movies had it all wrong. Shadelings didn’t spontaneously lose control and turn into beasts every full moon. The desire existed, though, the innate need to shed our humanity and give ourselves over to our baser instincts.
It didn’t just affect shifters and weres either. Every shadeling reacted to the full moon to some degree. Magic users received a boost to their spells, but that also came with a spike of anxiety.Vampires experienced increased thirst, and demons got pretty thirsty too. Just in different ways.
Worse, control didn’t come naturally. It was a skill that had to be learned and developed over years, making puberty a real bitch for most paranormal kids.
I checked my watch and sighed. Barely three minutes had passed since I’d arrived.
As much as I wanted to blame my impatience on the moon, I couldn’t deny that I felt a strange sense of anticipation—something that hadn’t happened with a client in a long time. Yet, ever since my first exchange with River, I had been swinging wildly between professional obligation and personal curiosity.
The cafe’s patio door swung open with a quiet swish as the rubber edge at the bottom scraped against the concrete. I instinctively glanced over, but it wasn’t him.
Instead, a young woman with an oversized cup of coffee passed in front of my table, her movements stiff and her expression tight. She took a seat near the railing, her gaze flickering momentarily toward the sky before she visibly shook herself and began rifling through her bag.
A waiter passed next, his tray balanced precariously with mismatched plates that rattled against each other. A couple near the entrance laughed a little too loudly at a shared joke. The guy in the corner continued to readjust his cuffs. A younger male pushed a rolling suitcase along the sidewalk, his eye twitching every time the front wheel squeaked.
I sighed again as I repositioned in my seat. I wasn’t typically so hyperaware of those around me. With my senses already on high alert, however, the fluctuating energy from so many supernaturals in one place couldn’t be ignored.
Grasping for a distraction, I turned to thoughts of River, wondering what he would be like in person. Would he carry the same humbleness as he had in his messages? The same goodhumor? Or would he turn into an insufferable asshole without the buffer of a phone screen?
Not that it mattered since I had no intentions of making it personal. My job was to get him into the party, then blend into the background until he needed me. The fact that he intrigued me beyond what would be considered necessary for the task didn’t matter.
It sure as hell didn’t need to be acknowledged.
The patio door swung open again, and this time, I knew it was him before I even looked up, sensing it in the way his presence shifted the energy again. He stood off to the side, tucked into a shadowy corner as he scanned the tables, clearly looking for me.
Instead of motioning to him or calling out, however, I sat back, taking the opportunity to study him.
His dark suit molded to every slender curve, elegant without being flashy. A rarity in settings like the Legacy Gala, where posturing was practically an art form. When he turned his head, his dark hair gleamed in the string lights that stretched the length of the awning, the ends fluttering around his arms in the breeze.
He wore an expression of nervous resolve as he searched the patio, his body language rife with hesitancy. Not as if he thought he had made a mistake by hiring me, though. It felt more like someone wary of taking up too much space where they didn’t belong.
Task Accepted.
two
~ Deaton ~
IarrivedattheCentennial,a luxury hotel on the city’s upper west side, ten minutes before my scheduled meeting time with River Brighton. Instead of heading into the lobby, however, I entered the attached cafe and found an empty table on the narrow patio.
The wrought iron chairs had been built for function over comfort, but it was a pleasant night with a cool breeze blowing in from the bay. Mostly, however, I had chosen an outdoor location because, in my experience, it made people feel less confined, essential for a first meeting.
I’d learned the basics—human stylist looking for networking opportunities at the Legacy Gala—through his initial request, but that didn’t tell me who he was as a person. Wanting to learn more about him, including his expectations for the evening, I had spent the last forty-eight hours exchanging messages with him through the MNSTR app.
I had found him to be surprisingly open and genuine in his responses, and he had a quick wit that made talking to him a pleasure rather than a chore. He had admitted to knowing very little about paranormal customs and etiquette, and he had asked for help navigating some of the different aspects of shadeling social interactions.
There had been no arrogance in his words, nothing to suggest he considered himself above me, or anyone else, for that matter. If anything, he had been a little too self-deprecating.
His excitement shined through in his messages, but he continuously spoke of the gala with an undertone of disbelief. Like someone who couldn’t quite accept that he deserved to be there.
From what I gathered, he had more than earned his place on the guest list, but I worried others would see his modesty as a weakness to be exploited.
I considered it my job to make sure that didn’t happen.
Settling back in my seat, I tugged at the collar of my dress shirt and straightened my tie, subtly trying to ease some of my restless energy. The full moon that brushed the top of the skyline had me on edge, and a quick glance at my surroundings told me I wasn’t the only one.
A female a couple of tables away kept crossing and uncrossing her legs, and a male in the corner had adjusted the cuffs of his jacket at least four times in as many minutes.
The movies had it all wrong. Shadelings didn’t spontaneously lose control and turn into beasts every full moon. The desire existed, though, the innate need to shed our humanity and give ourselves over to our baser instincts.
It didn’t just affect shifters and weres either. Every shadeling reacted to the full moon to some degree. Magic users received a boost to their spells, but that also came with a spike of anxiety.Vampires experienced increased thirst, and demons got pretty thirsty too. Just in different ways.
Worse, control didn’t come naturally. It was a skill that had to be learned and developed over years, making puberty a real bitch for most paranormal kids.
I checked my watch and sighed. Barely three minutes had passed since I’d arrived.
As much as I wanted to blame my impatience on the moon, I couldn’t deny that I felt a strange sense of anticipation—something that hadn’t happened with a client in a long time. Yet, ever since my first exchange with River, I had been swinging wildly between professional obligation and personal curiosity.
The cafe’s patio door swung open with a quiet swish as the rubber edge at the bottom scraped against the concrete. I instinctively glanced over, but it wasn’t him.
Instead, a young woman with an oversized cup of coffee passed in front of my table, her movements stiff and her expression tight. She took a seat near the railing, her gaze flickering momentarily toward the sky before she visibly shook herself and began rifling through her bag.
A waiter passed next, his tray balanced precariously with mismatched plates that rattled against each other. A couple near the entrance laughed a little too loudly at a shared joke. The guy in the corner continued to readjust his cuffs. A younger male pushed a rolling suitcase along the sidewalk, his eye twitching every time the front wheel squeaked.
I sighed again as I repositioned in my seat. I wasn’t typically so hyperaware of those around me. With my senses already on high alert, however, the fluctuating energy from so many supernaturals in one place couldn’t be ignored.
Grasping for a distraction, I turned to thoughts of River, wondering what he would be like in person. Would he carry the same humbleness as he had in his messages? The same goodhumor? Or would he turn into an insufferable asshole without the buffer of a phone screen?
Not that it mattered since I had no intentions of making it personal. My job was to get him into the party, then blend into the background until he needed me. The fact that he intrigued me beyond what would be considered necessary for the task didn’t matter.
It sure as hell didn’t need to be acknowledged.
The patio door swung open again, and this time, I knew it was him before I even looked up, sensing it in the way his presence shifted the energy again. He stood off to the side, tucked into a shadowy corner as he scanned the tables, clearly looking for me.
Instead of motioning to him or calling out, however, I sat back, taking the opportunity to study him.
His dark suit molded to every slender curve, elegant without being flashy. A rarity in settings like the Legacy Gala, where posturing was practically an art form. When he turned his head, his dark hair gleamed in the string lights that stretched the length of the awning, the ends fluttering around his arms in the breeze.
He wore an expression of nervous resolve as he searched the patio, his body language rife with hesitancy. Not as if he thought he had made a mistake by hiring me, though. It felt more like someone wary of taking up too much space where they didn’t belong.