Red Angel by Helen Harper

‘Traitor,’ I hiss, and gently nudge him out of the way to open the door.
    Michael is looking damn good. He’s also far more casually dressed than I am, in dark jeans and a leather jacket in Montserrat midnight blue. If I’d known I could get away with denim, I’d have bloody well done so.
    The corner of his mouth crooks up. ‘A dress?’
    I frown at him. ‘I wear dresses but they’re not practical when I’m working.’ I emphasise the point. When I skip out early, the last thing I want him to think is that I have a job to do. He wouldn’t approve of breaking into an army base and, besides, this one is for me.
    ‘You look beautiful.’ His eyes, filled with serious intent, meet mine. I’m just not sure what the intent is.
    ‘Thanks,’ I mumble. ‘Can I bring Kimchi along?’
    He draws a thumb across the stubble on his jaw. ‘It’s not the kind of place that normally allows animals.’ His smile deepens. ‘But you are the Red Angel. I’m not sure many people will try to stop you.’
    ‘I really hate all that stuff,’ I whisper.
    His amusement vanishes. ‘I know. I know you don’t want to go out with me either. You’ve been dealt a shitty hand, Bo, and I’m sorry.’
    I tug at my ponytail, suddenly feeling both awkward and vulnerable. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to go out with you, but you and me would be so … complicated.’
    ‘Would we?’
    ‘We’re supposed to be friends, remember?’
    ‘I think we agreed on friends with benefits.’ For a moment, his eyes spark again.
    I swallow. Sensing the banter is making me uncomfortable, he holds out his hand. I eye it warily then take it, grab Kimchi’s lead with my other hand and step into the hallway to join him.
    ‘Wait.’ He snaps his fingers. ‘I almost forgot. It’s a shame you’re wearing black because it won’t really show up against that colour.’ He hands me a dark blue rose. ‘It’s been genetically engineered to match our House colours.’
    ‘I’m not technically Montserrat…’ I begin.
    ‘No,’ he interrupts me softly. ‘But I am. By giving you this, it’ll imply that you belong with me.’
    I frown. ‘I don’t belong to anyone.’
    He watches me carefully. ‘I said belong with , not belong to . Bad choice of words either way though.’
    Looking at his expression, I’m not sure he really thinks that. I tuck the flower carefully into my hair. It scratches my scalp and feels unnatural but it makes sense to put it somewhere the press will notice it. That is what this is all about, after all.
    *
    Someone, I’m guessing either my grandfather or Michael himself, has tipped off one of the big tabloids. Not only are we snapped getting into the Montserrat limo outside my building but there’s also a healthy bustle of paparazzi outside the restaurant. Kimchi takes umbrage at their presence, growling and snapping at several of them who get too close. I glance at the dog with newfound respect.
    ‘Bo! Is this a business meeting?’
    I smile prettily and wave, smoothing down my skirt to draw attention to its lack of material. ‘Yes,’ I say firmly. ‘We are discussing important vampire business.’
    Michael looks down at me, a tender expression on his face. ‘Very important,’ he adds softly.
    Several cameras flash in an excited explosion of light. Michael and I enter the restaurant without another word.
    ‘Do you think that worked?’ I ask him in an undertone.
    ‘From the pound signs I saw in every damn photographer’s eyes, I’d say so,’ he grunts. He sounds annoyed.
    We’re led to a prominently positioned table in front of the window. Every patron in the place watches us take our seats. Kimchi, behaving for once, settles himself at my feet.
    ‘Ms Blackman?’ A well-dressed woman appears. ‘I’m Deborah, the manager of La Maison. I’m thrilled that you decided to join us tonight.’ She glances down at Kimchi. It’s clear what she wants to add but she’s too nervous to say it. ‘Lord Montserrat,’ she