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9. If Only My Boss Weren't Listening

"So, Sergio is a vampire," Katie said.

I snorted. We were wrapped in fluffy blankets on our couch, Katie with her laptop open in front of her.

It was the day after Sergio had pinned me against the wall. Nothing else had happened; he'd been a perfect gentleman. But now I knew what passion lurked under his composed surface.

"I found this website that lists the characteristics of vampires," Katie continued.

"Okay, I'll bite," I said. "Pardon the pun."

"As the Queen of Puns, I say that was bloody terrible and I loved it."

We shuffled closer together so that I could see her screen. It showed an article and a still from a black and white Dracula movie.

"You said he had shades covering his windows? Vampires can't go out in the sun. Listen to this." She read from the article. "'There are many versions of the vampire myth spanning centuries of superstition and lore...' blah blah blah, 'the book Dracula brought the concept of the aristocratic vampire into modern Western tradition...'" She scrolled down the page. "Here we go. 'Common legends about vampires include an aversion to sunlight, silver, garlic, holy symbols, holy water, and holy places, such as churches or consecrated ground. They must be invited past a threshold...' Any of this sound familiar?"

I played along. "Well, he did make me take off my silver jewelry before kissing me."

She tapped her forehead. "What did I tell you? Vampire. Also, he lives in a creepy mansion and was checking out a book on vampires when you met him."

"You make me laugh," I said, exchanging a grin with her.

"I thought you'd find this entertaining." She closed her laptop and laid across my legs. "My best friend is dating a real-life vampire."

"We aren't officially dating," I argued.

She guffawed. (I loved that word—guffawed—but rarely found occasion to use it. Most people avoided guffawing as a rule.) "I thought you were going to say we weren't best friends, and then we were going to have a problem."

"I would never say that. If we weren't best friends, who would accuse the boy-I'm-going-on-dates-with of being an undead monster?"

"As long as you remember how important I am."

It was a Thursday, almost two weeks after the symphony. I'd seen Sergio a couple of times since then, but on no formal dates. My period had come and gone accompanied by illogical relief that I wasn't pregnant even though it had been months since I'd gotten laid.

I finished up a day of work. Around me, my coworkers said their goodbyes one by one.

"Take care, Inari," said Robert Bergeron, the man who sat across from me.

"You too, Robert," I replied. He left.

I put my notes in my briefcase, switched my cell phone back on, and was about to log out of my computer when a memo popped up from Ms. Neil.

Neil: If you're still here, could you come into my office for a second?

I logged off and, taking my stuff, knocked on my boss' door.

"Ah, Inari," she said. "Please come in. I have a couple notes on your piece about the teachers' strike."

I entered and sat down. "Is it bad?" I asked.

"Not at all. In fact, it's quite good. There are just a few places that could use some work." That's what I liked about Ms. Neil; if she criticized you, it was to make you better, not to put you down.

We talked about the piece, then Ms. Neil asked how my week was going and if I had plans for the weekend.

"Nothing exciting," I said. "I have a pretty boring life."

My phone rang. I winced, having forgotten that I'd turned the sound back on. "Sorry," I said, fishing it out of my purse. 'Sergio Genovesi' flashed on the screen.

"Who is it?" asked Ms. Neil.

"He's, uh, a man I'm sort of seeing."

Ms. Neil was uncharacteristically playful. "Answer it. I'd love to speak to this young man."

Not wanting to be rude, but desperately hoping to avoid embarrassment, I answered the call. "Hi, Sergio," I said, intending to tell him that my boss was listening, but he spoke first.

"Hello, darling. Are you available to travel to Milan this weekend?"

Ms. Neil's eyebrows raised as my jaw dropped. "Um, Milan, Italy? That Milan?" I asked, sounding stupid even to myself.

He chuckled. "Yes, that Milan. I must attend a ball there on Saturday night, and I would be delighted if you'd accompany me. Do not worry about the cost of the tickets; I have chartered a private plane both ways. If you can make it, a car will pick you up at 3. But I know that you have work, so if you can't get out that early but still want to come, let me know and we can try to work something out."

I was so shocked that I had trouble making my thoughts coherent. Should I tell him my boss was there, somewhat belatedly? Should I ask if I could call him back? Instead, I said, "I don't have anything fancy enough to wear to a ball."

"I will take care of it. Please, I would like you to be there."

Ms. Neil was still watching, so I tried to end the call. "I'll check with my boss to see if I can make it and get back to you."

"Excellent," said Sergio, his accent adding a hint of a fourth syllable. "If you need anything else from me, let me know."

"Okay," I squeaked.

"Goodbye." He hung up.

I wanted nothing more than to turn invisible. To melt into a pile of goop and slide off my chair. Anything to escape this awkwardness.

"So, 'nothing exciting,' huh?" Ms. Neil said.

"Do you think I could possibly leave a little early tomorrow?" I asked, cringing. Kill me now, kill me now.

"Sweetheart," she said, "a man—and a handsome one by the sound of him and the five shades of red you're turning—has just invited you to go to Milan with him. Do whatever you need to do to make it happen."

"Yes, ma'am."