"Well, that's freakin' weird. I guess you might as well see him. Third door on the left."

"Thank you." Not a good start. Darcy squelched a feeling of doom. She rounded the desk and strode down the hall.

"You'd better knock first," the receptionist yelled in her nasal voice. "He may be in the middle of an audition."

Darcy glanced back. The receptionist was lolling back in her chair, wiggling fingers in the air while she admired her nail polish. Maggie gave Darcy an encouraging smile. She smiled weakly back, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.

"Come in," a gruff voice hollered.

She entered the room and turned to close the door. Behind her, she heard a curious sound. A zipper? She pivoted to face Sylvester Bacchus. He looked about fifty in mortal years, though there was no way she could estimate his age as a vampire. Mostly bald, he had embraced the condition by keeping the rest of his hair buzzed short. His moustache and beard were closely cropped and wellgroomed, dark hair sprinkled with gray. His brown eyes immediately checked her out, focusing on her chest for far too long.

She lifted her leather portfolio to block his view. "How do you do? I'm—"

"You're new." His gaze drifted to her hips. "Not bad."

Her face heated up as she debated the long-range ramifications of starting a job interview by slapping the prospective employer in the face. Her dilemma was cut short when she noticed a blond head slowly rising from behind the desk.

"I'm sorry." Darcy retreated toward the door. "I didn't realize you were busy."

"No problem." Mr. Bacchus glanced at the blonde. "That'll be all, Tiffany. You can… polish my shoes another day."

She tilted her head. "You want me to do your shoes, too?"

"No," he grumbled. "Just come back in a week."

Darcy realized the zipper she'd heard was real. Good God, if this was how auditions were conducted, she needed to warn Maggie. She'd always been under the impression that vampires preferred vampire sex, a purely mental exercise that was considered superior to sloppy and sweaty mortal sex. Obviously, Mr. Bacchus possessed a more open mind. And a more open zipper.