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"Mr. Thibodeaux . . . Mr. Thibodeaux," The softened Southern voice was gentle against Marcel's ears. Lorraine's voice was one of the most pleasant things to hear in the morning, even after the night he had. Normally it didn't take much for Marcel to wake up. In fact, he was often up before Lorraine and the rest of the servants tending to the three floor penthouse, he lived in. But last night he'd gotten a bit out of hand at Saul's Red Bar. The underground supernatural cloud was starting to become much more popular and not just with the locals – vampires and the likes passing through, or those who were just curious were slowly making their way into Paradise City and turning the little club he'd invested in into a growing success. If things kept up, Marcel was likely to make much more money – not that he really needed anymore. After centuries, he'd learned how easy it was to make his money work for him. As a vampire, you seemed to perfect such skills over time. <br/>
<br/>
The smell of iron tickled his nose and that was just enough to finally get him to shoot up. The silky dark blue sheets fell from his figure, pooling around his waist to cover his nude frame. It wasn't anything that Lorraine hadn't seen before. And after all these years, she had no interest. She was like a mother figure to him, the only family he had and with him having bit her when she turned forty, at her wish, she would be with him for the rest of his life. Piercing blue eyes found the chalice that had been placed on his dresser. He watched as Lorraine disappeared around the corner of the narrow hall that led to his closet and began to gather his clothes for the day. She was always much more handsome when she returned from a trip.<br/>
<br/>
"I thought you were staying in Amsterdam for two weeks." He reached for the chalice and drew it to his lips, dying of thirst considering how much alcohol he'd drowned in the night before. It was a surprise he hadn't brought anyone home. Though, it just seemed that despite the newcomers . . . there was no one that had really caught his attention. Perhaps it had something to do with Lindsay. Since she'd left, he'd yet to find anyone that could fill the same place that she had. He was a man of particular tastes. And while he was very much out there and, in the scene, Marcel did value his privacy. The last thing he needed was to have some random going around town and bragging about the time they spent together. He already had the Elders on his head from opening the club in the first place.<br/>
<br/>
He smacked his lips against the rich heavy taste of blood coursing down his throat, his tongue curling toward the corner of his lips to catch the stray drop that missed his mouth. Lorraine came around the corner, holding a dark gray suit and burgundy tie in one hand and polished black dress shoes in the other. There was a slight scowl etched into her face, one of the few times you could find any lines at all denting her usual smooth brown skin. The change had renewed her, taking years off her life, and practically turning the hands of time back for her. Helping him out gave her something to do when she wasn't exploring the world, a luxury that hadn't been afforded to her in the past. Her son had saved his life and Marcel had promised that while he couldn't bring James back, he would do everything he could to pay her back on his behalf. She laid out the clothes on the foot of his king bed and stood there with her hands on her hips.<br/>
"I would've, but I got a message from Lindsay. . . what'd you do this time to make that poor girl quit?" He scoffed, running his tongue along his fangs to ease the tension from thinking about her. His hands worked quickly to pull the white sheet around his waist as he emerged from the bed. At six foot three, Lorraine was but a dwarf in his presence and yet she was ever more intimidating.<br/>
"She didn't quit. She . . . got a bit . . mouthy and the Elders took care of her." There were few humans who knew of their existence. Vampires had managed to coexist with humans for years since coming out of hiding, many of which were unaware. And those who were, were sworn to absolute secrecy. Threatening the foundation of the vampires on this day was grounds for execution or immediate relocation. Fortunately, Lindsay hadn't been sentenced to death, but her being sent away felt like it. Marcel didn't love her – nowhere near that, but they'd gotten close. She wasn't just the woman who booked his appointments and tended to his houseplants and everything else he required assistance with when Lorraine was gone. He'd nearly considered her someone he could actually spend eternity with when it came out their <i>arrangement</i>.<br/>
<br/>
Marcel, not up for a lecture, tried to escape Lorraine by heading into the bathroom. He stared at his disheveled appearance in the mirror, noting the tangled mess his hair had become. Lorraine was not going to let him off easily.<br/>
"You know, this would stop happening if you stopped shacking up with your assistants."<br/>
"It wasn't exactly planned, you know."<br/>
"That's what you always say." This was his new assistant, the fourth one in the last eight months. As if being the <i>youngest</i> wasn't hard enough, the Elders were starting to grow impatient with him and what they considered outlandish behavior. But there was also very little they could do to kick him out. He'd had too much power acquired over the years and while they would never admit it out loud; they needed him. It was his money, his intelligence and tenacity that kept his businesses open; his businesses which were just fronts for blood banks that supplied them and others around the county. Without Marcel they were likely to fall back into the dark times, with vampires becoming raging lunatics, murdering anyone they could get their hands on without a care.<br/>
"I'm sorry your trip got cut short. How's Rome sound?" The small smile she finally gave would've warmed his heart, had the stone in his chest beat at all.<br/>
"Three weeks."<br/>
"A month if all goes well."<br/>
"Two if it doesn't."<br/>
<br/>
Marcel adjusted the ring on his index finger, his eyes fixated monetarily on the azure stone before the elevator doors dangled open. The sound of elevator music was drowned out now by soft chattering and hands flying against keyboards. As he walked through the office he was greeted by his employees. As far as he knew they loved their job and so did he. Every day's an adventure, there was always some new venture to get into: social media sites, new clothing lines, music artists – if there was money to be made, he'd have his fangs ready to sink in. Halfway to his office, Margaret was already at his side, going over the day's meetings and plans. After being around humans for so long, he was able to see them as more than food, which made it much easier for him to focus. That said, he was still recovering from the previous night and would've preferred a slow start to his morning. He wasn't going to get what it seemed as he approached his office to find a woman already sitting in front of his desk.<br/>
<br/>
<i>". . .and that's your first interview of the day. Valeria . . . .Alwick!"</i><br/>
<br/>
"Really? The moment I step in?" He narrowed his gaze at the woman's back before flashing a look toward Margaret. The rush of bright red to her cheeks made his mouth fill with saliva in thought. He swallowed thickly, knowing if he focused too much on it, that <i>she</i> would act on her own desires. That's how compulsion worked – you planted the idea, and the victim would so willingly offer themselves to you the predator. And while the three chalices he had before he left did help, he couldn't explain the sudden thirst he had. His nostrils flared, unnoticeably to her did he try to detect what the scent was.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I tried to book for later, but she just seemed very . . . desperate?" A crater formed in his left cheek as the smile slowly crept on his face. He was amused and even more so as he watched Margaret shrink in nervousness.<br/>
"So, you let a desperate candidate in my office?"<br/>
"Probably not the best idea now that I think about it." Margaret had been with him for two years and she was great at her job, when it meant sitting behind her desk and focusing on his marketing for whichever new project they were working on. Social engagement wasn't really her strong suit.<br/>
<br/>
He switched his suitcase to the other hand and extended his hand to take hold of the folder she had for him.<br/>
"Her resume?"<br/>
"First one." He nodded and mumbled a thanks before opening the door. With one switch he was able to block out the glass walls with automatic dark shades. The window however was opened, allowing for just enough light through tempered glass without it being too overbearing. It seemed it'd be another hot day. He nearly regretted coming in at all. But he wasn't thinking about that entirely, the scent he'd smelled from earlier was all around him, much stronger and he'd realized it was the young woman. Dirt – it was undeniable. And yet, she looked perfect, less desperate than Margaret had made her out to be.<br/>
<br/>
"Ms. Alwick is it?" His accent often bounced between a French and Southern aspect, being of Creole descent and born in New Orleans, it wasn't really surprising. As he moved around it had some influence from the North, but there was no denying from his charm and accent that Marcel was very much a southern <i>gentleman</i>.<br/>
<br/>
After placing his suitcase on top of his desk, he faced her completely, extending his hand out. With the temperature always set to just a little below sixty nine, it was easy to excuse the coldness of his hands. His employees had started to get used to it, but he wasn't that strict on attire.<br/>
"I'm Marcel Thibodeaux, but you're of course welcome to just calling me Marcel. Valeria, isn't it?" He never smiled too broadly, always keeping his fangs tucked behind his lips. They were only half the size than normal, as the true beast he was only really came out at night.<br/>
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