"Relax, dude," Gregori told him. "As long as we've got the prisoner in the silver room, she'll be able to work here."
Laszlo nodded. "I'm looking forward to working with her."
With a grin, Gregori elbowed the short chemist. "Admit it, bro. You're crushing on her big time."
Laszlo blushed. "Well, she is a genius. Very pretty, too."
Dougal's prosthetic hand fisted, and he hid it behind his back. Release, dammit! Unfortunately, Leah chose that precise moment to glance at him. She looked away quickly before he could wipe the angry scowl off his face. Bloody hell. She would think he hated her, when in truth - what was the truth? He desperately wanted her to be the girl he'd lost almost three hundreds years ago? It was impossible. And an insult to this lass who was brave, bright, and beautiful in her own right.
"I could give you a few pointers," Gregori offered.
Laszlo tugged harder at the button. "I - I'm not sure if she would welcome any attention from me."
"Dude." Gregori frowned at him. "If you want her, you gotta go for her."
The button popped off and clattered onto the marble floor. When Laszlo bent over to retrieve it, his unruly hair flopped over his eyes. He pushed his hair back and stuffed the button in his pocket.
Gregori patted him on the back. "Don't worry, bro. I'll get you ready for her."
The hell you will. Dougal tensed, his hand still fisted. Should he declare his intentions? What intentions? If it were up to him, he'd let the poor girl escape.
"What you need, dude, is a makeover," Gregori announced. "I'll set you up with Wilson over at the Digital Vampire Network. He's the one who makes regular Vamps look like TV stars."
"H-he can make me look good?" Laszlo asked.
"He does my hair." Gregori smoothed a hand over his perfect hair. "He'll update your wardrobe, too. No offense, bro, but you're looking . . . well, like a nerd."
Laszlo glanced down at his plaid shirt, plastic pocket protector, and khaki pants belted high at the waist. "Something's wrong with my clothes?"
Gregori heaved a sigh. "You need help, bro." He glanced over at Dougal. "It wouldn't hurt you to update, too, you know. How long have you been wearing that kilt? A couple of hundred years?"
Dougal scoffed. " 'Tis new." He'd ordered it in Glasgow a few years back. Well, ten years. He finally managed to relax his prosthetic hand.
"And the poufy shirt?" Gregori eyed it askance. "Did you steal that off a pirate?"
"Nay." Dougal had had his share of scuffles with pirates, but never over a shirt.
Gregori's mouth twitched. "We should trade your bionic hand in for a hook and get you an eye patch. Then you'd really look like a pirate. You already have the long, wild hair."
" 'Tis no' wild," Dougal grumbled. He'd tied it back with a strip of leather. He glanced over at Leah and discovered her looking at him. She turned away. For the first time in centuries, he wondered what a woman saw when she looked at him. Did he actually look like a bloody pirate?
"What am I going to do with you guys?" Gregori sighed. "Laszlo looks like a dork, and you - Dougal, you gotta lose the skirt, the poufy shirt, and the hairy handbag. That thing is scary."
Dougal glanced down at his sporran, made of black muskrat fur. " 'Tis verra practical. Where else would I keep my coin?"
"Pockets!" Gregori gave him an incredulous look. "Have you heard of those? Sheesh, dude, you're medieval."
He stiffened. "I'm no' medieval."
"Dougal, you're accessorizing with a dead animal."
"I'm no' medieval. I was transformed after the Battle of Culloden in 1746. 'Twas called the Age of Enlightenment, in case ye dinna know."
Gregori snorted. "You fought for Bonnie Prince Charlie? How enlightened was that?"
Dougal gritted his teeth. "I fought for freedom from English tyranny. As a bloody Yank, ye should understand that."
Gregori shrugged. "Fine. But I'm telling you, man, if you want to find a woman, you need to upgrade." His eyes lit up. "I bet you need some practice, too. Don't go anywhere." He took off across the foyer and down the hallway.