"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 well-groomed, 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¡ª"
"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.
Meanwhile, Tiffany had jumped to her feet and was pressing her hands to her plump breasts. "You mean I'm being recalled?"
"Sure." Mr. Bacchus patted her on the rump. "Off you go."
"Yes, Mr. Bacchus." Tiffany executed an amazing walk toward the door, managing to sway her hips and jiggle her breasts all at the same time. She leaned over to turn the door knob, jutting out her derriere and arching her back as if the act of opening a door could spiral her into fits of orgasmic ecstasy. She paused halfway out the door to toss a seductive smile back at Mr. Bacchus, then slithered down the hall.
Darcy kept her face carefully blank so her simmering anger wouldn't show. She should have known the Digital Vampire Network would adhere to archaic, chauvinistic rules of behavior. It was the same way throughout the vampire world. Most of the female Vamps were at least a hundred years old. Many were centuries old, so they didn't know about the advances mortal women had made. They didn't want to know. They were so sure their own world was vastly superior.
The end result was tragic. Female Vamps had no idea how poorly they were treated. They simply accepted their lot as normal. Darcy had told the harem ladies about the brave women who had suffered in order to obtain the vote. Her passionate tribute had been dismissed as ridiculous hogwash. No one voted for coven masters in the vampire world. How dreadfully plebian.
But this was the world she was stuck with. And since DVN was the only television network in the vampire world, it provided her only chance for the type of job she desperately wanted. And the independence she craved. So she had to be polite to Mr. Bacchus. Even if he was a sexist pig.
"Come on in. Don't be shy." Mr. Bacchus lounged back in his chair and propped his feet on the desk. "And shut the door, so we can have some privacy." He winked.
Darcy's eye twitched, and she prayed it hadn't looked like she was winking back. She shut the door and approached his desk. "I'm delighted to meet you, Mr. Bacchus. I'm Darcy Newhart, a professional television journalist." She removed the resume from her portfolio and placed it on his desk. "As you can see¡ª"
"What?" He lowered his feet to the floor. "You're Darcy Newhart?"
"Yes. You will notice on my resume' that I have¡ª"
"But you're a woman."
Her eye twitched again. "Yes, I am, and as you can see"¡ªshe pointed to a section on her r¨¦sum¨¦¡ª"I worked several years at a local news station here in the city¡ª"
"Goddammit!" Mr. Bacchus pounded a fist onto his desk. "You were supposed to be a man."
"I assure you, I've been a female all my life."
"With a name like Darcy? Who the hell names a girl Darcy?"
"My mother did. She was very fond of Jane Austen¡ª"
"Then why didn't she name you Jane! Shit." Mr. Bacchus leaned back in his chair to glower at the ceiling.
"If you could look at my r¨¦sum¨¦, you would see that I'm more than qualified for a position on the Nightly News."
"You're not qualified," he muttered. "You're a woman."