A Vampire for Christmas - By Michele Hauf Page 0,21

her to agree with whatever he was about to tell her.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll be going to the party with me.”

CHAPTER SIX

BY THE TIME CHARLOTTE and Trace had arrived at the Edgemont Hotel, the event was in full swing.

He hadn’t told her any details about his concerns with Xtark, citing confidentiality issues, only that he didn’t trust them. What did he suspect they were doing? Selling body parts? Shanghaiing partygoers? Even though she wanted to be ticked off at the forceful way he’d invited himself, it thrilled her to know he cared. She was pretty sure if someone else had spoken to her in the same manner, she’d have told him where he could stick it, but then Trace had a knack for getting away with things other men couldn’t.

The ballroom was brimming with activity. Twinkle lights hung from the ceiling, illuminating the dance floor, and the band was playing a rock version of a holiday classic. Columns of gold and silver balloons were positioned randomly between the fifty or so linen-covered tables. She liked the simplicity of the centerpieces: large crystal bowls filled with silver ornaments and small gold-wrapped boxes. Probably takeaway favors for guests at the end of the evening.

Too bad she wasn’t as pleased with her outfit as she was with the decor. Why was it that some people had a natural knack for knowing what to wear while others didn’t? She looked down at her black cocktail dress, then glanced at Trace’s jeans and sport coat. Everyone else wore jeans, as well, making her feel self-conscious and overdressed. She should’ve guessed that “cocktail attire” for a software company meant a button-up shirt and a clean pair of sneakers.

“You look very beautiful, by the way,” Trace said softly, sending tingles down her spine.

She looked into his face to find his eyes dark, yet sincere. The pulse at the base of his throat flickered, drawing her attention. And as she exhaled, she found herself wondering how it would feel to have her lips pressed there.

“Thank you,” she managed to say, marveling again at how perceptive he was. The fact that he’d picked up on these subtle cues of hers that no other man would’ve noticed made her feel relevant and important to him. And she rather liked it.

She paused to talk to a few people she knew while Trace went to get them drinks.

“Whoa, girl, he’s really hot,” Kari said, scrutinizing him as if he were a piece of meat in a butcher’s display case. “Where on earth did you find him?”

“I didn’t. He found me.” She quickly explained how she’d almost been mugged.

“That’s sooo chivalrous.” Rose Marie covered her heart with one hand.

“I agree,” said Deb.

Kari twirled the swizzle stick in her drink. “Damn. I obviously went home with the wrong man.”

“Thank God you did,” said Rose Marie. “I don’t want to think what could’ve happened to Char if he hadn’t been there.”

“The dude I did go home with turned out to be a total bust, too,” Kari continued, ignoring Rose Marie’s comment. “He keeps giving me one excuse after another why I can’t meet with their vendor manager about selling into their company.”

“I thought he was the one making the decisions,” Charlotte said.

“Yeah, I did, too.” Kari rolled her eyes. “So, speaking of good hookups, your man looks loaded.”

Charlotte glanced over at Trace, who was still in line at the bar. “I don’t know about that.”

She purposefully angled herself so that Kari would have to turn her back on Trace in order to continue the conversation. His family might be wealthy, but he seemed pretty unaffected by it. He was more down-to-earth and relatable than many of the guys she’d dated.

“Bull. I saw the car you guys drove up in. That had to set him back over eighty K.”

“I don’t pay much attention to cars, so I wouldn’t know. It was nice, I guess.”

Kari let out an exasperated sigh. “How could you not know that?”

“Not everyone’s a gold digger like you, Kari,” said Rose Marie.

“Humph,” Kari replied. “Maybe he’s overcompensating for something.”

Deb laughed. “You can be such a bitch sometimes.”

Charlotte had to agree, though she didn’t find it funny.

“Who’s the chick your hottie is talking to?” Kari asked, taking a sip of her pink-colored cocktail.

Charlotte glanced up but Trace was no longer in line. She followed Kari’s stare to the other side of the dance floor. Trace was talking to two people—a woman in skinny jeans and a man with a cane.

Trace angled close to the

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