4. Chapter Four #2
“Sure. I’ll be your sponsor for the culinary club.”
My excitement swells to elation and bursts before I can exhale.
“What’s the catch?”
He flashes his teeth. “You think there’s something I want?”
The clubs of Doxlothia are ruthless and riddled with bartering wars—the culinary club is no exception, from what I’ve heard. Everyone here wants something.
I take another bite of the delicious food, and I swear my vision blurs. “There’s always a catch.”
“Dessert first.”
He motions to a gooey cake that’s oozing caramel and cream.
I grab my spoon and shove a piece of cake into my mouth.
What is that? Walnuts . . . Cinnamon? While I chew, he studies me as if I were the only girl on the planet.
There’s something so intense about it, as if I’m prime Saturday-night entertainment—the most interesting person to ever sit across from him.
I fight the urge to cover myself with the cloth napkin in my lap.
“Why do you want to be in the culinary club so badly? What do you think it’s going to get you?”
I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off.
“Let me guess. You think it’s your one-way ticket to culinary fame. You have all these lofty ideas of your name in magazines and atop buildings.”
“You don’t know everything about me just because you’ve spent a few hours stalking me,” I remind him as I grab another spoonful of the cake and then go back for a piece of the Bolognese.
“I know you’re the youngest in your family, most likely loved to the point where you feel smothered. What a terrible thing it is to be so loved. So, you do little reckless things, like stealing notebooks from the culinary lounge.”
I almost choke. He pushes a glass of water toward me.
It was one time. Last semester, when I was devastated by the news that the culinary club was closed to new members, Zant pulled some strings to let me visit the culinary lounge because he had an in with Dacre.
The whole thing was a mostly harmless endeavor, except that I was dared by a few of the other volunteers in the kitchen to bring something to show, and it just so happened there was a nice little notebook filled with recipes sitting out in the open.
“You’re so blinded by your own ambition that you’ll blaze through everyone and everything to get into the club.”
Listening to his analysis is like looking in a fun house mirror, where everything looks strange, but oddly recognizable. He’s not wrong, but he’s not right. Dacre doesn’t know me. That doesn’t make it any less surprising.
“All this proves is that you’re a stalker, and I should be concerned.”
“But you’re not,” he says calmly, leaning over the table. “Your heart’s racing, but you’re not scared. You want to know why I’m so interested in you, and you’re not easily swayed. Not even when I asked you to come to an undisclosed location.”
It was a test to see if I was willing to do something reckless and stupid, and I undoubtedly failed. Is that why he’s angry?
“For someone who hates me so much, you spend a lot of time thinking about me.”
“I do.”
My heart responds to his admission.
“I want you to be my source.”
I swallow. “You can’t be serious.”
“You’ll find I’m not really the joking type.”
“Why would you want me to be your source?”
“Do I really need to answer that?”
“No, I mean, you hate me. And I’m not in the Donor Program. Don’t you already have a source?”
“I can find a work-around for you.”
“I know you’re filthy rich and can get just about anything you want. But my blood is off-limits. I’m . . . not using it like some bartering chip.”
Any glimmer of interest deflates into boredom. His cheek falls into his palm. “That’s too bad. I thought you’d be interested.”
“So that’s it, then? You won’t back my nomination?”
“Not without getting what I want.” He takes a long, drawn-out gulp of the brown liquor in his glass.
“I knew it. Only you would make me get dressed up and get my hopes up for nothing.”
He’s too pleased for my liking, with a barely there smile at the corner of his lips.
I motion to the waiter. “Can you box this up for me? I want to go home.”
“What do you mean? This is disappointing for me, too.”
The dishes disappear from the table to the kitchen, and there’s nothing but a clean cloth between the two of us.
“More disappointing than you torturing me with an ultimatum?”
He shrugs, leaning back in his chair like the smug asshole he is. Surely, an Everhart can get good blood from just about anywhere. So why me?
“You never answered my question. Why ask me if you hate me?” I cross my arms, wincing when my finger nicks the inside of my palm.
“Your hand. Let me see.”
“What? No. Answer my question.”
He holds out his hand from across the table, waiting until I relinquish mine.
“It wasn’t a request.”
“It’s not that big of a deal.”
He motions to another person in the corner, and they bring over a tray full of bandages and healing ointments. I wait while they redress it.
“Try not to make trouble for everyone, thief,” Dacre says.
“Imagine how upset your family would be if something happened to you because you strolled into a vampire’s house with a fresh cut that’s not properly bandaged.
Or, at the very least, think of what a nuisance it would be for everyone else, including me.
The meetings for the council would be a nightmare. ”
I hate that he’s right. I also hate that when he’s this close, I’m fixated on the smell of his cologne again. Seriously, I need to get laid soon. This is a huge problem.
He inspects the bandage once it’s finished.
I pull my hand back. “Well, if we’re done—”
“What do you want to do with all that fame you’re so eager to acquire? What do you think you’ll gain?” His eyes darken.
He doesn’t understand how long I’ve wanted this.
I’ve spent hours in the kitchen teaching myself things no one else would because, at one point, it was all I had.
When my family was broken, food gave me purpose.
It gave me hope. How could Dacre, who’s probably never had to work for anything a day in his life, ever understand that?
“You don’t answer my questions. I don’t answer yours.”
I snatch my box of food, pull down my dress, and turn toward the door. That should give him a decent look at my ass, which he can kiss.
“You can’t have my blood.” I don’t care in the slightest if anyone else hears of his doomed ultimatum.