Page 3 of Fangs with Benefits

‘I’m not—’

‘Please invite me into the building,’ I clarify, in case my question wasn’t clear.

I would compel her to do this, but there are actually not that many rules dictating my kind, but one of them is that I cannot compel someone to invite me inside. It would go against the necessity of having an invitation, I suppose.

Her mouth hangs open, a gap between her front teeth visible behind cherry-red lips. I am bewitched by her teeth, I think. She closes her mouth, then shrugs.

‘Come on in,’ she says, and slaps her key against the beam again. This time when it beeps, I push on the glass door and, sure enough, it gives under my weight.

I pause to thank her as she performs the same ritual, but she brushes past me before I can, muttering something under her breath. She must also be late for work.

I unwind my scarf from my neck and remove the floppy, wide-brim hat from my head before stalking to the security desk to inquire after a key of my own.

The building is large, but I’m sure I’ll see her again. When I do, I’ll thank her. She seems helpful and approachable–maybe she’ll even be my first friend.

Chapter 2

Molly

When I finally scan into the IT office, I’m still muttering about the absolute gall of the man wearing half of a JC Penny outerwear department at the building entrance. I was in the zone, doing my breathing exercises, trying to channel my most approachable self on my walk from the train where, for once, nobody smelled horrible around me.

Invite me into the building–okay, just what the fuck was that, anyway?

‘Molly,’ our secretary Devi singsongs as she comes out from around her desk. ‘You’re frowning again.’

I stop myself from rolling my eyes, but just barely. We’re friends–she’d get it, maybe even laugh, and then she’d bring it up when I complained about not getting the promotion again.

Well, maybe if you were nicer…

I’m plenty nice.

Nice like when you roll your eyes all the time?

I flex my fists at my side and do the centring deep-breathing thing. I am friendly, dammit. Just because I’m not a people pleaser who uses fifteen exclamation points per email doesn’t mean I’m not a kind person. I am plenty kind–ask anyone.

Well, not anyone. Don’t ask Kenneth.

Anyone else.

‘This is my happy face, Devi, can’t you tell? I’m beaming.’

‘You’re something,’ she muses as we reach my desk. I barely withhold a companionable glare as I set my shoulder bag on the table. ‘But today, you get to be a buddy.’

She says this with the utmost pleasantness, hands out with waggling jazz fingers even, to emphasise the most horrifying news that could’ve come to me before coffee on a Tuesday morning.

‘Do not joke about that,’ I say. Her expression matches mine in intensity for a moment to offer a solemn nod, a rare crack in her cheery veneer. ‘For who? What team?’

Devi winces and her gaze darts to our right. I follow it and see only the empty office that was supposed to be mine.

I gasp.

She nods.

‘The fucker who took my promotion?’ I whisper.

She pats my forearm, confirmation enough.

I sink down into my desk chair.