Page 23 of Only Fangs

“I think so,” Clara replies, making a similar face as she strains to see into the dark recess.

“I’m not surprised he’s hiding in the corner,” Ivan says. “Dirty dog.”

“What did he do?” Clara asks, her desire to unearth scandal pulling her from her reverie for a few moments.

“Found himself a sidepiece. Which would be fine, he and Iris have an agreement. But…” he drags out the word so we know he has more to add. “The sidepiece turned out to be human. That was very much not the agreement. Iris went ballistic.”

“If only he’d had Only Fangs,” Clara laments. “Could have found himself a lovely vampire to fuck around with instead.”

“How’s that going?” Ivan asks me.

“Ummm…” I don’t really know what to tell him to be honest. I don’t actually know myself.

“Did you have any ideas about the whole money thing?” Clara asks me, her eyes slightly glassy from all the champagne she’s been quaffing.

“Brody thinks we can get a bank loan.”

“Are you serious?” Clara looks appalled.

I just shrug. I don’t really want to have this conversation tonight. I can feel all of my positivity ebbing away, leaving me feeling like a dried out husk who is once more destined to fuck things up.

“Can we please not talk about bank loans and work and all of that terribly boring shit,” Ivan begs. “I just wanted to bring my best girls⁠—”

“No,” Clara interrupts him. “Almost as bad as bitches. You sound like a pimp.”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. I just wanted to bring my favourite ladies…” He quirks his eyebrows, using a rising inflection to suggest it’s a question.

“I’ll allow,” Clara says.

“Great. So I just wanted to have fun. With the three of us. The Terrible Three.” He pouts a little, as if he hasn’t already got his own way.

“You want to gossip about boys,” Clara says with a resigned sigh.

“Well, duh!”

“Fine.” She motions towards one of the super-hot waiters and points at the upside down champagne bottle in the cooler. Then she turns her attention back to Ivan. “I’m assuming you have something?”

“Well…” he drags out the word theatrically.

“If it’s that you fancy that newbie who lives with the coder dude, it isn’t gossip,” Clara tells him.

Ivan’s face falls and for split second I feel sorry for him, until I realise we have sat here a million times talking about some new guy he’s met and so there is nothing really original for him to say.

“Wow,” Ivan says. “There’s no need to be such a bitch.”

Clara stares back at him with an almost sardonic expression. “He’s kind of cute for a newbie. You think you might actually really like this one. He’s different.” Her tone is completely flat.

“Jesus. What’s got into you this evening?” Ivan asks.

“Nothing.”

“Seriously? Nothing? Because you are being…” he pauses and flaps his hand as he tries to think of the right word. “Foul,” he says eventually. It’s pretty spot on to be fair.

The waiter brings over a new bottle of Dom Ruinart and pops the cork at the table. He waits for a beat, possibly because last time Ivan was so exuberant about the prospect of champagne, but gets the hint when Ivan remains silent. “I’ll just leave this here,” he says as he extracts the empty bottle from the ice bucket and replaces it with the new one.

“Anyway, let’s not fight. If we can’t talk about my new love interest, I think we should talk about Ari’s,” Ivan says with a lascivious grin. He’s bounced back to his usual self, as if the little spat with Clara just never happened. I guess that’s how it has to be with friends you’ve been hanging around with for a century and a half. “How is Brody?”

“He’s my employee,” I reply.