Path of the Vampire forum

S.J. put her index and thumb to the bridge of her nose, her glasses rising to her forehead as she squeezed. Deep breathe. In. Out. Her cheeks were nearly as red as her hair, the skin of face having gone pale in her anger and resettling anxiety. This rollercoaster of emotions was sending her into a mild bout of nausea. The reality of what she was doing was hitting her. She glanced briefly at the tack board above her bed where she'd pinned the rubbing of the tablet.

****.

There was silence on the line. She was shaking now in some strange, sickening combo of anger and regret, but she had to keep her head. Stay confidant. Talk her way out of losing her chance at whatever this opportunity was leading to. He invaded her privacy, though! It was a line she'd always drawn. Always. Nothing could justify sticking around someone who disregarded privacy laws. Nothing...

****.

"Sorry." She let the apology settle between them. She refused to let it come out as anything other than a solid statement. She wasn't sucking up. She wasn't begging. She wasn't actually sorry in the least about her feelings. She was, however, sorry about how she'd handled it. Very rarely did her temper get out of her control. When it did it usually ruined something for her. She had to salvage what she could of the situation--but she was not a kiss-***. "I'm sorry, Doc." Hmm, not even sarcasm when she said that. "It's S.J.--Stella Jane. I'm sorry to have called you like this." She reached for her chamomile tea and dropped the bag in a cup. "I received a notification from my bank. Your business haS deposited money into my account. " She poured the water from her kettle into her mug. "My issue is that I never gave you, nor anyone from your company, my bank account information." She pulled out Spike's bowl. "To say the least I am not okay with this."

Finally the name came. But it wasn’t the name he expected. It was far from who he thought it was. “Jane?” He frowned, “Jane from the bookstore?” The sound of disbelief was evident in his voice. He took a moment to realign his thoughts.

Jane. The girl that was researching his tablet. Yes. he knew her. And why was she angry and threatening? Because he paid her? He had to stop and count to ten. The counting helped him focus, and not overreact. When he was angry he had a tendency to overreact.

“So let me get this straight.. You called me and threatened me.. Because.. I paid you?” He did have her bank routing number. It was easy enough to find when he visited her apartment. He found her checkbook, liberated a deposit slip for Cyril; because Cyril could be a ******* **** about policies and procedures; and had Cyril set up the payment.

“You gave me a deposit slip when gave me your ID. The same time you were making demands about a contract for the payment as well. I don’t see what the problem is?” He lied. He lied but sounded like he was telling the god's honest truth. “You wanted two fifty, I said fifteen hundred, then you wanted a contract stating it.. I agreed. My business manager Cyril Emmerson has the contract ready for you to sign.”

Yes it a rather bold move, to lie to her face. She hadn’t given him the slip, he had taken it at a later date. But his records would prove he had one in his possession when the automatic draft we set up. There was nothing illegal about it, that she could prove. It would be he said.. She said. And over what? A payment of 1500.00 dollars that he sent to her, after she signed a non-disclosure agreement. If she was insistent on escalating this, he could counter sue her from trying to break the non-disclosure agreement. And if it did get to court, he had a copy of her deposit slip with the automatic draft paperwork. Who would the judge believe?

He saw the scene in his mind’s eye.

• Judge: State your case
  
  Jane: He had illegal access to my bank account!
  
  Judge: Your proof?
  
  Jane: This deposit in the amount of $1500.00.
  
  Judge: Sir, did you deposit that into her account?
  
  Doc: Yes I did.
  
  Judge: How did you do that?
  
  Doc: From the Deposit slip she gave me. *hands the paperwork to the bailiff* That is a non-disclosure agreement she signed as a copy of the deposit slip she gave me at the same time’ along with a copy of the automatic draft agreement.
  
  Jane: But I didn't give him that slip!
  
  Doc sighing: Yes you did. How else would I have it?

Before she could interject, Doc added, “You did get paid the full amount correct?”

So, apparently, Doc Nelson was all for "everything has a price". S.J. did her best to stay calm as she plucked Spike from her pocket and sat him on the counter top next to his bowl of warm water. He uncurled slowly, as if worried she might start shouting again. She bit her own tongue to stop from doing just that. How was she going to deal with this guy long-term? (because obviously she was buying into his plan of everything has a price) So, really, how was she going to justify this to her conscious brain long term?

"Yes, I got the full payment." She took a breathe. Does she confront the lie? That would be admitting to her self that he had invaded her privacy and she was still going along with this research project. Going against her biggest fear. Against her own gut feeling. Spike was trying to pull himself over the edge of the bowl but seemed to be having trouble with it. She let him struggle. Cookie crumbs needed to be worked off.

"You and I both know I didn't give you a slip, Charles." She felt her gut seize at the use of his first name. She decided it was the best way to keep his attention. "I'm pretty easy going about a lot of things, but my privacy is not one of them. I get that you're powerful, rich, connected, whatever. I get that you've got privilege." She gave Spike the tiniest push and he rolled ungracefully into his bowl. Deep breathe. "I'm asking that you respect my privacy. Don't hack me, don't send people to watch me, don't do whatever the hell it is that rich people seem to think is appropriate just because they can buy it." Spike sat up on his but and glared at her. "All-in-all, don't do to me what you wouldn't want done to you, and we won't have any problems."

As she pulled the phone from her ear and ended the call S.J. did her best to ignore the sinking feeling in her gut. Chamomile was not strong enough for this. She pulled her bottle of Vodka from the freezer and added it to the tea. Spike rolled again went about soaking his troubles away.

Doc listened as she said her piece. She even called him out on his lie. But that was as far as she went. She probably had run the scenario through her mind like he had done and realized it would not be in her best interests to push it. He didn’t say anything more, he let her say her piece and hang up.

He thought about what she said. Privacy was very important to her. And it by her actions it seems she really meant it. Doc didn’t care that she was passionate about her privacy. What he cared about was.. Why? Why was she so passionate. He had been in her apartment. It was neat, for the most part. It was not the apartment of a person with a lot of means. She needed the fifteen hundred a month, she wasn’t going to break the agreement. She was hiding something. But what? This would require another visit to her apartment. He smiled to himself.

It was some time later, when he watched and waited for her to leave. He could search it again with her there, as he had the last time, when she was asleep, but this time he wanted to be thorough. He wanted to open doors, drawers, closets and really see what there was to see. He had be cursory in his first meandering through her apartment. He had done it because he could, not with a specific purpose in mind. But this time. Now he had purpose. Jane was hiding something. Privacy was so important to her that she risked losing some easy money, and he wanted to know why.

Letting himself into her apartment by way of his uninvited guest powers, Doc took in the sight once more of her small apartment. It was a block of apartments that had been converted from an old factory. What would be called a bed-set, in the past. It was all open. One room, bedroom, living room and kitchenette all together, the only other room was a small bathroom. He started in the bathroom.

The bathroom was tiny. A shower, toilet and sink. There were two towels. Doc frowned. Most females he knew needed at least three, and she only had two. Laundry day? He glanced around the tiny space, no laundry basket. Frowning his gaze moved to the mirror. It was still rather unnerving to him after all these years, to not see his reflection, but this time he didn't even notice. He was single minded in his search. No cabinet behind the mirror. He checked under the sink. A few earth friendly cleaning products and box of baking soda?

Doc squatted down, to see if there was anything taped to the underside of the top of the cabinet. It was clean. What the ****? Where were the prodigious amounts of creams, lotions, facial masks and makeup? He watched her leave, she wasn’t carrying it all. The night at the bookstore she had been fresh faced. Surely she that wasn’t her normal look? That would be something. A female that did not seem overly attached to artifice. Interesting.

Leaving the meager bathroom, he moved back into the main room. The kitchenette was clean. Opening the few drawers and cabinets revealed microwave meals, and utensils that served purpose. No high priced gadgets. Nothing that showed an excess for the frivolous. Basic food stuffs in the fridge. Vodka in the freezer. He grinned. Well good to know she had a vice.

He moved into the living area. Basic bed, no frills there. Nothing under the bed worth note. The bookcase. Now this was interesting. This appeared to be where she kept her treasures. Glancing back at the rest of the apartment, it was spartan, yet clean and neat. But this bookcase held all manner of knick knacks and paraphernalia. It was cluttered. In a room where everything else seemed almost too orderly, this was an anomaly. It was filled with plants, books, momentos, and a photograph. Doc paused. A photograph. Not a few photographs. Not a photo album. Just one singular photograph. And it was old. He lifted the photoframe and stared at the photo. She was pictured in it with an older couple, presumably her parents?

Doc gave the room another full circuit survey from where he stood by the bookcase. He had more questions now than he had when en entered. She was hiding something something, but it wasn’t what he had a mused about. She wasn’t into drugs. Not even recreationally it seemed. She wasn’t an identity thief either. Identity thieves tended to have lots of paper, files, junk mail, lying about. The only paper this girl had was .. books. Books blocked by plants. He scanned the book titles. He paused.

Carefully he replaced the photo and slide a volume, one of a set of three, out to look at. This was no junk shop find. This was an expensive book. Yet it was on a shelf with the rest as though it were just one of the gang. He wondered if she knew what she had. He frowned as he slid it back in place. Of course she knew. She worked in a book store. So why was it merely ‘shelved’ and not given a better vantage? Was she hiding it in plain sight? Or did it have more sentimental meaning than monetary? Doc surmised the second. She could sell the book and easily buy an apartment, instead of renting this hole in the wall.

Unless.. Unless the book was her safety net. If she had to take off in the middle of the night with little warning, what else was there of note that she needed? She could collect the photo, the few books of note, the cage, and be gone. There would be nothing to keep her here. It was all second hand, used furniture. And whatever she kept in the cage, well she kept that with her, it seemed. It had been empty the first time he had gone through her apartment, and it was empty now. This bed set was lived in, as if it were temporary. Interesting.

Doc teleported back to his office, and rang Cyril. He gave him strict instructions on where he wanted to meet Ms. S. J. Porter in two weeks time. He picked a small restaurant with a view of the river. It was known for its cozy fireplace and homey decorating. It gave diners the feeling of having dinner with their family. The food was good, but basic staples. None of the new age cranberries and apple bits with everything menu. Basic but well seasoned vegetable side dishes and nice selection of main dishes.

The next time he saw Ms. Porter, it would be there and they would dine together. He wanted to see her in a public setting, public but comfortable. He wanted to see how she reacted to the things and people, other than himself, around her. He looked at the date on the calendar. Hmm. It would put it about Christmas. He would need to get her a gift. He knew just the thing.

S.J. ignored the strange looks she received as she bent at the waist to study her reflection in the sideview mirror of a parked car. She'd bought new clothes specifically for her meeting with the good doctor, and was doing her best to look more confidant than she felt. Currently, she was repinning a few hairs at the nape of her neck that were slightly too short to reach over to the left side of her neck and feed into the long fishtail braid she'd managed. Once she finished she met her own gaze and held it. So far so good on the outer appearance thing. Just look like you know what you're doing and everything will go well.

With a nod she stood to her full height and continued down the block to the restaurant she was supposed to meet her new boss at for dinner and an update. After some thought she'd decided that she would let him bring up the phone call a few weeks ago, otherwise she would leave it be. She already felt like she was on thin ice with him, and reminding him of her outburst would not help her situation. Especially with as little of an update as she had for him.

She had managed to eliminate just over twenty languages from the pile she was exploring, but all that did was leave them in the same spot as they'd started: It's not this, but what is it? She decided that she needed to set up a meeting with a professor at the University. How she was going to manage that over Christmas break she had no idea. She would talk to him about it and maybe even take him up on the offer to use his travel company to go to Toronto as well. Anything to keep that rubbing in her possession.

She entered the restaurant and was greeted kindly by the host. She gave him the name for the reservation and he immediately lead her through the floor towards a semi-private table. S.J.'s shoulder hunched the tiniest bit out of habit as she pretended not to notice the stares aimed her way. She felt doubly self conscious about her height in new clothes for some reason, and it was hard not to undo her braid and hide behind her curtain of hair. Both of her hands gripped the strap of her purse for something to do and kept her eyes trained on the heels of the host as they walked.

As they approached the table she looked to see if Doc was there. She was about three minutes late and wasn't sure if she'd beat him. She found him already seated. Deep breathe.

Doc saw Ms. Porter as she entered the restaurant. She was not hard to miss, being quite tall for a female and red headed as well. As she and the server approached the table, Doc stood. It was polite to stand when a lady arrived, and he wanted to create a better impression than the first time they met. To say it had been less than professional would be an understatement; and then of course there was her displeasure with how he had handled her payment. So he was going to be on his best behavior, and he had invited Elizabeth. She had a vested interest in this as well as he, so it was only correct she be there when he and Ms. Porter met.

“Ms. Porter.” He gave Stella Jane a polite smile, “You are looking well today. I trust you had no issues getting here?” It was polite conversation, as he noticed her new clothes. His smile became a bit warmer. She was purchasing new items, this told him, she liked the income the project was providing. This was good news. As long as he didn’t piss her off, she would continue to research the rubbing.

Doc waved the server off, as he pulled out Ms. Porter’s seat for her. He waited until she was situated before retaking his own seat at the table. As he relay his napkin on his lap, he remembered the present. He had set it in the chair next to him, which he now collected, and held out to Ms. Porter. “Merry Christmas.” It was small package wrapped in thick white embossed paper with a red ribbon tied about it.

Doc didn’t dwell on the present however, once it was in her hands, he changed the subject, “I hope you do not mind, we are waiting on a third party. My partner was quite eager to hear what you have come up with thus far about the rubbing. And I figured,” he shrugged lightly, “it is only right you two should meet. This way, we can both hear first hand what progress you have made, and I do not have to worry about misspeaking later.”