Page 1 of Just the Pool Boy at Vampire Mansion

CHAPTER 1

On every pool job, I had a mental checklist: turn up for work, scoop debris out of the water, check pH levels . . . do not look at the vampire on the lounger. That last one was new, added just now.

I headed for the storage shed behind Witherborne Mansion’s sprawling pool house, collected the water-testing equipment, buckets, and scoops, and returned to the poolside.

Florida sun glittered on the rippling water. A breeze filtered through the palm fronds. It was a typical, quiet morning near Coconut Grove. Big trees, bigger gates, enormous lawns. Everything smelled green and expensive, with a little salt from the bay. The kind of place where every house looked as though it had secrets, where lawyers were a morning jog away, and every pool had someone to look after it.

But not every house had a vampire.

This one was still on the lounger. Out cold. Or dead. One leg bent at the knee, a hand flung over his eyes. As though he’d swooned into position.

Weren’t vampires allergic to sunlight? This one basked in it. Torn jeans, unbuttoned flower-print shirt, gorgeous chest gleaming. Not that I was looking at that.

I should probably have researched real vampires before taking the job, right? But I figured I’d never have to meet one. I cleaned the pool during the day and vampires were nocturnal. Everyone knew that.

I set my sampling buckets down with a clatter, collected a scoop of pool water, and opened the packet of pH test strips. This was my second day working on the Witherborne pool. Their usual guy hadn’t turned up for work in a week, and he’d left the pool with a stubborn pH problem I was determined to solve.

The vampire hadn’t moved. Still lay there. Maybe he was dead?

I dipped a few test strips into the water and glanced across the pool at the vampire while waiting for them to do their thing. It was early, so the day wasn’t too hot yet. He’d probably collapsed there after a night partying and wasn’t yet aware it was daytime.

I slipped my phone from my pocket and thumbed into Google, “Do vampires turn to ash when they die?” Google waffled a long explanation about why they don’t turn to ash, and that those stereotypes were socially unacceptable.

Then an advert popped up for vampire awareness courses. Then ads for vampire sunblock. Avoid Deadly Sunstroke! I clicked all the ads off and squinted over my phone at the vampire in question. So, he could actually be dead over there? It would be bad for business if I cleaned the pool around a dead guy, right? Especially if he was someone important. Short black hair, all messy and spiky, like he’d swum and then his hair had dried sticking up.

I hadn’t paid much attention to the Witherbornes’ publicity and didn’t follow the gossip on social media—I tried to stay off social media altogether since my . . . time away—but I knew there were two Witherborne brothers. The one on the lounger was maybe in his mid-twenties. My age. But hold up . . . Did vampires age like me? Another quick google search said they matured at the same rate as humans until their transition into full adult vampire-hood. Google did not elaborate on when or how the transition happened, and now was not the time to go down that internet rabbit hole.

So, he could have been twenty-four or two hundred and four, and he’d probably look the same either way.

I should have watched more vampire movies.

Whatever. Who he was wasn’t any of my business anyway. I was here to do a job.

He was doing absolutely fine over there. Sunbathing. In eighty-five degree heart.

I googled, “Are vampires allergic to the sun?” I probably should have searched that first.

Yes, vampires are allergic to sun. UV rays rapidly dehydrate vampires, causing confusion, mood swings, dizziness, delirium, and can be fatal if exposed to significant amounts.

Oh, heck.

Now I was going to have to go over there. If I didn’t, and it turned out he wasn’t alright, then I could kiss this sweet setup goodbye. Shortest pool gig ever.

I turned the idea over in my head while checking the pH levels against the colored charts. All good. Slightly high, but workable. Better than my first day, when the pH had been off the charts. The treatments were working. Then I lifted the cover on the filtration system pit beside the pool and took a look inside the hole. The pump and filter were the Ferraris of the pool world. The setup didn’t even look like a filter. Honestly, the molded filter case, the aluminum clamps, the blue hoses with their shiny fittings were pool porn. Someone good at their job had been looking after it before I showed up. I didn’t have to do much, just keep it all running.

On my hands and knees by the pit, I unclamped the filter lid and removed the filter media. A quick visual check revealed the usual bits of debris—hair, leaves . . . Then something sparkled at the intake grid. Something shiny was embedded in the coarser mesh that stopped larger debris finding its way inside.

I set the filter foam aside and pulled the shiny thing free, holding it up in the sunlight. A ring, the gold band kind. Now, a person who was not me might have pocketed that expensive find, but as I was turning over a new leaf, stealing rings was not my thing. No, a ring is below you. You just steal millions of dollars for a criminal overlord, a little voice whispered in my mind. A voice my therapist said was my guilty conscience talking. I pushed that voice aside. I’d be a good citizen and hand the ring in. It also gave me an excuse to go over to the out-cold vampire and see if he was breathing.

Alright, there was no putting it off any longer.

I folded the ring into my palm, took a few seconds to wonder if I was making a mistake by talking to a vampire, and ambled around the pool toward him. Vampires weren’t so rare these days, not since they’d come out ten years ago. I’d probably spoken to lots of them and not even known it. They looked like us, talked like us. They just happened to feed on us too.

The Witherborne Mansion’s arched windows reflected my approach. The mansion itself was old, like old-world kinda old, and sprawling. Somehow it got left in the middle of Coconut Grove when all the new development sprang up around it a few years back. A big ol’ stubborn chunk of neo-gothic architecture that refused to die. Too many dark windows faced the pool, and all had their curtains drawn against Miami’s bright sunlight. Even the glass doors that opened onto the poolside patio were dark.

I hadn’t actually seen anyone since taking this job. Not even a housekeeper. I’d visit, do my checklist, and leave. These days, that was how I liked it, though.

I stopped next to the lounger, and now I was standing close to the vampire, I recognized him. I had scrolled past his flashy smile on social media a hundred times. He was the older brother, the heir, so kinda damn important. He was also the loud, party-boy type who I needed to avoid at all costs. The kind of guy with glossy pictures all over the internet, showing him with his arms around three bikini-wearing women, laughing at something out of shot. Theo Witherborne, too beautiful on social media to be real, but here he was in the flesh. And yeah, he was that kind of head-turning handsome that caused car wrecks at red lights. Right now, he looked as though he’d collapsed on the lounger to sleep off a good time.