Page 22 of Bleed

“I assume you know why you’re here.”

I flash her a smile that’s every bit as fake as hers. “Should I?”

Her expression flickers for half a second, then smooths back into neutral.

Got her.

Francesca has a way of phrasing things like she already knows the answers. It’s deliberate– a manipulation tactic designed to make people let down their guard and fill in the blanks– but I know her game, and I’m not dumb enough to play. Especially since I know for a fact she isn’t part of the very small circle apprised of Taylor and James’ situation.

She smiles again, moving right along. “You’ve received an offer for an exclusive donor arrangement,” she provides, reaching for a manila folder on her desk. “Quite a lucrative one.”

“Really?” I ask, feigning surprise. “From who?”

She leans forward slightly, eyes gleaming like we’re girlfriends exchanging gossip rather than two hustlers negotiating my sale. “Dr. Elliott Faulkner.”

I blink at her, sure I must’ve misheard. Because when James said he’d find a suitable candidate, the internationally acclaimed scientist with a staring problem definitely wasn’t who I pictured.

But the more I think about it, the more it makes sense.

Dr. Faulkner is who James chose to confide in about Taylor’s blood. He’s the one who discovered their damn bond in the first place, and he’s been following up with them regularly to learn more about it. We’re guarding the same secret, which makes him the safest option for this whole arrangement.

“Dr. Elliott Faulkner,” I repeat, schooling my expression into one of casual indifference. “The scientist guy?”

“That’s the one,” Fran quips, flipping the folder open and sliding it across the desk toward me. “This contract is for a one-year term, and the offer also includes a salaried position as his research assistant. The compensation details are listed on the final page.”

I grab the folder and immediately flip to the back to see how much I stand to gain from this whole charade. Taylor was promised five million for a year as James’ exclusive donor– before the whole soul-bond blood-magic situation complicated things, anyway. Based on that, I fully plan on negotiating at least a million for myself.

When my eyes land on the number, my brain briefly exits my body.

A three… followed by an obscene amount of zeroes.

Six of them, to be exact.

“Three million?” I breathe, jerking my gaze back up to Fran.

She nods once, her expression perfectly neutral.

“What’s the catch?” I ask, looking back down as I start flipping through the contract. Because there’s absolutely, a hundred percent, definitely a catch buried somewhere in here. There’s no universe in which a socially reclusive celebrity scientist offers me three million dollars out of the goodness of his weird little vampire heart.

“I’ve already sent you an electronic copy, and I encourage you to review it thoroughly,” Fran answers.

Vague corporate speech.

There’s definitely a catch.

I keep skimming through the pages, my eyes flicking over headings and clauses until I notice something missing. Specifically, the section that made Taylor balk at James’ offer.

“Where’s the sex stuff?”

Fran clears her throat, shifting slightly in her chair. “Dr. Faulkner doesn’t desire any physical contact from his donors,” she replies. “Only blood, cohabitation for accessibility, and assistance within his private laboratory.”

I jerk my head up so fast I nearly give myself whiplash. “No sex?”

She shakes her head.

I stare at her, dumbfounded. “Why?”

Fran lifts one slender shoulder in a shrug. “I suppose that’s something you’d have to ask him. Not everyone enjoys mixing business with pleasure.”