Foreplay: A Succubus Diaries Prequel

Foreplay

Published by Jil Myles at Smashwords.

Copyright 2010 by Jil Myles

Art by http://km245.deviantart.com Al rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without the author's permission.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living, dead, or undead, is entirely coincidental.

Foreplay - A Succubus Diaries Prologue
“We’ve decided to give the position to someone else.”

I stared at my boss from behind the thick lenses of my glasses. The oversized frames had slid so far down my nose they were pinching my nostrils. Not that I could breathe anyway – not when my life was ending. I struggled to find the right words, but al that came out was a squeaky, “Beg pardon?”

“The position has been fil ed.” At my blank look, Julianna added, “And not by you.”

Hurt wel ed inside my chest, and I shoved my glasses up my nose. “I don't understand.”

This was my job. I’d worked as a docent at this museum for two years with nary a raise, waiting for the right job to become open. And it had – Museum Coordinator. The position of my dreams

– one that would let me run the museum as I’d always wanted to.

Except that they’d overlooked me, even though I was the most qualified person in the museum to fil the job.

“I do hope you won’t cause a scene about this, Jacqueline.”

She looked down her long nose at me, frowning. “The committee had a very difficult decision to make, and it was not made lightly. There were more qualified people for the job. End of story.”

“I see,” I began slowly. “They had bigger…degrees than I do?” After al , I had a masters in archaeological studies and was working on getting a bachelors in art history. Sort of.

Julianna folded her hands and leaned forward on the desk.

“If you must know, Jacqueline…while your academic pedigree is quite sufficient, there are other factors to consider in fil ing such a position.”

Was that supposed to be a scolding? I was so hurt and depressed at the moment that I didn’t care. “So who got it, then?” I tugged on the jacket that was a little too tight across my front. I’d planned on getting better clothes when I’d gotten the promotion. No chance now. “Who got the Museum Coordinator job?”

“That wil be announced next week,” Julianna said in a sharp voice. “You can go now.”

As I stood, tears wel ed in my eyes. I was not going to cry in front of Julianna. I was not going to do that. I pinched the inside of my wrist as I walked out so I wouldn’t burst into tears.

Not going to cry in front of my nasty witch of a boss.

Not going to do it. Not–

As I left Julianna’s office, another woman stood up from her chair in the lobby. She wore a neat blue suit with a pencil-skirt and high, strappy heels. Her blonde hair was pul ed into a shiny chignon and she wore a strand of pearls around her neck. She looked like she could be a member of White House staff, she was so polished looking…except she also held a portfolio in her hands, and was pul ing out copies of her resume and the same orientation package I’d completed two years ago when I’d taken my stupid, crappy job as a museum docent.

It was obvious who’d gotten the Museum Coordinator job.

I tugged at my too-tight jacket and brushed a hand through my tangled brown curls. So I wasn’t as put together as this chick. I knew this job. It should have been mine!

“Oh good, you’re here,” Julianna gushed behind me. “Come in, and let’s get the paperwork started.”

This cal ed for a drink.

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“Another one, bartender.”

I reached for my nearly empty martini-glass and knocked it over. Whoops. I held up one finger. “Just one more.”

“You said that three martinis ago,” the bartender said, but left to get my drink. I peered at the rows of glasses in front of me. Sure enough, eight empty martini glasses sat on the bar.

Perhaps it was time to stop drinking. I popped a cheese fry into my mouth. It was cold and soggy.

“Last one. I’m serious, lady. You’ve had enough,” he said as he delivered the drink.

For some reason, that irritated me. Not that he was cutting me off. That I was “lady.” Not “miss,” or even “young lady.” Like because I wasn’t pretty and eighteen, I wasn’t worthy of respect. Or pretty and blonde and wearing pearls. Or pretty, blonde, wearing pearls and a skirt I could barely walk in, going around and stealing other people’s jobs. Jerk. He was so getting a shitty tip. I swigged the rest of martini #9, ate the olive, and then set the glass down with a thump.

Someone at the far end of the bar gave me an irritated look. I peered toward him. He wasn’t bad looking. About my age, messy hair, a bit skinny. Glasses. A little geeky looking.

Other than the skinny thing, we could be soulmates. I smiled brightly in his direction, smoothing my rumpled blazer.

Maybe I needed a man to distract me from the pain of losing the job of my dreams.

Romeo took one look at me, recoiled, and turned away.

Clearly he wasn’t into drunk geek girls. Story of my life – rejected by everyone.

I scowled and pitched an empty martini glass at him. Who needed men, anyhow?

“Hey,” yel ed the bartender. “Time for you to leave, lady.”

Again with the lady. I shot him the bird and slapped some money down on the counter, jerked my purse into my arms and staggered toward the door. I was wearing my only pair of cute black pumps from the meeting with Julianna, and with a few martinis in me, it was tricky to walk. Real y tricky.

I stumbled my way out the door and into the street. A car honked, whizzing by way too close. I stepped backward, head spinning, and scanned the crowded sidewalk. An empty al ey cut through the block, dimly lit and car-free.

Paradise! I headed for the shortcut back to the bus-stop.

A smal red light flared at the far end of the al ey, near a street light on the other side. I gasped in delight, but it disappeared. As I watched, the light flared again, and I moved toward it, drawn. Pretty.

It was a cigarette, the tip lighting red as the owner took a long pul from it. A shadowed man, leaning up against the wal , taking a smoke break. So much for my deserted al ey.

Disappointed, I scowled and stomped past him, not making eye contact. I could see a taxi waiting at the curb down the street, and began to dig into my purse for cash. Stupid man had ruined my al ey.

It appeared that digging-while-walking was one of those things that got impaired when one drank, though. My purse flew out of my hands and landed at the stranger’s feet.

I giggled.

He bent down to pick up my purse at the same time I did.

His hands were faster than mine, and his balance was better, too. My head smacked against his and I recoiled, flying backward. The world tilted and I ended up flat on my back in the al ey, with him standing over me, holding my purse.

Head ringing, world spinning, I reached up for the purse.

“Give me back my purse, thief!”

A sardonic laugh echoed in the al ey, bouncing off of the wal s. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“That’s mine,” I slurred, struggling to sit up. “You can’t have it.”

To my surprise, he offered me a hand, since I seemed incapable of getting up. I slapped his hand away and wobbled to my feet on my own, clutching a nearby Dumpster to help pul myself up. Once I was standing, I reached out for my purse.

He didn’t give it to me. Instead, he got very stil . The cigarette fel to the ground. “I’l be damned.”

“What?” I made a swipe for my purse, but missed again.

The world spun around once more, and I decided to sit down, right in the middle of the al ey. This was real y too much for a drunk woman to handle.

He knelt beside me, grabbing my chin and forcing it up so I could look him in the eye. I could have sworn his gleamed red as he stared down at me. Way, wayyyy too many martinis.

I squeezed my eyes shut. “Let me go.”

He examined my face for far too long, saying nothing.

After a few moments more, I tried to slap his hand away.

“Give me my purse or I’m going to cal for the cops.”

“And be arrested for public intoxication? Be my guest.” He released my chin.

That made me pause. Okay, maybe not the cops. “I’m going to cal …”

In the time it took for me to consider, he had me up on my feet and was helping me dust off. At least, I thought he was helping me brush off my clothes. When his hand went around my waist, I began to get suspicious. And when he dipped me low, pul ing me against him, I pressed a hand against his chest. The world spun dizzily. “What are you doing?”