Description: Chapter One Are you tired of nursing down that bottle of O + all by your lonesome? Did you spend the last full moon drinking Cosmos and lusting over the American Kennel Club finals? Do you spend every eve - ning scarfing a Hungry Man (or woman) and watching TiVo? If your first reaction was Uh- oh or How''d she know that? to any of the above, then you are cordially invited to a meet and greet dinner party, hosted by Dead End Dating, Manhattan''s number one matchmaking ser vice for vampires, humans and Others. Join fantabulous host (and incredibly well- dressed vampire) Lil Marchette for a night of dinner and dancing and romance in the pent house of the Waldorf Astoria. Disclaimer--DED is an equal opportunity dating service that does not discriminate based on race, sex, looks (or lack of) or appetite. Net worth, however, is an entirely different matter-- i.e., don''t forget the checkbook, debit card and/or Visa Gold. I propped up the framed copy of the engraved vellum invitation I''d mailed out to every appropriate single in Manhattan and tried to calm the butterflies in my stomach. I''m the Countess Lilliana Arrabella Guinevere du Marchette (Lil for short), a five- hundred- year- old (and holding) born vampire. I''ve got super- fab taste in clothes, a to- die- for collection of MAC cosmetics and a hot, hunky, bounty- hunting boyfriend. I so had it going on. Ix- nay the nerves, right? Wrong . I''m also the own er of Dead End Dating, Manhattan''s primo matchmaking ser vice for vampires, weres, Others and even the occasional human. As of five minutes ago, I had exactly one week to match up over a dozen paid- in- full clients, otherwise I failed to make good on my Find- your- one- and- only- in- sixmonths- or- get- your- money- back! guarantee. Since I didn''t do refunds (not unless I wanted to return half my wardrobe and say bye- bye to my new iPhone), I had to pick up the pace. Pronto. Hence, my latest super- fantabulous brainstorm-- the meet and greet dinner party about to happen right here. Right now. I drew a deep breath (not because I had to, but, hey, when in Rome . . . ), straightened my green Roberto Cavalli dress (a floor- length, strappy chiffon number la Rihanna) and finished setting up the hostess table. I added DED business cards, name tags, promotional pens, koozies and calendars, even a few pics and testimonials from previous clients. I sprinkled some rose petals and debated whether or not to hand out the Viagra samples in my bag or just spike the drinks when no one was looking. I knew none of the born vamps in attendance would need a little penis pick- me- up (our entire existence revolved around sex-- we were conceived via the nasty, we stopped aging when we lost our virginity, we chose an eternity mate based on orgasm quotients and fertility ratings), but what about the dozens of Others out there? FYI: While I''d been spreading the love to the wealthy and weird for several months now, I''d led a very pampered, sheltered, elitist existence in all the 499 plus years before then (emphasis on elitist ). In other words, I wasn''t exactly Dr. Drew when it came to mating habits of the various species. The only thing I did know for sure? The hornier the clients, the lower the standards, the sooner everyone paired up. I eyeballed the bag a split second before stashing it, complete with samples, under the table. What? So I''m a romantic. I freely admit it (to anyone except my ma, that is). "Help!" The frantic voice drew my attention and I turned just as a frustrated blonde rushed up to me. Evie Dalton could man the phones, key in profiles, text multiple clients and suck down a steaming latte-- all without smudging her lip gloss. She was the best assistant a vampire could ask for. She was also human, and completely unaware of my fanged and fabulous status. The 411 on to night? She thought it was just another movie theme party. Like the toga fever spawned by Animal House and the fifties sock hops la Grease . To night''s brain candy? Contemporary monster mania courtesy of the barrage of recent horror movies such as 30 Days of Night and The Mist . In honor of the occasion, she''d donned a silver jacket with eight sparkly "legs," a sequined mini- smock dress and three- inch glitter sandals. She looked like Spidey''s wet dream. So good in fact that, with the exception of a fading bruise on her neck and some seriously rank breath, it was impossible to tell that just two short weeks ago she''d been possessed by a demon. And that she''d come this close to heading downtown (way, way down) to become Satan''s own personal bee- yotch. I''d been so busy hiding her from the long arm of the Prince brothers (a hot, hunky trio of demon hunters who just so happened to be demons themselves) that I''d sort of let the rest of my work pile up. The demon was now back in hell, the Prince brothers were back to making women drool and rounding up hell''s Most Wanted, Evie was back in the office (and munching Tic Tacs) and I was making up for lost time. "Say cheese." She snapped several pics with her digital camera before handing me a clipboard and a copy of the invitation. "I need you to take these and brief Nina while I get them to relocate the flamb table ASAP. The fangs on the ice sculpture are melting. Thankfully I got a picture for our brochure before they completely dissolved." Evie had decided that free donuts and coffee weren''t enough. We needed a high quality, full color brochure to pimp our ser vices. She''d found a rockbottom price (courtesy of her computer savvy/sexual deviant cousin-- think small furry animals) and I''d jumped at the idea. "Now," she declared, turning and glancing around the crowded foyer. "Where the hell is that catering manager?" "Why not just hike the air- conditioning down?" I suggested. "Won''t the guests be cold?" "They''ll be more inclined to pair up and snuggle." She grinned. "I knew there was a reason you were the boss." She handed me a small box with a corsage. "Make sure Nina puts this on, too. If you can find her. One minute she was at the bar sucking down a Bloody Mary and the next-- poof --gone. Vanished into thin air." Or the nearest storage closet. "I knew it," I declared when I threw open a nearby door to find the MIA Nina. Nina Lancaster-- aka Nina One, the blond half of The Ninas, who''d been my best friends since birth-- was the daughter of filthy rich hotelier Victor Lancaster, who owned the Waldorf along with several five star establishments throughout New York and Paris. Nina was rich, beautiful (big surprise, right?) and living with my middle brother, Rob. They''d been seeing each other since I''d hooked them up a few months ago. Judging by the spaghetti straps that sagged near her elbows and my brother''s untucked button- down shirt, they''d been about to see a lot more of each other in the next five minutes. I glanced at Rob. His eyes were glazed and hooded. His fangs gleamed. A hungry growl vibrated the air. Okay, make that the next five seconds . Anxiety rushed through me. "Can you please boff my brother on your own time?" "I''m not boffing him." She grinned and tugged her straps back into place. "Not yet." She touched a hand to her mussed hair. "Besides, this isn''t your time. I donated the ballroom, so that makes it my time." She had a point. I traded in pissed- off client for desperately needy friend. "But I need you to screen guests at the entrance." "Get Evie to do it," she said as Rob leaned in to nibble at her neck. "I''m sending her back to the office on a ''dating emergency.'' I want her out of here before the party''s in full swing." Which was why I''d purposely scheduled a new client this eve ning. My plan? To pretend I''d forgotten the newbie. I would then beg Evie to handle the profile meeting while I stayed and captured pics for the infamous brochure. "She''s the best assistant in the world. I can''t have her wind up as some vampire''s sex slave, or the midnight snack for a hungry werewolf." Or worse, realize that the fangs I was sporting were the real deal. I wasn''t ready to break the born vamp''s number one commandment-- Thou Shalt Keep a Low Profile-- and come out of the closet to Evie. My mother would kill me. Even worse, I wasn''t sure if Evie was ready to work for a vamp. So far, she''d been wonderful. But it was a lot to swallow and I just wasn''t sure whether she''d take me out for chocolate martinis to celebrate or call in the rowdy vill

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