Dead End Dating Read Online Free PDF Page A

haven’t done anything lately.”
    “Real estate, huh?”
    “My family owns a lot of land in the old country.”
    “You own land in France?” He nodded. “What part?”
    “Most parts.” He must have noticed my stunned look. “I go all the way back to Napoleon. The first one. We used to play chess together.”
    “What did you say your name was?”
    “Deville. Francoise Deville.”
    The name set off an alarm in my head, and my hands started to tremble. I hadn’t just stumbled upon a really old geek. I’d stumbled upon the really old geek. From the oldest family in France. And the richest. And that was saying a lot when you considered that we vamps had some major bucks.
    “Where are your parents? Brothers? Sisters?”
    “Most of my family is still in Paris. My parents live in the country.”
    “Do you ever see them?”
    He shook his head. “They don’t really like to have me around. I’m sort of the black sheep.”
    “I hear ya on that one.” Boy, did I ever.
    “You really think you can find me an eternity mate?” he asked after a long, silent moment, his voice quiet.
    Hopeful.
    Scrapbooking and cockerdoodles aside, the guy was sort of sweet.
    In a pathetic, desperate, dysfunctional sort of way.
    My chest hitched a little, and I suddenly felt even more determined. “You bet I can. Of course, I might have to GQ you up a bit first.” I pushed a strand of hair off his forehead and tried to envision him as Brad Pitt à la Troy.
    Okay, so forget Brad Pitt.
    Maybe a young George Clooney.
    All right, all right. George was out. But there was always Matt Damon.
    I squinted my eyes and let Frank’s image blur. There. Definitely more Matt Damon.
    Sort of.
    “We’ll definitely need to do a mini-makeover. It’s part of our VIP Service Package.”
    “A makeover?” He touched his hair. “You mean I’ll have to get it cut?”
    “Shaped,” I corrected. “And colored.”
    “You want to color my hair?”
    From the look on his face you would have thought I’d suggested a torture fest with garlic and the first American Idol CD. “You’ll definitely need a facial, too. Maybe some contacts.”
    He shook his head. “I don’t know about this.”
    “Obviously. Otherwise, you would have been snatched up long ago.”
    “You really think so?”
    “Sure, I do.” I patted his arm. “Just leave everything to me. You’re in capable hands.”
    While my do me look was definitely rusty, I still had it when it came to touching. Another pat on his shoulder—coupled with a little stroking persuasion from my fingertips, of course—and his expression went from worried to slightly confused. (Okay, so I’d lost a little in the touch department, too. I’d been going for relaxed.)
    “What’s the name of your business again?” he asked me.
    “Dead End Dating, and we’re the best.” Or we soon would be, once we took Francis from humdrum to hunky. Until then…“Did I mention that the half price is payable up front?”

I left my new friend Francis at the subway station, his phone number and address already entered into my BlackBerry and a check for half of my fee stashed in my purse, and walked to the corner to catch a cab home. I was so pleased with my night’s work that I decided to head home on a high note rather than going back to the office to face the dismal number of profiles on the Dead End Dating website.
    I stepped down off the curb and signaled for a cab. I know, I know. I should do something vampy like change into a bat and fly back to my place. But black is so not my color, and a pink bat doesn’t actually fit with the whole low-profile thing my kind have preached for the last trillion years. I could run, too, but my feet hurt. It’s tough being a fashion vixen.
    I put my fingers on either side of my mouth and let loose a shrill whistle that would no doubt have every dog within a ten-block radius whimpering. A yellow cab squealed to a stop in front of me, and I pulled open the door.
    The creepy feeling