VLAD (Noir MC Book 2), page 1
NOIR MC Series - BOOK 2
Copyright © 2019 by Celia Crown
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are from the author's imagination or folklore, legends, and general myths.
The book or any portion of the book may not be reproduced or used under any circumstances, except with the written permission from the author. Public names, movies, televisions, and locales, or any references are used for atmospheric purposes. Any similarities and resemblances to alive or dead people, events, brands, and locales are all complete coincidences.
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About the Author
Noir MC – Book 2
by Celia Crown
“What’s not okay is that he was serenading a vase of flowers.”
“They—” she swallows, “They wilted.”
Mavis doesn’t have any interest in love, and frankly, she has complex organic molecules to worry about. She prefers not to socialize, but her work often catches the eyes of big pharmaceutical companies and greedy politicians. Shaking hands with them is a necessity, that’s why she books the earliest flight to the airport closes to her mom’s place the minute she hears ‘fundraiser’ and ‘black-tie’.
Vlad may be the new president of Noir, but that doesn’t stop him from shoveling snow. He gets his hands dirty, he fights, and he will beat his enemies into submission if they even dare to insult his family.
So, when a girl gets blown over by the snowstorm all the while ungracefully faceplanting herself into the freshly stacked snow, he helps her with his bloodied raw hands.
One look and she fainted.
Mavis would like to state, for the record, that she may look like she’s enjoying the fancy fundraiser, but she’s silently hoping lightning strikes the powerplant and shut down the lights.
She’s been at this fundraiser for hours and if one more person comes up to her, kissing her ass about her work, she will stare at them so hard that they’ll turn into calcified dinosaurs.
“Incoming,” Mavis grunts behind her glass of Martini.
Her boss, Jennifer, glances over with her own glass of drink.
“Just one more hour and we can leave.”
Mavis huffs, “I don’t understand why I have to be here too.”
“You need to charm potential supporters for your lab upgrade.” her boss sips her glass calmly, watching the man strolling across the room to them.
“You’re my boss, shouldn’t you give me the upgrades? Besides, other billionaires talk with elegance. What happened to you?”
“Why blend in when you can shine?” Jennifer smirks, her red lips stretching over white teeth.
The glass of Martini in Mavis’ hand has been there for at least an hour, barely touched. Every so often someone would come up to them and she would pretend to sip her drink and step aside to avoid interactions.
With a small sip, the slight bitterness fills her mouth.
“Hello, ladies.” a man’s smooth voice purrs, and a disgusted shiver tumbles down her exposed spine.
Her gorgeous simple black dress, courtesy of Jennifer, is formfitting with an open back. Paired with matching black heels gives her a look of sophisticated feminine charm.
Mavis is not sophisticated. She’s awkward and weird, social skills reaching to the negative hundreds.
The only reason she’s ever at these fundraisers, balls, and rich people gatherings is that Jennifer is her friend and her boss, so she doesn’t exactly have a choice.
“Hello.” Jennifer nods.
Mavis smiles weakly at the man.
His hair is parted in the middle and the bangs are curved outwards, they look like they want to fly off his forehead.
“I am Allen Hollis, CEO of Hollis Internationals.”
He’s so proud of his title that his arrogance is seeping from his greasy pores. He has an air of confidence and a very aggravating face that tests Jennifer’s will of not going through with the urge to punch it.
Jennifer smiles, eyes dead as the cactus on her marble kitchen counter. “I’m Jennifer Tate, CEO of Tate Pharmaceuticals.”
Hollis must know her boss from television or every social media platform because Mavis is sure she’s seen Jennifer on a milk carton. He recognizes her through a humble smile, as humble as a slimy human being can be while undressing her boss with sleazy eyes.
“May I get you another drink?”
Thank goodness the man is ignoring Mavis’ existence even though she’s right next to the very beautiful woman.
Her lips trembles with humor, widened eyes glancing away slowly, Mavis knows her boss is blunt, but this is getting ridiculous. She’s been shooting down every attempted offer men had made since the beginning of the fundraiser.
Hollis is taken back, aghast with a hint of a gaping mouth. He clears his throat and finds his posture again.
“How about dinner after this? I know a fantastic Greek restaurant―”
A little bubble pops in the Martini glass, Mavis’ teeth clamp down on the rim while holding her laugh down. Shoulders shaking with mirth when she glances at her boss in the corner of her blue eyes.
Jennifer has the impeccable poker face that betrays nothing but boredom.
He grits his teeth, “You—”
“Do excuse us, gentleman. We must move on to meet those interested in our business.”
Jennifer tips her head in farewell and guides the laughing girl away with a hand on her exposed back.
“Maybe if you put your legs out through the slit, you’d distract him enough to get him to sign a business deal.”
The red-haired woman rolls her forest green eyes at Mavis.
“You’re the one who’s supposed to lure in unsuspecting men. It’s the reason why I got you the backless dress.”
“You’re selling me out, Jenny. How could you?”
Jennifer laughs softly, “It’s for the greater good of the company.”
“Another one of your secrets on how to be rich and stay rich?”
Mavis hooks an arm around the gorgeous woman, her sleeveless silver dress feels silky smooth on her arm.
Her blue eyes scan the sea of rich people. Some mingling with each other with passive-aggressive flaunting of their success.
She watches a woman with a glass of champagne throwing sultry glances at the bartender who just wants to do his job without being hit on by cringy cougars. Another woman joins in, and at that point, the younger man looks like he’s about to swallow the drink he’s making, including the cocktail shaker.
There are some individuals that can’t hold their alcohol tumbling around, greeting everyone and making those people coming in contact with them very uncomfortable.
A tall and lean man on the opposite side of them looks over with a kind smile. Saggy caramel hair and sweet brown eyes
Love at first sight.
He’s been beating around the bushes and acting shy around Mavis, and she knows he’s attracted to her.
“Richard is a good match,” Jennifer states plainly, tightening her elbows with her friend’s arm between them.
Mavis sighs, “He’s nice.”
Twenty years old, and she’s never had a relationship. Never needed one and doesn’t want one either.
She knows that it’s not Richard’s fault, she just doesn’t have any feelings when she looks at him. He’s a good man and would make a great boyfriend to someone, but that someone isn’t going to be her.
Mavis can’t catch feelings for anything; no matter if they are the most attractive, average, or their magnificent personality. She just can’t.
It’s a word she hates so much, she associates it with her own self-worth and it’s something she’s not capable of letting go.
Messed up love-map. Childhood trauma. There are some psychological terms for it, but it’s basically what it is in layman’s terms.
Her heart doesn’t speed up like the heroines in romantic stories.
Falling in love is just unrealistic to her and no one tried hard enough to stay. Stay long enough for her to try, but they always lose interest after some time.
A brutal business term, but that hit her hard when a man in the past pursued her for one week but received nothing in return.
“Why don’t you give him a chance? I think you’d make a great couple. He’s serious and determined, he’s the first one to not pressure you into a relationship.”
Jennifer has a point.
“What can we even talk about? He and I have nothing in common.”
The red-haired woman purses her lips in thoughts, “I’m sure there’s something. Don’t you want to have the chance of calling him endearments?”
“What, call him Dick?” Mavis shakes her head at her own stupid joke.
“I don’t want to lead him on.” Mavis smiles at the woman, “It’s not fair for him to wait and learn that I’ll never feel anything for him.”
“You never know though,” the red-haired woman said. “You won’t know if you don’t try, you might be surprised.”
They step outside of the convention room and into the massive hall, Mavis feels the carpet under her heels.
“What about you?” she questions back, an eyebrow quirks up to her hairline.
Jennifer chuckles humorlessly, “Only if they don’t see me as a dollar sign.”
Mavis hums absentmindedly, a small tune filling in the silence between them. It’s comfortable, an air of relaxation and peacefulness around them as they stroll through the hall.
She can understand complicated chemical formulas, but emotions are a fickle thing that she doesn’t want to learn. She doesn’t have a baseline of what is right and what is wrong to guide her into falling in love.
She loves her biological sister Honey, Laura, and mom. Jennifer jumped on that list too, and she doesn’t regret letting her within her guarded heart. They are familial love, but she wants to know what loving someone feels like.
Deep down, she wants to experience the butterflies in her tummy and be a normal girl for once.
No looming memories and no expectations from other people.
Just be Mavis for one day.
Not Ph.D. Doctor Mavis Lewis, gifted biochemist.
“I’d date you, Jenny.” Mavis laughs, leaning on the woman with her head settling on her shoulder.
“I’d date myself too.” Jennifer lays her head on the black-haired girl.
They continue to walk down the hall while occasionally passing by other people.
The fundraiser is for art lovers, It’s not exactly their area of interest. A fusion of modern art and classic paintings in one room for everyone’s taste, people bet on a piece of art they find interesting.
Rich people and their first world problems on how to spend money. They decide that spending thousands of dollars on a white canvas with a streak of blue paint across horizontally was the right way.
Men and women standing around the painting as if they are art appraisers, talking amongst themselves at how much emotions are in a line of blue paint.
Mavis doesn’t want to be associated with them. Any outsiders looking in would think that the painting is utterly stupid.
People who appreciate all kinds of art would say otherwise.
“Art is impractical.” Jennifer corrects the black-haired woman.
Mavis glances around, “Don’t let that Rick guy hear you, he already hates you enough.”
“He hates you more.”
“He hates me because he thinks his own biochemist is the best in the world. You outbid his painting and the sword.”
Jennifer sniffs, “It’s an auction. I won it fair and square.”
“Then you rolled it up, stared into his eyes like the sadist you are and sliced a four million painting into pieces.”
Her boss doesn’t have a speck of remorse in her eyes. Mavis remembers the incident vividly. Rick is a competitive man who thinks he’s the best at everything, especially when it comes to pharmaceuticals. Then, Jennifer rose to the top while being much younger and more innovative than him.
His ego doesn’t allow second places, so he has been extremely vindictive and passive-aggressive to her boss.
Speaking of art, the scene in front of her could be considered as art.
A man they recognize as a politician. Senator Douglas Patman. He’s on the shorter side with eyes so big that people think he’s surprised all the time. His eyes are not the only thing that’s big about him.
His mouth is freakishly ginormous.
Inhibited and intoxicated, he opens his mouth and Mavis is immediately frightened. It’s a scene in horror movies that show haunted people opening their mouth for the purpose of making the audience uncomfortable.
With a vase of flowers in front of him, he serenades with hands to his chest in a motion of playing an invisible guitar.
It’s so weird to look at.
She can’t tell who shivered first, but they’re both disturbed within seconds of hearing his voice.
In front of her very own eyes, the flowers are wilting.
From his breath or horrible vocals, Mavis swears the poor flowers are turning brown.
“I think it’s time to call it a night.”
“I agree, boss.”
There shouldn’t be so many people at the airport at three in the morning.
The x-ray machines have people lining up all the way back to the entrance. It’s a good thing she got there early or else she would have missed her flight.
This wasn’t how her night is supposed to be. She’s supposed to be sleeping at home, not at the airport with her shoes off on a floor dirtier than the public bathroom.
Mavis got home, showered, and was about to get into bed when she opened an email from Jennifer’s secretary.
All she saw was fundraiser and black-tie, then she’s out the door with a suitcase full of clothes and booked the earliest flight to her mom.
Mavis has her priorities in the wrong order. She doesn’t remember to change out of her knitted pullover but is able to find the time to book a first-class seat.
In her mind, the space between her and strangers needs to be big enough to avoid any interactions. Physical touches make her want to scrub her hands with hand sanitizer and she doesn’t think the flight carries them.
Now, she’s cringing as she steps on her toes to avoid every possible surface of her feet touching the floor. People behind her and the lines next to her are staring at her oddly.
It can’t be helped, she’s slightly germophobic. It’s not that bad; it only concerns her personal hy
So, she must suck it up and shake the hands of people.
Who knows where their hands have been?
“Next!” the TSA agent calls out when she blinked out into space.
She scrambles up to the machine and continues to stand on her toes.
“Feet flat on the ground, miss.”
Mavis silently groans and painstakingly force her entire feet down and shudders. With her arms up, the machine swirls around her noisily.
She knows she doesn’t have any jewelry or anything metal on her so there’s no reason for the agent to check with a handheld metal detector.
The agent doesn’t check her and lets her go with a swipe of a hand. At least one thing is going right for once in the span of twenty-four hours.
She gathers her fur-trimmed coat and slips it on with her shoes. She makes a mental note to soak the pair of shoes in boiling hot water and industrial grade cleaner to get rid of the germs.
Mom lives in Nevada, so it’s safe to assume that it’s going to be an equivalent coldness of Alaska to a girl who is used to Miami hotness.
She hopes there’s not a delay because when she checked the weather app for Nevada weather, it shows that there’s a snowstorm and it’s getting heavier by the minute.
Her gate is relatively close, and she thinks she’s too lucky for this.
Please don’t let her jinx herself, she’s on a stroll of good luck. There’s no need for Murphy's law, especially not so late at night or early morning.
“Excuse me!” a woman’s voice shrills behind her on the moving conveyor.
A blur of red air hostess uniform zooms passes her with constant dull vibrations from her carry-on suitcase.
Impeccably ironed uniform even has the sharp shoulder pads. The air hostess has her hair up in a tight knot and hurried hip sways to get down to the gate of her flight.
She sees the woman step off the conveyor and turn into the gate right beside it and she realizes that it’s her flight, and she’s one of the flight attendants. A brief panic settles deep in her gut as she speeds down the rest of the way.
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