Miri: A Paranormal Romance (Plenty of Shift Book 1) Page 3

  “I’m afraid I just don’t know what to say to that,” she replied, gritting her teeth. “You’re too kind.”

  From any other human it would have been a compliment. From him it was like rancid milk being poured down the front of her blouse.

  “Let’s just say, Miri, my darling, that you deserve someone who will light your pants on fire.”

  “Actually, I’m more likely to be the one lighting pants on fire,” she growled, before realizing that he would take it as a come-on. For clarity, she added, “And I do mean that literally.”

  “I’ll bet you do, you little sex-kitten.”

  Dear God. Why couldn’t I have bought more lighter fluid?

  “I really do need to get to work. So good-bye, Mr. Leech.”

  “Not good-bye. Only until I see you again.” He shot her a snaggle-toothed smile, forcing her to wince out a brief attempt at friendliness before willing him towards his office.

  His smell receded as he turned and walked towards his door. But as he pivoted to face her, he ran the back of his disgusting hand over the front of his pants, directly in Miri’s sight line. Good lord. I need out of this hell-hole, she told herself as she resisted gagging up her last sip of latte. Like, yesterday. The idea of the dating service was becoming more and more appealing.

  As the day wore on, she dutifully answered phones and replied to the requisite emails, avoiding eye contact with the boss each time he left his office. Miri’s computer was ancient, but its virtual uselessness had never bothered her. High-tech gadgets were one area in which she’d never been comfortable; if she’d had her way, people would have used carrier pigeons to communicate. Or howls, like the Kefir Pack might do. She wondered for a moment what bears did. Growl?

  Which led her to think of Malcolm. Again. The bartender who’d been designed to torture women like her, his body made for biting, licking, kissing and fucking. As her fingertip went to her lips, Miri asked herself what sort of sound a grizzly shifter might make in bed.

  Well, it was obvious: A good one. A great one. A “keep sucking that, sweetheart” sound. He was probably the sort who would feed her instructions, telling her exactly how he liked for his cock to be stroked and licked. How fast, how hard. “Yeah, baby. That feels so fucking good,” he’d tell her as she slid both palms over his rigid length…

  Oh, dear God. What was she doing?

  It didn’t matter what he sounded like. She’d never find out. He was off limits to her; too handsome. Too smooth. Too attractive for words. And no doubt so good in bed that she’d never want to stop fucking him. How the hell would a woman get anything done if she had a boyfriend like that?

  But as she thought of him—that face, that smile, those broad, muscular shoulders and the shirt unbuttoned just enough for his chest to scream, “Sit on me with your pants off, please,” her mind went back to the conversation with Jenn. Anything to distract from the bear shifter who’d settled into her consciousness long enough to make her panties wet on an hourly basis.

  Okay, she mumbled. A matchmaking service. How the hell do I start a matchmaking service?

  There were all sorts of them online, she knew. But she didn’t want to run one like the big online companies did. No way was she ever going to touch the internet, or be able to hire someone to design one of those…what were they called? Apps. What was that word short for, anyhow? Appendage? Appendectomy?

  Nope. Miri was old school, if nothing else. If she were going to set people up together, she wanted to meet them in person. The only reason she was any good at the set-up process was her ability to read personalities quickly, and to assess what might work well between two candidates. Like she’d read Kor’s, before setting him up with Jenn. And like she’d read Malcolm’s the evening before. At least she thought she had.

  But what was he, really? Handsome was a no-brainer, as was sexy. Strong? Check. But personality-wise? Well, he was quick-witted. He was a little dirty-minded. Both positives in her book.

  But there was something else, as well. Was it that he was a good man? Miri had the impression that Jenn was right; that he was a genuinely decent guy. But how on earth could any man who looked like that be decent? He looked like walking sex, and he must have been hit on by at least a thousand women a day. How could he ever maintain profound kindness in the face of so much potential pussy?

  Not to mention the nature of grizzly shifters as a rule. His sort was trouble. He was the kind of guy who blinded a woman, convinced her that he had all the best intentions and then, once he’d satisfied himself inside her body, he took off to look for the next young thing to trick. She’d seen it before. Hell, she’d just broken up with it.

  Miri wasn’t looking for a man. But when she was ready, it would be best to go for someone safe. Boring. A squirrel shifter. A possum would do even more nicely. The ability of men to transform into snoring corpses within seconds after ejaculation had always been astounding to her, and a possum would be even better suited to the role; weren’t they experts at playing dead?

  As her hands went idly back to the newspaper, her eyes fell on the Grayson City Post’s front headline:

  War Brewing Between Rival Packs.

  A full-colour photograph revealed a couple of shifters in wolf form, fighting violently in the middle of Central Square. Apparently there’d been some sort of betrayal. The Kefir Pack had split apart and its various members were now going at it in full force.

  “Great,” Miri muttered. “Wolves fighting in downtown public areas. That’ll help the tourist industry.”

  “God damned shifters, am I right?”

  Oh, jeez.

  Once again, the perv was standing over her shoulder, looking at the paper, or, more likely, going for another glance down her shirt.

  “Yeah, god damned shifters,” said Miri quietly. “They sure are a violent bunch.”

  “I tell you, the day I find out that one of those freaks works for me is the day I move to the Arctic.”

  Please. Oh, please do that.

  So he really didn’t know that she was a shifter. It figured; he was the most clued-out man she’d ever known. On the plus side, she could eventually tell him, and then maybe he really would take off for Nunavut or some other remotely northern territory. The whole office would celebrate and hail her as a hero.

  “Anyhow, back to work, Miri,” he said, slipping a hand along her back before he left. She hoped with everything in her that it wasn’t the same hand that he’d used to stroke his less than impressive pant-bulge earlier.

  After she’d double-checked that he was gone, Miri open the Classified ads once again, this time scanning for anything with a home office. One ad jumped out at her and she wondered how she’d missed it at first glance.

  “Two bedrooms, home office, near subway stops,” it read. “And Central Square.”

  Of course it was right where last night’s wolf fight had occurred. But that would sit badly with potential renters, and give her a better chance to grab it. The place sounded perfect. As for the price, maybe the owner had already heard about the brewing shifter war. It was a steal.

  She picked up the phone and called.

  The female voice on the other end sounded shocked to hear that she was calling about the apartment.

  “I want to take the place you’re advertising.”

  “But you haven’t even seen it. Didn’t you hear about the fight in the Square last night?”

  An honest landlady. That was a good start.

  “It doesn’t matter. May I bring you a cheque for first and last month’s rent today?”

  “Sure. Six o’clock?”

  “Great.”

  Miri hung up after jotting down the address and exhaled at length, a weight easing off her shoulders. Scanning the room again for the awful Mr. Leech, she clicked open her web browser and typed in “Shifter Personal Ads.”

  The search engine found all manner of things: ads for people selling gear shifts. Ads for people using car parts in their love-making, apparently.
Ads for “personal enjoyment units.” But absolutely nothing for those women and men who wanted a creature other than a mere human to hold at night.

  Well, that’s it, she said under her breath. I’m going for it. It was time to spring to action. She pulled out a notebook and began to jot down ideas. Even if she had no clue how she’d get such a business off the ground, she may as well give it a name.

  Match-Shifter.

  Shifting Singles.

  Sifting Shingles.

  Lions, Tigers and Dogs.

  Plenty of…Shift.

  That was it. It was simple. And it referenced that expression that every woman in the history of the world hated. How did that go again? Oh, yeah. Don’t worry, dear. There are plenty of fish in the sea. What woman had ever wanted to hear that? Who the hell had ever uttered the words “If only there were more fish to fuck?” Other, she supposed, than a mermaid. But surely even they would be sensible enough to find a nice sperm whale. At least he’d be well hung.

  Now that she’d given her prospective business a name, she shut the notebook and tried to focus on the job she was being paid to do. As she’d told Jenn, the dating service idea was all a pipe dream. But the notion that she could work out of her home, even in a downtown area now populated by snarling wolves, was so damned appealing. She could get up at eight o’clock, or even nine, lounge around in a robe, start talking to clients at ten…

  One thing at a time. For today, she’d finish her work load, drop off the cheque and see about moving into her new place. Once she had an address she’d ask the movers to bring her things over. She could begin her new life. A clean slate, a fresh start. And no more cheating bastards.

  She deftly avoided Mr. Pervypants when she left the office that afternoon, embracing her own broad smile as she charged down the street towards Central Square.

  Things were looking up.

  * * *

  Miri wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting when she wandered up to the building that would potentially become her new home. It looked directly onto the now quiet Central Square, which the locals seemed to be avoiding for fear that another wolf fight would break out. That could be bad for business. But hell, she was going to be inviting shifters over; most of them didn’t have much fear of others of their kind. It was only humans who would stay away, and after her experience with Jeff, that was just fine.

  The building’s exterior was quite nice: a brownstone walk-up, well maintained, if a little on the old side. When Miri rang the bell, the woman who greeted her was young—maybe twenty-eight, well dressed and friendly.

  “I’m Miri—the one who called this morning.”

  “Yes, of course. I’m Naomi. And ah, you’re a shifter,” said the woman, who was clearly more astute than Mr. Perv-boss.

  “I am. Is that a problem?” Miri was puzzled; picking up Naomi’s scent, she could tell that she was also one.

  “Hell no,” laughed her—hopefully—new landlady. “God knows, I could use the added set of fangs around here. As I’m sure you can tell, I’m a shifter as well—but I’m just a ferret. Not so powerful against raging wolves, if ever they decide to give me trouble.”

  “Understood. Well, I’m not much of a fighter but I do have some pretty good canines when I’m in form.”

  “Great. This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, I’d say. So listen, do you want to see the place? It’s vacant, so you can take it whenever you’d like. You can probably guess that I want to unload it. The ad only went up today—you were quick to jump on it.”

  “If you don’t mind, yeah, I’d love to take a look. And I’d move in this minute if that works for you.” Miri grasped the cheque in her hand, confident that she’d be handing it over. “So tell me, why are you renting this place so cheaply? I mean, why are you so keen to get rid of it?”

  “Well, for one thing, it’s the turf wars. It’s not easy to rent real estate in this area these days—certainly not to humans. For another thing, my ex and I bought this place together. With him moved out, I need the rent to help me cover the mortgage.”

  “I see. I’m sorry about the ex. I’m recently severed from my own, too. A boyfriend-ectomy, if you will. Though I have to say—I feel much better without him.”

  “Glad to hear it,” said Naomi. “It’s been a while for me, and I’m over it. Anyhow,” she said, opening the door to apartment B, which sat on the main floor, “Here it is.”

  Miri gasped for a moment, pleasure filling her as she took in the sight. The view was of a kitchen and a large living room, complete with hardwood floors and comfortable-looking furniture. Huge French doors allowed light to pour in, in spite of the premature autumn sunset. An iron grate was slid over them for extra security.

  “You can open the grates,” said Naomi. “They’re useful if you’re worried about people trying to break in. But I don’t suppose you’ll need them.”

  The French doors were perfect, and would mean that clients could enter the apartment without going through the building’s front door.

  “It’s amazing,” she said. “As for the furniture…”

  “Yours if you want it. It belonged to my ex, and I couldn’t care less if you took a chainsaw to it.”

  “He doesn’t want it?”

  “Not since I threatened to sue his ass for every penny he had. Let’s just say that he got off easy.”

  “Now there’s a story I’d like to hear someday. I’m sorry for whatever you went through. But I’ll gladly accept the furniture—I really don’t have much of my own.”

  “Feel free to change things up in here, too. If you want to paint, or whatever.”

  Looking around, Miri hesitated for a moment before asking, “The wall between the living room and the office: how much would you hate it if I did a little renovation work?”

  “I guess that would be all right. It’s not a supporting wall, anyhow.”

  “I’d pay for it and everything. It’s for a business idea of mine.”

  “Nothing untoward, I assume,” laughed Naomi.

  “Oh, no. I’ll tell you all about it once I’ve figured out what I’m doing.”

  “I can’t wait to hear.”

  “Say—you wouldn’t happen to still be a single lady, would you?”

  “I would,” said Naomi. “Let’s just say that I’m still in between relationships.”

  “I don’t suppose you’d like to be a guinea pig and try out a new dating service that I’m offering? If it goes well, you could give me a testimonial.”

  “Well, a guinea pig would be a downgrade from a ferret. But I’ll try anything once. Sure, count me in.”

  And just like that, Miri had her first client.

  Chapter Four

  Miri found herself sitting on her new couch a week later, in the apartment that had quickly begun to feel like home. The movers had brought her things from storage and she was now comfortably surrounded by items that she’d owned for years: a lamp with a paper shade that she loved; paintings that Jeff had never wanted hung in their shared apartment, and a thick, lush carpet of rich reds and blues. She’d always fantasized about sex on this rug, but it remained a virgin to this day.

  On that particular evening, having unpacked, cleaned and sorted the apartment out to the point where she knew each square inch of it, she found herself literally twiddling her restless thumbs—something she’d never realized people actually did. No cable TV and no internet to speak of meant that she was at loose ends in the evenings, her mind reeling with questions of how to get a business off the ground from nowhere. And how to tell her boss that the next time she found his crotch next to her face, she’d make him wish he’d worn a steel cup.

  These moments were the times when she missed having a boyfriend. A partner, someone she could talk to, share ideas with. Though, quite honestly, she had Jenn for that. Her friend had already been by after work that day to check in, and the two had put their heads together to design a logo for the new agency.

  The agency whose name Jenn
had seriously questioned.

  “Plenty of Shift? Are you sure?”

  “I like it. What’s wrong with it?” Miri had asked.

  “You do realize that the acronym is PoS.”

  “And?”

  “Piece…of…?” Jenn seemed to be waiting for Miri to come up with the rest herself.

  “Oh. Damn.” Miri let out a laugh.

  “Don’t worry. I think it gives it a certain je ne sais quoi. I mean, who doesn’t want to be hooked up through a matchmaking service called Piece of Shit?”

  “Well, no one can deny that I have experience in the field,” said Miri. “I can identify a piece of shit from a mile away.”

  Miri had told her about a plan to have a two-way mirror installed between the living room and office, so that prospective clients could sit in the office and surreptitiously watch their dates be interviewed.

  “It’s very police station-chic,” Jenn had said. “You could get a really bright light for your interrogations.”

  “I don’t want to frighten the poor guys to death. I’ll save the bright light for the ones I hate.”

  “Perfect.”

  At six p.m. Jenn had left to head home to Kor. She would be eating dinner with her mate, her partner, her lover. And Miri found herself envious, in spite of the fact that she was very happy for them both.

  As she pondered all of it, she realized that she was feeling a little sorry for herself. God, some sex would have been nice. It was the greatest pastime in the history of the universe, and it was no wonder that it was so addictive.

  But it was no good to wallow in self-pity. Instead, she tried to take her mind off her sorry state by pondering what needed to be done before she could invite clients into the apartment. She fixed her eyes on the wall opposite the couch, imagining the two-way mirror reflecting the living room back at itself. It wasn’t a bad idea at all, that; the person on the other side would be able to get an idea of their potential mate’s movements, voice. Even scent.