“Oh, it’s you.” Parvati breathed a sigh. “I didn’t recognize the number.”
“Phones aren’t allowed at the party because they don’t want people taking pictures and selling them to the press,” Zara explained. “I’m using the bartender’s landline. It’s so cute. I didn’t know they made landlines anymore.”
“I’m assuming we’re not talking about you being injured.”
“It’s Jay.” She waved to the bartender to refill her zombie punch. Her last cup had been all eyes—lychees with blueberry pupils. After the recent disaster, she needed all the alcohol she could get.
“I accidentally caused him to fall over backward and bang his head on a cauldron full of fake zombie brains. I was pretty sure he lost consciousness for a few seconds, although he may have been closing his eyes at the sheer irony of it all.”
“How are his pupils?” Parvati’s voice turned serious. “Is he dizzy? Nauseous?”
“He’s fine, I think.” She turned in her chair to make sure he was still standing. “Every time he looks at me, his eyes narrow so it’s kind of hard to tell. But he is stomping around, and he can lift two zombies at once and toss them into a cab. The ladies seem to love it.”
Stunning in his dark blue uniform and security vest, he clearly didn’t have to work at attracting attention. Women were drawn to him even when he was just standing still. It would have been incredibly annoying except for the fact that he barely looked at them. Every offer was brushed off with a bland expression or a firm, curt gesture.
Except for the zombie bride.
While Parvati rattled off a list of possible symptoms, Zara watched the zombie bride make her second approach. Earlier in the evening the bride had broken through Jay’s defenses by pretending to hurt her foot. Jay had carried her to a chair, slipped off her sparkly stiletto, and examined her foot right down to her perfectly manicured toes. If Zara hadn’t been about to do shooters with Bob and his zombie lieutenant, she would have pointed out that there was nothing wrong with the bride’s foot, and only five minutes prior she’d been dancing up a storm.
This time, the zombie bride had washed the makeup off her face and combed her hair, revealing honey gold curls beneath the tangles. Her sleeveless bridal dress hugged her slim figure, the bodice loosely laced as if it could barely contain her generous breasts.
“Zara?” Parvati raised her voice. “Are you still there?”
“Yes.” Zara watched the bride snake her way across the room, hips swaying, tongue flickering as she licked her lush lips to a shine. A predator stalking its prey. “What should I do about Jay? He said he doesn’t do hospitals. The party is basically over.”
“Just keep an eye on him. If he gets a headache, blurred vision, slurred speech, or unusual fatigue then take him to the nearest hospital. If he comes here, I can take a look at him.”
She ended the call just seconds before the zombie bride went in for the kill. Hair toss. Giggle. Simper. Flutter the lashes. Hand on the arm. Pathetic. Zara knew all her tricks. She waited in breathless anticipation for Jay to brush her off—a step away, a fake call, or a shake of the head—but no. Jay moved closer. He murmured something in her ear, his face soft and gentle. And was that . . . a smile? Elated, the zombie bride leaned up on tiptoe and kissed his neck. Zara’s stomach clenched. What the hell was he doing with that piece of zombie trash?
“How’s my little zombie lawyer princess doing?” Bob put an arm around her waist and twirled her onto the dance floor.
“Good.” She forced a smile. As far as celebrities went, Bob was D-list who thought he was C-list, and pretended he was B-list. He’d wiped off his zombie makeup after the beer funnel fiasco to reveal a large forehead, deep-set eyes, and a narrow jaw. His face was distinctive, if not odd, and it was clear he was destined to be a character actor if he made it out of the land of zombie films.
“I’ve got a suite in the hotel across the street.” Bob leaned down to nuzzle her neck. He smelled slightly off, like he’d just finished the plate of zombie brain blue cheese liver pâté. “We’re heading over there for the after-party. I’ve got so much zombie dust you’ll be able to roll naked in it on the bed.”
“Tempting.” She looked around the club, but Jay and his zombie bride had disappeared. “Tell me more.”
“It’s just me, a couple of guys from the crew, and—”
“Should I call your cab?” Jay’s dark menacing shadow swallowed Zara’s view.
“Excuse me. We’re dancing.” Her anger rose when she noticed he’d brought along the zombie bride. “And then we’re going to party in a bed of zombie dust in Bob’s hotel suite.”
“I don’t think so,” Jay said firmly. “You’re going home.”
She wrapped her arms around Bob and glared at Jay. “Get over your bossy self. How I choose to spend my evening is none of your concern.”
“Maybe we could go, too.” The zombie bride curled her talons around Jay’s arm. “The party’s almost over.”
“The more, the merrier.” Bob slid an arm around Zara’s waist. “Let’s get the party started.”
Zara had a settlement meeting on Thursday morning. She needed tomorrow to prep, but damned if she was going to leave the party alone after Jay had hooked up with the wrong kind of bride right in front of her. “Just give me a minute to change out of this tablecloth.”
“Why bother?” Bob asked. “You’re just going to take it off anyway.”
Jay growled. At least she thought it was a growl. But then he rubbed his head and she became more concerned about a possible concussion than the way that sound rumbled through her body.
“Do you have a headache? Dizziness? Blurred vision?” She shook off Bob’s arm. “I talked to Parvati and she said I should keep an eye on you in case you have a head injury.” Her gaze fell on the simpering bride. “Of course, if you’ve got someone else to look after you tonight, I’ll be free to continue my super fun evening with Bob.” She held her breath, silently wishing he did have a headache—just a little one. Bob’s zombie dust party was the last place she wanted to be.
“Now that you mention it . . .” His hand went to his head, his brow creasing in a frown.
“Oh my God. I’m calling an Uber right now.” She gave Bob’s arm a squeeze. “Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll handle this. I’m so sorry I’ll have to miss the after-party. I’ve always wanted to roll naked on a bed of zombie dust in a room filled with strange men, but I’d better get Jay to the hospital. I’m pretty sure the cauldron was unstable, and the fake blood on the floor was a definite slip-and-fall hazard. You don’t want a lawsuit on your hands.”