Dad bod vampire, p.1
Dad Bod: Vampire,
p.1
dad bod: vampire
Kat Baxter
Dad Bod: Vampire
Kat Baxter
Copyright 2024 by Kat Baxter
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law.
Edited by: Emily Beierle-McKaskle
Copyeditor: BookReadingJenn
Book cover: Bookin’ It Designs
With regard to digital publication, be advised that any alteration of font size or spacing by the reader could change the author’s original format.
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contents
Dad Bod: Vampire
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Thank you for reading!
Join me!
Excerpt from His Heartbeat
Dad Bod Monsters
About the Author
dad bod: vampire
A Husky Hero, Boss/Employee, Curvy Girl Romance
This is the story of how I, Rosie Breit, intrepid assistant to eccentric, reclusive, hotel mogul, Hudson Wells, finally met face to face.
Turns out, the stories aren't true. They're worse. He isn't agoraphobic. He's a cranky vampire staying out of the spotlight. So why did I practically beg him to bite me?!
There is no real happy ending when one of you is immortal. But when both of you are? Well, that changes things...
chapter
one
Rosie
I know a thing or two about bad luck.
I’ve had bad luck all my life, from the time my parents died in a freak explosion at an abandoned fast food joint right up until now. I could give you lots of examples of my epically shitty luck, but I’d end up sounding like a whiner and bumming everyone out.
But here’s how I like to look at it: all the bad things that have happened to me are just my backstory. Fate has been laying the groundwork for some amazing things to happen in my life. All the bad luck has prepared me to recognize the good luck when it comes along, so that I can seize it tight with both hands and never let it go.
My attitude might sound a bit naïve. Sharon, my third foster mom, used to tell me I was willfully optimistic. I don’t think she meant it as a compliment.
Maggie, my fifth foster mom, called it seeing life through Rosie-colored glasses. I like to think that she did mean it as a compliment, even though she also complained about my “stubbornness issues.”
But here’s one thing I’ve figured out. Luck doesn’t start out as good or bad. At first, it’s just things that happen to you. It’s what you do with those things that matter.
For example, yes, it sucks that I bounced around in foster care my whole childhood. But, did you know there are scholarships and grants just for people who come out of the foster care system? And if you apply for all of them (which I did), it covers a lot of your tuition? And if, once you graduate, you write thank you notes to all the non-profits that provide those grants asking them for job references, eventually you might wear one of them down.
Was it a lot of handwritten notes to a lot of people at a lot of companies?
Yes, it was.
But this is what I mean about making your own luck! Because it’s how I ended up with an actual job, working for Wells International Hospitality Industries. Now, at age twenty-two, after a mere seventy-two handwritten thank you notes to various people at various companies, I am the virtual assistant to the owner of the company, Mr. Hudson Wells.
I strongly suspect that I was a pity hire, but that is fine by me, because I make my own luck.
And I have every intention of making myself indispensable to Mr. Wells. I am going to work so hard, he won’t know what hit him!
Now if I can just get him to give me something to do other than busy work ….
chapter
two
Work Correspondence
To: H.G.Wells@WellsIHI.com
From: Rosie.Breit@WellsIHI.com
Subject: My work load
Mr. Wells,
As mentioned in my previous email, I fear I’m not doing enough to “earn my keep.” When you hired me a month ago, you indicated you would slowly ramp up my duties as your virtual assistant.
I have now had more than enough time to settle into the job. I am ready and eager to do more work. Please let me know what else I can do to be of service. I know I’m young, but I’m eager to learn!
Sincerely,
Ms. Breit
To: Rosie.Breit@WellsIHI.com
From: H.G.Wells@WellsIHI.com
Subject: re: My work load
Your current work is more than adequate.
To: H.G.Wells@WellsIHI.com
From: Rosie.Breit@WellsIHI.com
Subject: re: re: My work load
Mr. Wells,
I am aware that my work is adequate. I strive to be more than adequate. I believe my business and marketing degree, while not from a fancy university, has prepared me to be an invaluable member of your team.
I have reviewed the company portfolio that was included in my original hire package as well as the website for the Wells IHI parent company and your additional subsidiaries. I have created a list of additional duties I feel I can perform. Please see the attached document.
Perhaps we could meet in person to discuss my duties if there is money in the travel budget for me to come to you.
Sincerely,
Ms. Breit
To: Rosie.Breit@WellsIHI.com
From: H.G.Wells@WellsIHI.com
Subject: re: re: re: My work load
An in-person visit is out of the question. As is a Zoom meeting.
As I stated before, I am happy with your current work.
If it would make you feel better, I can email you a to do list at the beginning of each week.
To: H.G.Wells@WellsIHI.com
From: Rosie.Breit@WellsIHI.com
Subject: Server Chat
Mr. Wells,
I have noticed that you are not utilizing the Hunt Technologies Chat Server I set up so that you can contact me, any time, day or night.
The extensive research I did indicated it was the best system for modern business communications. While you have been better about sending me tasks via email once a week, I still have ample free time to do more for you. Please let me know what else I can do to meet your needs! I’m sure you do not want to pay me as much as you’re paying me to watch Netflix with my cat.
If you’re struggling with the technology, I would happily visit in person to show you the ropes. I know new technology can be difficult for someone of your generation. If not, the offer to move our weekly communications to Zoom still stands.
Sincerely,
Ms. Breit
To: Rosie.Breit@WellsIHI.com
From: H.G.Wells@WellsIHI.com
Subject: re: Server Chat
Ms. Breit,
I’m not so old that I don’t know how to use a server chat.
Direct Messages via Hunt Technologies Chat
Rosie.Breit: Excellent! Then we can communicate here from now on. This will be much more efficient.
H.G.Wells: Excellent. I can hardly wait.
Rosie.Breit: I noticed you’d accessed the file from last month detailing additional work for me. Please let me know what else I can do.
H.G.Wells: Your current work load is sufficient
Rosie.Breit: Nonsense! I have oodles of spare time.
Rosie.Breit: I still believe it would benefit us both if we met over Zoom.
Rosie.Breit: I’m sending over a detailed proposal for updates I could make to the company websites. Obviously, the main Wells Hotels site is top notch, but you have several smaller boutique properties that have virtually no online presence.
Rosie.Breit: The House at Wood’s Edge in Stream in the Woods, for example, has virtually no online presence. I couldn’t even find pictures of it! Yet it appears to do adequate business on the books. I’m sure if I focused my attention on it, I could triple its business.
H.G.Wells: That’s out of the question. While we do rent rooms here, occasionally, I live at the House at Wood’s Edge.
Rosie.Breit: Oh! I had no idea!
Rosie.Breit: Wait. You live there?
H.G.Wells: Yes. I travel extensively throughout the year, but that is my main residence. I only rent out rooms occasionally because Stream in the Woods has a very small inn downtown, and since we don’t get very many travelers, I only handle the overflow.
Rosie.Breit: But that’s amazing! I’m less than an hour’s drive away! Since you seem averse to meeting over Zoom, I could come up to have our weekly meetings in person!
H.G.Wells: No!
H.G.Wells: Truly, that’s not necessary.
H.G.Wells: We can meet over Zoom.
&nb
sp; H.G.Wells: However, I need more time.
H.G.Wells: Give me another week. I’m out of town. Somewhere remote.
H.G.Wells: Where the Wi-Fi would be too laggy for Zoom. But I can have something up and working soon.
chapter
three
Hudson
I’m sitting behind my desk, thinking about her, when there’s a knock on my office door. It’s nothing new—the thinking about her part. The her being, Rosie Breit, my virtual assistant. She is the human equivalent of an ear worm of your very favorite song.
What is new is the knock—the intrusion of someone interrupting my work. I don’t get many visitors.
Even in Screaming Woods—a town full of monsters—most people know better than to intrude on a vampire. Yes, even here I’m a rarity.
A vampire in a town full of monsters. And my very human, very beautiful, very young, very vulnerable assistant keeps offering to come visit me in person.
Offering. Threatening.
Potato. Potatah.
I’ve started having nightmares about her showing up here.
“Come in,” I say.
In walks my friend, Atticus.
I should probably back up a bit to better explain the town where I live and the people who inhabit it. Case in point, I am a vampire. Yep, we’re real; we’ve just gotten better at hiding ourselves. And the advancement of using different colored lenses on glasses has even allowed us to go outside in the sun.
For the record, I’m the least cool vampire that ever lived. First of all, I got turned when I was in my early thirties, in 1987. That’s right, I look like an extra from the vampire classic, The Lost Boys. I’ve been able to update my wardrobe, but unfortunately, I’m stuck with the curly, mullet-like hair. I even have the diamond stud in my left ear.
You could argue that even with those dated elements, I’d still be the consummate sexy vampire. But I haven’t mentioned the fact that I’m a freaking giant. I’m talking six foot, five inches tall with a thick body to match. Whoever heard of a chubby vampire? But I digress…
The interesting thing about the town, Screaming Woods—as its known to its residents now instead of the charming Stream in the Woods--is that a couple of decades ago there was a freak accident involving a mad scientist, Halloween and an energy drink gone very wrong. It turned the residents into monsters.
Atticus is one of those monsters. He’s a zombie. Not like the ones in the movies. He’s not mindlessly wandering the streets looking for brains. In fact, he’s one of the most brilliant people I’ve ever met.
So yeah, we’re just two undead dudes hanging out. Well as much as you could call either of us ‘dudes’. I’m not sure we’re collectively cool enough for that moniker.
“I got it finished,” he says, carrying his laptop towards me. “I just need to upload the software to your system and you’ll be all set.”
“Are you sure it works?”
He glances up at a me with his nearly fluorescent green eyes. “Yes. We tried it with Harry’s brother. And Jace even recorded a lecture with his face. Though he’s unsure if he’s going to use it. He’s gotten used to recording with just his hands.”
Jace is a satyr in town who also happens to be a music theory professor. Harry, or Harriet, is his wife.
A month or so ago, not long after I first hired her, I asked Atticus to create software that would enable me to video chat with my assistant without her realizing that I’m a damn vampire.
Unlike in the movies, my fangs don’t retract. They’re always there. They get more pronounced and tingly when I’m aroused. Aroused by food or sex.
Video chatting is not a requirement for a virtual assistant. With everyone else, I can communicate just fine via email or an online chat program. That worked with Rosie as well for the first few months of her employment.
But damn Rosie and her insatiable work ethic. She is determined to talk in person or over Zoom so that I can get my money’s worth.
Have I mentioned how terrified I am of her just showing up here?
To make matters worse, I made the mistake of googling her.
My curiosity got the better of me and I saw a picture. Now, I can’t get her out of my mind. All that pale, creamy skin, all those full curves, and all that blonde hair. Rosie is stunning.
But a mere picture isn’t enough for me. I can’t meet her in person. She likely isn’t one of the enlightened humans that is aware monsters walk among them. I can’t risk her quitting once she finds out what I am. And I don’t dare risk meeting her in person if she did. I don’t trust myself around her.
Still, I want more from her than just her words. I crave watching her move. See how her lips shape words—primarily my name—and how expressive her big brown eyes are. I’m desperate for any scrap of interaction with her, even if it must be through cameras and filters. And even if it makes me nervous as fuck.
“This girl, she is special?” Atticus asks.
Atticus’s tone implies he knows exactly how desperate I am. Which means my infatuation must be pretty obvious if even he sees it for what it is.
Still, I make a show of protesting. “Uh, no, she’s just my assistant. I figure some things will be easier to handle over a video chat.”
He cocks an eyebrow at me. “You know, many of us believe humans to be the best mates for the rest of us.”
“I’m not looking for a mate. And even if I were, Rosie is my assistant. It would be inappropriate to cross the line with her.”
“That all depends on whether or not she’s interested in crossing said line,” Atticus says.
I stare at my friend, and he holds his hands up in defeat.
“Let’s just get you set up.”
He takes my laptop and pulls it over next to his. Then, he’s quiet for the next fifteen minutes or so while he clicks around on both computers.
“That should do it,” he says, turning my screen to face me. “We can do a trial run and you can call up Vivian at home. She’s expecting your call.”
Vivian is Atticus’s human wife.
I click the button to make the video call and it rings twice, then connects. Her pretty features fill my screen.
“Hey Hudson,” she says. Then she leans closer to the screen. “Whoa, babe, this program is amazing. Smile for me, Hudson, let me see those fangs.”
I curl my lip up. I’m not really much of a smiler.
She gasps. “That’s unreal. Here, let me send you a screenshot so you can see what I’m looking at.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Atticus says. “From your perspective, you just look like yourself. The filter only works on the projection of your image. See, look.” He turns his phone around to show me the text with the screenshot Vivian just sent.
The image of me is definitely different than how I actually look. Yes, that’s another Hollywood myth—the one about us vampires not being able to see our reflection—we definitely can. Now, though, my fangs are gone, and in their place are just normal human teeth. And the eerie glow of my eyes is altered to a regular shade of blue.
I look like a man. Just a regular man—still stuck in the 80’s with my damn hair, but I don’t think a filter can fix that.
“This will work with any program she uses?” I ask.
“Yes, it’s designed to affect your look from the viewer’s standpoint regardless of the platform or application,” Atticus says.
“This is amazing. You know you could make a ton of money if you sold it?”
He nods. “I realize, but this isn’t the kind of thing we’d want to get into the wrong hands. The internet is already filled with creeps that catfish kids; I don’t want to contribute to that.”
