Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Charlaine Harris. Yvetta Not-A-Cardiologist belongs to Alan Ball. I'm just giving them all real jobs.

Setting: 2000s, Louisiana

SVM Timeline: Bill * nirvana * Machu Picchu * Peru * glorious.

By one forty-five, I was seated in the lobby of the El Dorado Hotel. It had taken me a good hour to complete the paperwork for the car title so I hadn't left Bon Temps until after one o'clock. Thankfully I didn't hit any traffic during my drive. It didn't hurt that "my" new car, an indigo blue Passat, had a smooth six cylinder engine.

My infatuation with the car turned out to be short-lived, blown away as it was by my awe over the El Dorado.

As I entered the hotel lobby, I was immediately taken aback by how gorgeous it was. I found it hard to believe that I'd actually be working there, even if it was only for a short time.

Thick Asian rugs—with red and gold motifs— adorned the off-white ceramic tiled floors. Incandescent columns cast an otherworldly glow in the cavernous space. Architectural details constructed of rich hardwoods—like the escalator handrails and millwork along the ceiling—offset the lobby's off-white walls and décor. The ceiling's scalloped design clearly delineated the large space into distinct areas, separating out the lounge, the front desk, and the escalators. It was so bright it reminded me of sci-fi movies when they try to show the inside of a spaceship.

In contrasting the El Dorado to Fangtasia, I could only conclude that Eric and Pam must have had absolutely nothing to do with the recent hotel renovation. The El Dorado was just too beautiful for them to have been involved. My only insight into either one's sensibilities of interior design was Fangtasia and that place had left me far from impressed.

In any case, from where I sat, in an unobtrusive area set back a bit from the reservation counter, I had pretty good line of vision to the hotel's front desk as well as a relatively unimpeded view of the hotel entrance and much of the main lounge. I couldn't see much of the corridor that led to the gift shop, the spa, or the restaurants, but I figured it was more important that I see who was arriving and leaving the hotel than who was taking advantage of the hotel amenities. While my position was, for the most part, excellent for observing, I found myself at the mercy of every slow-moving group of tourists that milled past.

As I sat there, the ridiculousness of my situation wasn't wasn't lost on me: To anyone who passed, I looked like any other well-dressed woman (with short red hair) reading a romance novel. But actually I was an undercover investigator using telepathy to read the thoughts of those around me to sniff out a bomber.

As it so happened, the description of what I was doing may very well have been more interesting than what I was actually doing.

It took me only a few minutes to catch on to the fact that most of the minds around me were focused on typical travel related concerns. Worries about whether or not their flight was going to be delayed; wondering how much the cab to the airport would cost; anxiety over the speech they were delivering or relative they were visiting. Then, of course, there were the gamblers. They didn't seem overly concerned with much of anything. Since the El Dorado's casino was still closed, they were keeping themselves busy shopping or going to other nearby casinos.

There was a low, constant murmur of voices as people came and went. The recurring sound of wheels rolling along the ceramic floors as porters pushed luggage carts competed with the delicate strings of the classical music that played low in the background. The atmosphere was actually quite soothing and, closing my eyes, I found myself being lulled into a state of relaxation. Forcing my eyes open, I prodded myself to pay attention despite the fact that my psychic canvassing was yielding some decidedly less than titillating results. That was actually an understatement. It was dull, dull, dull. But, as much as I hated casting a wide net, it wasn't like I had any other choice under the circumstances. I couldn't very well approach a random stranger and ask, "So, have you been involved in any attempts to blow up the hotel lately?" Doing something like that would pretty much ruin the whole undercover aspect of the job.

So I sat quietly trying to keep my gaze down and my mental feelers up. Once in a while, someone walking past me would capture my attention and I'd be forced to abandon my pretense of reading and allow my eyes to follow them instead. One person who sailed past me was so tall, slim, and broad-shouldered, I found myself completely undecided on whether or not they were a man or a woman. Bothered by this unresolved question, I trailed them with my eyes, waiting anxiously for the person to turn, so that I could see them properly and finally get an answer to my riddle. The person made their way to the front desk and it was only once they'd situated themselves behind the counter, that I was able to get a good look at their face and see, finally, that it was, in fact, a woman.

I directed my energy towards her and, upon intruding in her thoughts, it was all I could do to keep from making a sound.

First, I could tell from her brain patterns that the woman was a Were.

Next, I saw that her mind was occupied with a mixture of malevolence and desire.

And Eric. I cringed.

Finally, another man's face popped into her mind. I thought going by his looks —tall and with a similar build to her — the man might be her brother.

Contemplating her from behind my book, I saw her, frowning, place a hand on the side of her head and rub her temple as if she had a headache. Then she glanced around intently looking for someone. A chilling thought hit me: What if she knew someone was poking around her brain?

I scooted out of her brain quick as you please. She immediately dropped her hand from her head and, shaking her head, looked around for a few seconds more before burying herself in paperwork.

If that was Marnie —and I'd bet my paycheck that it was— she was not someone I wanted to cross. Not if I could help it. I had never before encountered anyone who could sense my telepathic pings. I would have to be extra careful around her. If she could sense me poking at her brain from across a crowded lobby, there was no way I could use my gift on her. It might even be best to limit my mental scanning when she was nearby. I feared she'd be able to sense my reach-outs even if they weren't directed at her.

I really hoped this unforeseen development with Marnie would not hinder my ability to find out whatever we needed to know in time to stop whatever we needed to stop.

ooOOOoo

As I resumed scanning the room, I periodically glanced back at Marnie to assure myself that she was not detecting my telepahthy. I was relieved to see that she appeared engrossed in her work and seemed oblivious of my mental explorations. I continued my psychic dragnet around the hotel lobby. A half hour passed and nothing of interest passed my filter until I caught wind of something that was just so odd and seemingly out of place, I figured it had to mean something.

A man was running through a shopping list in his head. It was such a bizarre list I couldn't help but wonder about it. He was planning on going to a beauty shop wholesaler on Mansfield Road to purchase a dozen bottles of hair dye and a dozen bottles of something called clear developer. I felt my eyes widen; that was a lot of hair product. He was also planning on buying two dozen bottles of nail polish remover. I found that even more strange. Aside from all that, he was wondering if he'd have time to get to the local hardware store before closing to buy muriatic acid or if he was going to have to go to the 24-hour Home Depot. He was patting himself on the back for having gone to the grocery store yesterday to pick up flour.

I know some hotels have hair salons on-site, but I was almost certain the El Dorado didn't.

Zooming in on the direction where the man's thoughts were emanating from, I tried to match the brain pattern to the person, but an influx of people entered the hotel at the same time and I didn't want to stare at them and draw attention to myself. Instead I kept my eyes focused on the page of my novel even though the words were swimming. Finally I pretended to turn the page just so I could look up.

It was with a slight measure of shock I realized I recognized the small group walking past me just at that moment. There was John Quinn and his sister, Frannie, with her tall, slim figure and short bleached blonde-yet-dark-rooted hair. (Maybe "my" hair stylist was preparing himself to tackle Frannie's hair for its much-needed touch-up?) Hondo Rivera, with muscles of carved ebony, looked slightly different from his personnel photo. He now had a short clipped Afro instead of the longer one depicted in the picture. Bettina Alia reminded me of a honey-bear, which made me wonder just what she shifted into. Jake Purifoy, with his dark brown hair and muscular build, was more handsome in person than was obvious from his photo.

Observing them as I was, I felt a twinge of guilt. It was very strange to actually see people that I'd been briefed on ahead of time. I felt my face blush when I realized the boss, John, was looking at me and smiling. Even though it wasn't like Eric and Pam had told me anything bad about him really, just the fact that I was there to watch him and report back made me feel guilty. The E (E) E crew filed past me and John, I saw, nodded to the woman I had identified as Marnie, before pushing open a set of heavy double doors and leading his group into the casino.

Watching the doors fall shut behind Hondo, I turned my eyes and my mind's eye back to the hotel lobby. Startled, I realized I recognized the brain pattern from earlier; the strange man obsessed with hair products. Fortunately, unlike last time, the lobby was no longer teeming with people. I was able to zero in on the man and track him with my eyes as he walked across the lobby and approached the front desk. Prodding his brain now I heard he was thinking of flowers.

Hair products and flowers?

Staring at the man from behind my book, I saw that he was talking to Marnie. Not wanting her to sense my mental feelers, I skedaddled out of his brain. I still didn't know what to make of the man's shopping list. Something about it struck a chord. It was making me feel like I ought to remember something, but I didn't know what. I decided to tuck it away for later. Besides, since the man was talking to Marnie, I figured maybe I could work it into my conversation with her. Like, "Oh, I was thinking about how I'd like to dye my hair for the next fifty years. Any ideas where I could get dozens of bottles of hair dye cheap?" Yeah. I sighed. I could definitely use some practice on the undercover agent thing.

ooOOOoo

At a quarter to three, I tucked my book back into my bag, and stood up. Glancing around looking for the ladies room, I finally spied a sign. Gathering my belongings, I made my way to the ladies room to freshen myself up for my interview.

Ten minutes later, I stood at the front desk counter in front of Marnie. She was purposely ignoring me as she perused several papers. I cleared my throat. She continued to pretend I wasn't there. I cleared my throat again. No response. Heck! Pam was right. I hadn't even spoken yet to her, and Marnie was already guaranteed no placement on any of my lifeboat lists. I didn't understand how somebody this rude would even bother getting a job in the hotel industry. She seemed to enjoy being inhospitable. Recalling how furiously she had looked around for the source of my earlier intrusion, I was very careful to not prod her brain, despite the fact that I really was curious as to what she was thinking.

Finally Marnie looked away from her papers and turned her attention to me. Her complexion was clear and smooth. Her brown eyes did a sharp examination of me. 'Sookie'' would have smiled and said "hello" by now. Michele just met the woman's steady gaze and waited for her to speak.

"You're Michele Landers?"

"Yes."

"It's only two fifty-five. You're five minutes early."

"I thought I'd let you know I was here. I can sit somewhere and wait for you until you're ready for me." I almost smiled but then thought better of it. I decided on the spot I had a better chance of becoming best friends with Chow than with her.

"No," she shook her head, a tight almost-smile-but-really-more-of-a-grimace visible on her face. "Let's go sit over there and get this taken care of."

Wordlessly, I nodded. I turned to walk over to where she was pointing, a section of the lounge appointed with seats and a few small tables.

Marnie gathered up a pen and clipboard. Opening a door behind the counter she spoke to someone within.

"Christian." I noted the curtness of her tone. "I have to interview the girl for the gala coordinator position. You must cover me."

"Certainly," a slightly accented voice replied from within. Then the man came out. He was wearing black slacks, a crisp white shirt, and a deep maroon vest. He was quite tall, with a large jaw and dark hair. His small eyes were arctic gray. At his nod in my direction, I smiled pleasantly and nodded in response.

On autopilot, I almost dipped into his brain but stopped myself just in time. With Marnie's heightened awareness of my ability for mental pokes, I seriously feared she would catch on immediately, no matter how brief a dip I took. Since there was only the three of us standing right there, she'd immediately know it was me.

Keeping my mind to myself, I kept my face expressionless as I waited for Marnie to come around from behind the front desk counter. In silence I followed her to the sitting area.

After she sat, I sat across from her. She looked up at me expectantly. "Do you have a resume?"

"Yes, ma'am," I nodded. "I have it right here." I picked up my Franklin Covey tote—I was positive Pam had read about it in Dear Abby— and extracted the folder with the copies of my resume. I grabbed two and handed Marnie one.

Marnie perused my resume quickly. She didn't even seem to really read it.

"So, you have experience as a waitress and bartender at this bar in Bon Temps called Merlotte's?"

"Yes."

"You indicate you've actually done much more than was in your job description."

"Yes, that's right."

"Please elaborate."

"Well, Merlotte's isn't a big place. When Sam—that's the owner—is away, I'm the one who takes over for him. So I handle the vendors, billing, staffing."

"This job is a bit more than that. Do you feel that you're up to it?"

"Oh yes, ma'am," I nodded with an enthusiasm I was far from feeling. "I've been working at Merlotte's for about four nearly five years. I love it there but I just wanted to spread my wings, so to speak."

Marnie nodded. "Obviously, the job is primarily helping to plan and supervise special events. I trust that you know how to operate basic office equipment." She raked me over with her eyes and I got the feeling that she actually wasn't so sure she believed her own words but I fought the impulse to read her thoughts. "Did you organize a lot of events at Merlotte's? Like events where you'd have a setup crew?"

"Well, we had a jukebox there but once in a while we'd have a live band come in or a karaoke night. I was the go to on figuring out how to connect the sound equipment's electrical wires as well as the connector cables to the speaker system."

Marnie's eyebrows actually lifted in surprise. Bitch. I should try to set her up with Bobby. They seemed like they might get along.

"You have a driver's license? You may need it to run errands off-site."

"Yes." I thought it best not to say anything further on that.

"The position will include some marketing. Attending trade shows, conferences. Creating flyers. Meeting with potential clients. Is this something you would be comfortable with?"

"Oh, yes," I nodded. "I enjoy being creative once in a while. I love meeting new people. My gran used to always say a stranger is just a friend you haven't met yet." Okay, my brain-filter wiring was starting to fail. I prayed for a change in topic.

"I know you applied for a position as Eric Northman's day person."

Uh-oh. Not this topic. "Yes, ma'am. That's right."

Her eyes peered so deeply into my own, I thought she might be trying to read my mind.

"Did you interview with Eric?"

I shook my head emphatically. "No, ma'am. I only spoke with Pam Ravenscroft on the phone. They seemed to have a better candidate that they offered the position to."

"Have you ever met Eric or Pam?"

"No ma'am."

"You realize Eric and Pam are part owners of the hotel?"

"I gathered that from my conversation with Pam. When she told me about this job."

Marnie nodded. I seemed to be passing her inquisition but my heart had lodged in my throat so many times, I was certain my frayed nerves would become obvious to her.

"You don't have a problem working for vampires?"

I shook my head again. "Not at all, ma'am. I wasn't raised like that."

Squinting her eyes, Marnie seemed to give me a rather dismissive look. I decided then and there that she would be perfect for Bobby. A match made in asshole heaven.

"No. I didn't mean that you were prejudiced against them. I was referring to the hours. The hours for event coordinator positions are usually around-the-clock. This position is even more so given the ownership and primary clientele of the El Dorado. Many events are in the evening or even at night. Sometimes very late at night." Marnie paused. "As this is a new position, the set hours may change if what we initially set up does not work. I am thinking your regular hours would be eleven in the morning to seven-thirty with a half-hour lunch. The hours, obviously, would be different during events."

Wordlessly I nodded.

"Did Pam explain that it was a temporary position that might become permanent?"

"Yes, she did explain that. But she didn't say what it depended on."

"The gala on Saturday is the first event of several that are scheduled in the coming month. The casino renovation was done to make it more marketable for large events. If the renovation attracts more events, then the events coordinator position will become permanent."

"Oh, I can see how that would make sense."

"If you are the successful candidate, we may deem it appropriate to send you for training for various things. Do you understand this?"

"I love learning new things." Lying through my teeth, all I could think was that this was all Eric and Pam's fault. Why did I agree to this? For somebody not susceptible to glamour, I seemed to agree to a lot of bullshit that gets me into trouble.

"Do you have any questions, Michele?"

Why am I doing this? What's wrong with me? Thinking quickly, I threw together a few questions I thought reasonable under the circumstances.

"I've never worked at a hotel before. I understand from Pam that you're the hotel manager and that there's a concierge. What's the difference? So I know—if anyone approaches me with questions—who I ought to refer them to?"

Marnie nodded. "I am the duty manager and I am in charge of everything for the most part. Christian Baruch, who took over for me at the desk, is the concierge. We are in the process of filling a number of positions. We lost several staff members recently."

My eyes widened at her admission. What exactly was she telling me? "Excuse me? Lost?"

"We had an incident earlier this week. Certainly you heard of it?"

Oh, that! "Yes, ma'am," I nodded. "The explosive device."

"Yes. Unfortunately, several staffers quit as a result of this. These were individuals who—perhaps—were not as open-minded as yourself to begin with." Was that a compliment? "We need to fill several positions, but with the gala this weekend, we are not in a position to bring anyone new in. While I'd usually be in my office, you'll see me at the front desk more often than not. When I'm not there, Christian will be there."

I nodded. So a bunch of people quit the day after the police found a bomb outside. Here I am coming in to start a new job the day after the police found a bomb outside. I must not be living right.

"Christian, as I said, is the concierge. His primary duties are to ensure the guests' needs are met. Questions about Shreveport, making reservations for amenities at the hotel and outside the hotel, the casino, donors—anything like that go to him."

"Oh, I understand." Thinking back on the earlier part of the afternoon, recalling the man thinking about the hair supplies I decided to just ask. "Is there a hair salon in the hotel?"

Marnie pulled away slightly to look at me. "What an odd question." Oops. "No, there isn't. We have discussed adding one but then decided against it. If we ever expand the hotel, it may come up again."

"Would I be expected to work the night of the gala?"

"Oh, yes!" Marnie nodded emphatically. "In fact, I would advise you to pack clothing for the next few nights in case you wind up here very late. You may just want to stay at the hotel. Especially Friday night. There are usually a few free rooms—rooms that require some renovation or repair and so are not listed as available guest rooms."

Cynically I thought of the rooms that were "blind" to the security cameras where the two vamps were murdered. I shivered remembering. No thank you. I will go home, no matter what.

"Well, that's interesting, Ms. Stonebrook — ."

"Call me Marnie."

"Yes, Marnie. I'd prefer that I go home each night. No matter how late. I have trouble sleeping in strange beds."

Marnie shrugged. "Suit yourself. I often stay overnight at the hotel." Briefly my mind went to Pam's theory that Marnie was always at the hotel. Apparently Marnie may very well always be at the hotel. "Do you live in Shreveport?"

I nearly replied, "No, I live in Bon Temps," when I remembered the address on my driver's license—on Michele's driver's license—and parroted the address on there. "5 Cayuga Trail."

Marnie nodded. "Not very familiar with the area but I know where it is. Off Algonquin Trail, right?"

Why hadn't I looked at a map? I made what I hoped was a noncommittal sound that covered me either way. It seemed to satisfy Marnie as her next comment didn't indicate I was in trouble.

"Well, that's not a bad commute even if you do find yourself going home at three in the morning."

Ouch. I guess Eric really did think I'd make a good vampire, since he had me switching to vamp hours.

"Well, Michele—" Marnie started to speak but was interrupted as the man from earlier—the one who was thinking about hair products — approached us.

"Marnie?"

Marnie made a slight grimace. "Yes, Rafe. What is it?"

"When you're done with this young lady, do you think I could have a word with you? It's about the flower arrangements for the ball."

Flower arrangements? So this guy was in charge of flowers? That hardly seemed to gel with his preoccupation with hair products (har de har). Why would he be thinking about hair products?

"Of course, Rafe," Marnie agreed. "Meet me by the counter in about twenty minutes."

"Yes, ma'am." Rafe started to turn. I knew I needed to take every opportunity that came my way.

"Excuse me? Rafe?"

He turned to me. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry. It's just you look so familiar to me. You work in a flower shop?" I wished I could poke his brain but with Marnie right beside us, I was afraid she'd sense my mental prodding. I was limited to just listening to his reply and watching for visual clues.

"Yes, ma'am. Forget-Me-Not on Hearne Avenue in Shreveport. Been there twenty-odd years."

"Oh," I nodded. "Well, I suppose I must've been into the shop at some point then. I usually go to one closer to my house."

"Yes, well," Rafe nodded. "Nice to meet you…?"

"Michele Landers," I supplied.

"Michele is our new events coordinator, Rafe." So I guess I officially got the job. I let out a silent sigh of relief.

"Oh, that's nice. Marnie and Christian sure could use some help around here."

"Yes, I am looking forward to helping out however I can." Lies, lies, lies.

"Come Michele," Marnie stood up. I followed suit. "Let's go back to my office. I have specific information about the ball I need to give you—including the guest list. You can—of course—begin working immediately? Obviously, the ball is a few days away. Every minute counts."

"Yes, of course. I'm ready and looking forward to it." Why hadn't lightning struck me down yet?

AN: Thank you for reading! Reviews are more inspirational than Hallmark! ;D