Chapter 12: Kool Things

Her shoe collection was pristine but 2 sizes 2 small, which Pam deemed to be the crime of the century. Other than some jackets and dark silk blouses, none of Olivia's clothes were of her taste or size. She was short and petite while Pam was tall and much curvier. Pam had spent the better part of an hour trying the woman's clothes, looking at herself in the mirror, admiring her own shape in a different flavour. It was fun to pretend to be someone else for a minute, but Pam found no one to be quite as interesting as herself.

Not much here was worth looting, but the satisfaction of imaging Olivia naked and afraid, stuck at home with nothing to cover her own ass with was beyond anything she's had in years. Not being able to physically torture the poor soul was making Pam creative.

"Having fun?" Eric asked, finally returning to their home with one last dress in hand. It was pink and shiny.

"Ooooh I want to try that," Paid beamed wide-eyed, and Eric tossed her the bundle of fabric which she caught. Pam then immediately started to undress in the middle of the living room to try it in front of the brand new floor mirror that adorned the living room corner. "How was it?"

Eric had disappeared deep into the house, but he heard her just fine. "It was alright, but I doubt she'll stay at her place much longer."

A devious thought popped into her head. "We can go on a property shopping spree, you know? Get everything even remotely livable off the market, become Shreveport slumlords. She'll have no other option but to live under your roof. Plus we can launder through renovations and rent."

Silence for a minute. She put on the decadent silk pink champagne dress. "Not enough return of investment on that. The rental market in this town is dogshit, plus the capital we would need to execute it is way more than we've got right now."

Her Maker returned to the room. Eric avoided the maze of clothes on the floor and plopped himself onto the couch, watching Pam play dress up while sipping in a blood bag. To her great disappointment, he was correct. They weren't particularly liquid right now, especially after buying Olivia's whole building which ran a cool 1.2 million for 8 units.

They always had a problem stashing money away, their business model was designed to be this way by the Authority. Their power had an intentional cap on it, so Sheriff's or even Kings and Queens couldn't buy their way out and create their own city-state by seceding. She doubted any plan she could come up with would beat Carson's, even if it had her bound on a tight leather leash to sweeten the deal.

"I can order you fresh dinner," she suggested, eyeing him through the mirror while putting on Olivia's dress.

"No blood you can get me is the one I actually want. This is fine."

Pam turned around and faced him, hands on hips, mad at what he was insinuating. "You've gotta be jokin'."

"Smell her dress."

Pam brought the dress's wrist near her face. The quick sniff turned into a deep inhale, transporting her into a sunshine-filled fantasy for a moment. But there were other scents mixed with it. Chanel number 5, the sourness of white wine and the ever slight hint of damp earth, sea salt, and wood- old wood, like oak. She raised an eyebrow at the discovery. "Damn."

Her Maker nodded, not noticing Pam realized Eric had given Olivia his blood. She smelled it again, it was there clear as day. It didn't get on it by sweat because his sweat had its own special scent, and you best believe Pam knew Eric this intimately. No, this came straight from Olivia's skin. This subtle meddle of scents presented her with a problem much bigger than their financial status, disobedient accountant, the feds, business plans and ambitions.

Eric Northman did not simply offer up his 1000-year-old blood to just anyone. Even as a brand new vampire he knew he was on a whole different tier than others. He had always known he was special, and you don't stay special by giving yourself away to any old hag. So if you ever find yourself tasting the blood of Eric Northman, you can rest assured he either likes you, or wants something from you, or in some special cases, both.

She eyed her Maker through the mirror, he was zoned out on the couch sipping on the bagged blood, scrolling through his phone mindlessly. Of course, he wanted Carson. She was new, hot, shiny, feisty and most important of all, forbidden. Men were so fucking simple.

He must have noticed her staring because he spoke up. "Did you deal with Debbie Pelt like we agreed?"

"Sure did," Pam said, admiring Olivia's borderline still warm dress one more time. She didn't know what it was about it, but it looked off on her. Maybe it was the color, or the length, but she was sure it looked better on its original owner. "Glamoured the ever-living shit outta her, Debbie is officially our mole now."

"Good. Do you think it will work?"

"Of course. Herveaux has a fucking hero complex, he'll let her back in under his wing without question."

Alcide Hervaux was the Special Agent in Charge of the Vampire Blood investigation task force of the DEA in Northern Louisiana, who so conveniently was (up until recently) engaged to Debbie Pelt. They were high school sweethearts from Jackson Mississippi and were the kind of pathetic couple who doubled down on commitment every time their relationship should have ended. Cheating? Move in together. Money problems? Get engaged. They were one breakdown away from having a fucking kid. It was deplorable and utterly pathetic, truly.

But luckily for them, when Debbie and Alcide moved here for his big shot at the DEA office, Debbie started dabbling in V. Something, something, something, irony. "There's just one little tiny catch, though,"

"What's that?" Eric asked, tossing the empty blood bag on the side table and throwing his feet up on the couch, not particularly worried.

"Both Debbie and Alcide are werewolves, but Alcide refuses to join Shreveport's pack."

Eric straightened up and moved closer to the edge of his seat. "What? Why?"

"The pack in Shreveport deals a lot of drugs. Makes shit sticky at his job, plus Debbie babbled some long-ass story about him being a lone wolf but it was too fuckin' boring for me to pay attention to. Anyways, lil' Debbie needs a pack to feel… Whole or whatever. That's why they broke up this time,"

"And the fact she's a V addict probably didn't help," he added.

"Ain't humanity sad?" Pam strutted up to her room to put on her own clothes before going out. She had a mani-pedi and hair appointment at 2. When she came back down to the living room on her way out, she caught her Maker holding the shiny pale pink dress in his hands, deep in contemplation.

"You are so fuckin' predictable, Eric."

"What?"

"You want the little cunt."

"So?"

"Look, I know we got that little rule that we don't fuck staff, but I'll let you off the hook this time,"

"Well Pamela, thank you for your kind benevolence," he said in a patronizing tone. He stood up, looking at her highly unimpressed. He was still holding onto the dress, though.

"You're welcome," she teased. "In return, the new strippers are all mine."

Eric gave her a real dirty look, he did not appreciate it when she tried to set the rules. He was her Maker, and their relationship did not work like that. But what was he gonna do? Not go for the accountant because he wanted to prove a point? Fuck no. That's why this was so fun.

"Just don't let Ginger see it, ok? Bitch would have an aneurism. Anyway, I'm going out now, toodles!"

Olivia Carson's Grand Plan was to make a shitload of money, retire by 40 and travel the world with her mom who had a very lengthy dream trip list. And when her mom got tired of travelling (or of her), Olivia would buy a beach house somewhere quiet, like in Fiji or Bali. Maybe Jamaica so it's closer to NJ.

Queen Sophie Anne guaranteed that if she became her accountant, Olivia could achieve her Grand Plan by age 35. The salary was greater than what the Mexican cartel paid her, and safer too. People don't usually retire from working for the cartel. Not alive anyway.

It was the main reason Olivia had never own property before. She liked her assets to be well invested and well stashed. But this morning she found herself at a realtor's office, browsing listings on a big binder and she couldn't help but feel conflicted about the decision.

Pro: she would be safe from vampires (Eric) have some privacy and a sense of belonging; real estate here was real cheap and property taxes were low. Con: the sense of belonging would be attached to Shreveport, which was a real dumpster; schools were shit, hospitals were sketchy, roads had more bumps than the surface of the moon, street lighting was an abstract art concept, the police was funded with donuts and the library's funding was whatever the mayor found in pocket change at the end of fiscal. Social programs were "commie shit" and the local jail was the town's hottest club. Welcome to the fucking south.

The real snag was that buying a place would only fix half the issue. The other half, the Eric Northman portion, was significantly more complicated. It didn't help that she was wearing a strange combination of clothes because all she had access to was whatever she had dropped at the dry cleaners three days before. Her dry cleaner didn't do delivery service, so she had to tip them 200 dollars after negotiating with the Chinese lady for half an hour on the phone. But what choice did she have? How the fuck was she supposed to go out and buy clothes if she was butt naked with only underwear, jewelry and purses? All part of her punishment, she figured.

She didn't merely have a non-compliant client problem, no. Oliva had an Eric Northman problem and it was proving to be on a whole other level.

The realtor eyed her quietly from behind his desk while she browsed a binder of listings. He was a man in his 40s, clean-shaven with gelled hair, and had three World's #1 Dad mugs filled with pens on his desk. He was trying his best to act normal, but he looked at her with eyes blazing as if he never saw someone like her before. When they first met she instantly put her mind wall up, she definitely wasn't in the mood for anyone's opinions of her today. She knew her slutty black dress, covered by an oxford shirt and house slippers outfit was weird, but it was what she got. All the man had to do was to sit quietly for a day, do as he was told and he would get his 6% commission, cash.

"This one, and this one," she pulled out the pages from the binder. The realtor picked up the phone to set up viewings throughout the week. "Oh no, I want to put in an offer today."

The man raised an eyebrow. "Oh… Sure, uhm. What bank did you say your mortgage is pre-approved with?"

"I didn't. I'm paying cash."

"I'll still need a letter of legality, madam. You know-"

Olivia sighed. "Yes to make sure the money is of perfect legal standing. That's fine, my lawyer will fax you one."

Portia Bellefleur was earning her paycheck this week.

"We're in a hurry, are we? Is your landlord a prick or something?"

"Oh, you have no idea."

Olivia looked at 4 different houses that day. Stars were definitely aligned tonight or some shit because the only house she actually liked was the only one that sat empty and was move-in ready. It was a cute brick house just off of downtown, with charming citrus trees in the small front yard, plus the whole place was fenced with tall brick walls in for maximum privacy. The neighbourhood was near downtown, so it was denser, with lots packed tight. But the neighbour behind her had a lot of large trees in his backyard, so her end looked quiet and peaceful and not boxed in. The garden was nice too, with vines growing on the brick walls and pretty stone paths between the bushes. No grass to speak of for her to take care of.

The house was all one level. The living room was good sized (with a fireplace she would likely never use), the galley kitchen was small and it had an ugly brown tile on the floor. 3 bedrooms with an unfortunate grey carpet (the owner swore there was hardwood underneath), and 2 bathrooms. The yard was nice too, it had a large patio and a garage - handy for stashing the bodies! (kidding) (not really).

While the paperwork would go through, Olivia would stay at a hotel. No way in fucking hell she would sleep in her current apartment. Northman planted a seed of evil in her head, and it had been extremely effective. Even though he could have entered her home this entire time (and no guarantees that he hadn't), she now knew. The whole place was now tainted with his shadow. She had taken the ability to rescind invitations for granted - never again.

Last night she couldn't even get herself to sleep. She tossed and turned but ultimately was too scared of falling asleep. Every time she closed her eyes she would imagine Eric sneaking in and watching her sleep - or worse. What if he watched her while she had a sex dream? What if he heard her moan his name in his sleep? The thought flushed her with embarrassment and anger and she prayed it hadn't already happened.

Olivia was in a bad mood. Exhausted and in weird clothes, effectively homeless and severely pissed off. He made her vulnerable to such a raw point, he made sure she understood her position. I own you. Submit or else. But Olivia didn't submit to anybody. Tired of whining about Eric to herself, Liv had to snap herself out of it. Fix it her dad would sternly tell her. Fix it because no one else will do it for you.

She understood her powers would put her in impossible situations, and there would be no one, not a soul, who could help her or even offer advice. It was up to her to turn the tables, and she knew exactly how to do it.

Offer on her house given, Olivia called Portia to settle her affairs and one more extremely important thing. "I need you to transfer a land title onto my name, starting tonight at midnight. I just emailed you the paperwork."

"Well Olivia, the city office closes in a couple of hours. Best I can do on that transfer title is Friday, and I'll have to delay the close on the strip mall on Ravine road to next week-"

Oh no, delaying this was NOT an option. Olivia didn't like her tone or her message, nor was she in the mood to swallow Portia Bellefleur's contempt for deadlines. "My apologies, I was under the impression your office would have the resources my clients and I need. Was I mistaken?"

A long silence on the line. She was not expecting a pushback. "I can process all your requests Miss Carson, but you keep adding things to my plate-"

"Then get a bigger team, Miss Bellefleur, because when I assign you more tasks the deadlines don't change. I need the fiscal letter and the land transfer title done today."

"No offence but I have other clients and matters to attend to, I can only do so much in the run of a day-"

"Do you really wanna know how I got a BMW Portia?" Olivia sourly interrupted. "Let me tell you, it was not by fucking my boss, no, I'd be driving a vintage Jaguar if I did," she heard Portia hold her breath against the phone. "I got to where I am by adjusting my services to my client's needs. So if you want to keep that very fat retainer contract we discussed at dinner, which I know it's 35% higher than your regular market rate, I suggest you not only get with the tune but change your whole damn pitch."

"But the city hall-"

"Closes in two hours, so you better hurry. I'll be expecting a text message when it's done." Olivia hung up and took three deep breaths alone in her car.

So much had to go right for her today, it would be an actual miracle if she lived long enough to even move into that damn house. Now, all she had to do was to check herself into a hotel, buy herself some basic clothes and wait until midnight.

And for that text.

Olivia got some underwear, jeans, t-shirts, pyjamas and some sneakers at Target. She had bought a house in full already, plus spent a shitload on a title transfer and was not in the mood to spend another cent of her own money for at least a week.

She still wore the black Dior dress she got in Dallas, the single-shoulder skin-tight one that showed all her curves. It was particularly tight on her ass. Olivia wasn't about to face off Eric Northman wearing fucking Target.

It was 11:45 PM when she pulled in front of the Northman residence. It was actually not that far from her new house, just deeper into the suburbs. It was on a quiet street, and the ancient overgrown trees in his lot made the house barely visible from the street. But she recognized his car in the driveway, so she knew she was at the right place.

The garden in the front yard had a mystical forest air to it, it was like stepping into its own bubble with the tall magnolia trees making a ceiling. It was absolutely beautiful, the variety of bushes and flowers were probably stunning during the day. But the porch light was off, and she could barely see a thing.

The house was rather large, a white Queen Anne style with the wrap around porch, two full stories plus an attic. It was in pristine condition and was much grander than anything else she had seen in Shreveport.

She grabbed the front door's brass lion head knocker and banged on the tall door loudly. Her heartbeat strong against her ribs, she grabbed the handle of her briefcase tighter. Eric Northman answered the door, bathing her in the bright light from the foyer. He was wearing his regular dark wash jeans and tight black t-shirt, V cut. The brass chain of a long necklace was peeking through the collar before disappearing under his shirt. His hair looked particularly soft, it made her hand want to run her fingers through it.

"Funny, I was about to make a visit," he smirked, looking glad to see Olivia at his doorstep instead.

She said nothing, just stood there trying to look tall and probably failing at it. She was just 5'5", Eric basically had a whole foot on her. He stepped aside and motioned for her to come in. She did, her eyes studying the grandiosity of his home. She had never seen anything like it.

The place had warm white walls and dark and polished dark wood floors. The ceilings must have been at least 9 feet tall, the millwork was simply astonishing. Beautiful crown mouldings, arches, marble fireplace, luxurious dark furniture, a mix of modern and Victorian. Crystal chandeliers hung from beautiful medallions on the ceiling. A perfect balance between feminine and masculine. It was like peeking into another dimension altogether, she had never been to a house that looked this elegant. Goddammit, this just made what she was about to do about 10 times more satisfying, and 100 times scarier.

"I was wondering where that dress was," he said after he closed the door.

"Drycleaners. It's Dior, you don't toss it in the wash."

"Of course," he smiled.

"Where's Pamela?"

"Louisiana State Cheerleading tryouts," Olivia made a face and was about to ask why but it was better she didn't know. "So, are you here for business or pleasure? The dress tells me night in Vegas which I like... But the briefcase tells me you're billing me for this house call."

"And the fact that you can't tell is precisely the problem," he eyed her head to toe and started lazily paced around her, hands in pocket. It was like being in a swimming pool with sharks. They were still standing in the foyer, and she planted her feet, unwilling to move. It was best she stayed near the front door. Rule 5 and all. "We have a serious boundary problem, Mr. Northman."

"Mr. Northman? Oh, come on Olivia, we are a bit past that, aren't we?"

"Yes and that was a mistake. Clearly your sense of… Intimacy between us is misplaced. I think we need to establish some boundaries for our working relationship going forward."

Professional, concise, to the point. That's how things would be from now on.

He stopped right in front of her, but not borderline on top of her like he used to. He still looked amused, looking at her intensely with his brilliant icy eyes. Liv took in the sight of him. Eric was truly a gorgeous man. She glanced at the phone, 11:52 PM. He wasn't going to be amused for much longer.

"Sense of intimacy, what a funny choice of words. Aren't you the one having sex dreams about me?" He joked. The fear of having him witness her dreams flashed in her mind, but she had to push the thought away. She had to keep the high ground today.

"Another little boundary problem caused by you."

"That was for your own protection."

"Was buying my entire building without telling me for my protection too? With funds from an account you failed to disclose, might I add,"

"Would you believe me if I said it was also for your protection?"

"If you hadn't broken in, stolen all my clothes and threatened me, then maybe."

"Ah, the clothes bit was just Pamela having fun . And believe me, I wasn't threatening you. That was me… Establishing boundaries."

His words from last night still haunted the corners of her mind, replaying in her head like some kind of scratched record ever since. You need to understand that I own you and everything about you. If these were the boundaries he wanted, it wasn't where she was willing to draw the line. Not tonight, not anymore, not ever again. Olivia looked at the clock one last time.

Showtime. "I hope you enjoyed your little dress snatching game because that's over."

"Is it now? So you're here to what? Hand deliver me your resignation letter? Or better yet, hand deliver me this little Dior number?"

"Would you accept it if I did?" He cocked an eyebrow and smirked, barely containing his excitement. "My resignation letter, I mean."

"No, I wouldn't. You think you can quit me?" He took a step closer, his dominant attitude filling up the room. He wore fitting clothes that showed off his lean and muscular body, but the sexiest thing about him was the way he looked at her.

"Oh, I don't want to quit you," she spoke softly, looking up at him. At lips, precisely. Any time now.

"Good," his voice lowered, his focus was solely on her. His fingers touched her arm, trailing higher and higher towards her face. She got full-body chills. But then he stopped.

The front door of the house swung wide open, unprompted. Eric froze in place as his body floated towards the porch, and he only stopped once he passed through the doorway. He looked around the porch confused, he tried to enter the house but couldn't.

"What's this?!"

Oh, thank fucking GOD it worked. She released a full breath, she was holding onto it all day. If she lived to see another day, she was going to kiss Portia Bellefleur on the fucking mouth and take her V-card herself. She left Eric puzzled for another second, savouring the moment he realized he did not, in fact, owned everything.

"This is called transfer of land title, a little side project I got done today. As of 1 minute and 15 seconds ago, I own this house."

"You bought my fucking house?"

"Hm, not really. I paid the 3% transfer fee based on the house's value. So it's more like I inherited it, technically."

"You little bitch-" he muttered, anger building like a pressure cooker.

Oh yes, she paid city hall the fee of 57 thousand dollars for the land title transfer, and judging by how he held the door frame so tightly his knuckles went white, it was worth every single penny.

"Are you ready to establish some boundaries, Mr. Northman?" She grinned, walking towards the front door, with poise.

"How the fuck did you get my house without me signing on it?"

"There's a clause in my contract that gives me power of attorney in the case of your demise. Even though you are technically dead all the time, your demise only counts during the day while you are dead asleep. It's the only time you are dead dead. Fun little legal loophole I found. It's under the emergency provisions."

Somebody was regretting not reading the contract he signed just about now.

"I'm going to FUCKING kill you!" His rage echoed throughout the large house, his fangs were out.

"Are you now? Because if I die the house goes to my beneficiary, not back to you. And good luck finding them, because I haven't seen the bastard in years."

There was one good thing about procrastinating the change of her next to kin paperwork after all.

"I'm not going to play this fucking game with you!" He roared, his eyes darkened with anger.

This right here, she told herself, was the real Eric Northman. She kind of enjoyed holding power over him.

"Oh, what's that?" She teased, laughing. "Are you finally going to stop jerking me around? Because that's the game we've been playing since I got here and I'm quite sick of it!"

"What do you want?"

Aah, he could say that again. It was music to her ears. "Boundaries," she repeated in a serious tone. "You are to respect my property, privacy and personal life. And you're going to let me do my job as I see fit, with no interruptions or side quests. I'm not your day staff or your assistant, I am your accountant!"

Eric relaxed slightly, straightening his back and getting as close as he could to the door, without trespassing. He looked at her with cold dark eyes still. "Or?"

Or? Or?! A pit formed on the back of her throat. There was no backup plan, this was kind of it.

"Or we continue fucking each other over until we both assure mutual destruction."

The two stood in front of each other, a whole veil in between the two. She could see him deep in thought, probably imagining thousand of different ways of slicing her up.

"Fine." He finally declared. "But I also have my own terms."

"Name them." All she wanted was for them to come to an understanding so she could sleep again unafraid of getting railroaded from a blindspot. She had enough to worry about laundering money as it is.

"I deeply value my assets, Olivia. I can't trust them so easily with other people, even the Queen puts a stake to my heart and tells me to. It's not about the money, it's about power."

"I know, I understand-"

"So I will only trust you with all my assets if you become one of them."

"Pardon me?"

"You," a smug smile grew on his face again, sending Olivia's heart into hyperdrive. "Will be mine."

A.N.: Hello bonjoooour

Just when y'all thought the tables had turned eh?

Thank you all for the lovely comments, I LOVE that you love this story as much as I do! You guys are incredible :')

Til next time xoxo