Caroline loathed office parties. She usually avoided them at all costs, yet, here she was, on Halloween night, with only a Bloody Mary as company at a table in one of the University Club's banquet rooms on Halloween night.
Her life just seemed to be so boring lately. She suspected that a mild bout of depression was the culprit. Her job as a senior paralegal was tedious and monotonous. Her social life was non-existent. Her girlfriends all had boyfriends and preferred to spend their time with their men instead of going to clubs or movies with her. Caroline had not had a boyfriend in years. In fact, she couldn't even remember the last time she'd
been
with a man.
So, when the Halloween party had been announced, it piqued her interest because the idea of spending an evening masquerading as someone else was potently appealing. Caroline would have given anything to be anyone but herself at this point in her life.
She was dressed as a gypsy, wearing a dress with a purple, low-cut bodice and a pink and purple vertical-striped flared skirt. Her legs were sheathed in high-heeled, black suede boots that laced from ankle to knee. An assortment of gold and silver bracelets encircled both her wrists. Several different colors of long strands of beads hung from her neck and a pair of large, gold filigree earrings dangled down to her shoulders. Her elegant mask covered only the top of her face and was made of black velvet adorned with purple sequins and fluffy pink feathers at the crown. She had braided small gold amulets into strands of her long, dark brown, curly hair
The party was barely an hour old and already she was bored. Her fingers toyed absently with one of the strands of beads that swayed pell-mell between her breasts whenever she changed positions on her chair. She knew she should be socializing – mingling with the crowd around the food and booze tables – but Caroline was not the mingling type. Truth be told, she was a bit shy and always felt awkward in large groups of people. In fact, every time she had to chair a meeting of the firm's paralegals, her stomach would twist into a knot and her hands would shake.
Listening to the classic soft rock the DJ was playing, she began another lazy survey of the room, her eyes picking out familiar coworkers despite their costumes and masks.
There was Sandy Green from Accounting in a much-too-snug Cleopatra outfit. Kurt Owens, one of the associate lawyers, was standing beside Sandy, presumably her date, as he was wearing what Caroline presumed was a Mark Antony costume.
Maryanne Montrose, one of the junior paralegals, was surrounded by a group of horny male lawyers and paralegals. No surprise there. She was a notorious flirt and the men just ate it up. Tonight, she was decked out in a hula outfit, complete with a coconut bra and a flimsy grass skirt.
And Susan Lawrence from Payroll was sidling up against Ryan Cosgrove, a partner in the firm, probably trying to coerce him into sharing a dance with her. Her thin frame was draped in a short, white halter dress and a platinum blonde wig was covering her mousy brown hair. Marilyn Monroe? Not a very good choice. Susan didn't have the rack or the curves to fill out the dress.
Ryan, on the other hand, was looking rather dashing in a tuxedo with tails and a shiny top-hat. Fred Astaire? A magician perhaps?
Her questions swiftly faded from her mind as her eyes drifted to a formidably tall male figure standing by the padded, red leather doors to the room. Caroline sat up straighter in her chair, eager to get a better look at this unfamiliar man. He was wearing tight black trousers, a black silk waistcoat and a black frock coat. The poet's shirt he wore beneath was a startling brilliant shade of crimson. The laces were untied down to two inches above his waistcoat, revealing part of a smooth, pale chest. Frilled, red cuffs peeked out from the sleeves of his coat. A black mask obscured the top portion of his face which was framed by a veritable mane of thick, wavy hair that fell to his shoulders in tawny waves.
Who
is
he?* Caroline wondered, unable to tear her gaze away from his inviting presence. Surely she would have noticed if someone of his physique had joined the firm. He must be someone's guest.
As if sensing her interest in him, the tall stranger turned toward her direction and tilted his head slightly to one side. Despite the distance between them, Caroline could
feel
that he was focusing his attention directly upon her.
Feeling a flush of embarrassment warm her face, she quickly turned around in her chair and pretended to be very fascinated by a jack-o-lantern serving as the centerpiece on the table.
"You look very lovely tonight, Caroline."
She whirled around and found the stranger standing over her.
"W-what?" she stammered, craning her neck to look up at him.
"You look very lovely tonight," he repeated. His voice was deep and throaty.
Caroline found herself so distracted by the cadence of his voice and his sparkling blue eyes looking out at her from the oval slits in his mask that she had trouble focusing on his words.
Did he just call me by my name?
"T-thank you," she finally sputtered, noticing the perfection of his lips.
"May I get you a drink?"
Caroline nodded. "A Bloody Mary, please. Olives, no celery."
"As you wish," he said with a smile.
She turned her head to watch him walk over to the liquor table, trying to see if his body was as alluring from the rear as it was from the front, especially his ass, but the length of his coat obscured her view.
When he returned, he was carrying two drinks. Both were Bloody Marys. He placed one of the glasses in front of her and gestured to the chair across from her.
"May I?" he asked, another soft smile curled on those perfect lips.
Caroline found herself unable to form a single word, so she simply nodded.
The stranger sat down and took a sip of his drink. "Mmm . . . this is good."
Caroline pulled an olive off of the plastic toothpick in her glass and popped it into her mouth.
He watched her while she chewed a second olive, but did not speak.
"So . . . who are you?" she blurted after what felt like a full minute of silence had passed.
"The Angel of Death," he replied.
Caroline chuckled. "No, I wasn't talking about your costume. I've never seen you in the office before. Are you new?"
"No."
"So you're here with someone?"
"No."
Caroline laughed nervously. "So what do you do? Go around crashing office parties?"
"Not exactly."
"Then who
are you?"
"The Angel of Death."
"Okay, fine," she said with another nervous laugh. "Have it your way." She raised her glass to her mouth and swallowed down a large portion of her drink.
His blue eyes twinkled, but he said nothing.
Caroline's nervousness was morphing into concern. She felt as if she should excuse herself and leave the table. But instead, she asked: "Will you at least tell me your name?"
"Azrael," he responded softly.
"Azrael," she repeated, running her tongue experimentally around the word. "What an unusual name."
"Not really. Not where I live."
"And where is that?" she probed, hoping for a direct answer.
