Read Online Nice Girls Don't Live Forever by Molly Harper - Free Book Online

… is the chamber really supposed to hold fund-raisers?” I asked. “I thought the Chamber of Commerce was about community building and economic development, bringing in new employers—”
    “Well, this is the way we run the Chamber of Commerce,” Head Courtney said through gritted teeth. “The Half-Moon Hollow Animal Shelter is a cause we’ve supported for years. Why, just last year, we collected five thousand dollars in cash donations.”
    “People will just give you cash for the shelter? Without a carnival?”
    Head Courtney’s disapproving sneer was now an all-out death glare.
    “Right. Sorry,” I mumbled, staring down into my lap as a sign of submission.
    For the rest of the meeting, I sat still and silent, just praying to get out alive. And I was incredibly angry with myself. Why the hell was I afraid of these women? If I wanted to, I could beat them all senseless, take their fancy foufou designer wallets, and make them forget I ever did it.
    Not that I would ever do that.

4
The best way to show that you’re independent is actually to be independent. Develop outside interests, attend cultural events, anything to show your wayward vampire mate that you’re not sitting at home pining away.
    —Love Bites: A Female Vampire’s Guide to Less
Destructive Relationships
    I slunk up my front-porch steps, exhausted and in serious need of sedatives and/or lobotomy instruments. Andrea, on the other hand, looked cool and collected, stretched out on my porch swing, scratching my dog behind the ears, and sipping a tall icy beverage that I promptly stole from her.
    “Hey!” she cried. “I used your best liquor to make that! And there wasn’t much to choose from.”
    “It’s an emergency,” I told her between swigs of what I think was a daiquiri. Because of my sordid history with the demon alcohol and the inevitably humiliating results, I don’t usually imbibe. But tonight I was making an exception. I slumped onto the swing with Andrea and sighed. “Not that you’re not welcome here at River Oaks, but has it occurred to you that making yourself frosty cocktails while I’m not home is breaking and entering?”
    “Yes, it did. But I was thirsty, and you left me your key ring to close up.”
    “I’m way too trusting. Am I going to come home one night and find you taking a bath in my tub and wearing my clothes?” She arched her eyebrow, looking from her own stylishly cut silk blouse and slacks to my suit—which had been purchased by my mother. “Never mind.”
    “I’m not going to go all single white female on you. But I do love this place. I still have a hard time believing you own a home with a name.”
    “Well, for all of this, my sister is willing to sue me, steal from me, and have me audited. So, you might want to reconsider your whole romantic image of gentility.”
    Andrea sighed heavily. “Why must you destroy my illusions? How was your networking?” she asked as I tried to beckon my dog. Fitz sniffed and rested his head on his paws.
    “I’m not trying to say anything about sisterhood or women in power, but what a bunch of bitches.”
    Andrea laughed and pulled a pitcher of daiquiris from behind the porch swing. She poured herself another drink, grinning as she said, “I thought you might feel that way. My boss at the gift shop used to complain about the meetings.”
    “You knew?” I cried, chucking a cushion at her. “You knew, and you let me walk into that den of iniquity unprepared?”
    “Hey, hey! If you can’t respect the daiquiri, at least respect the shirt,” she griped, swiping at the liquor I’d made her spill on her celery-colored blouse. “I know better than to ask you to respect me.”
    I blew her a kiss and poured more daiquiri as Andrea began her tale in an ominous tone. “Margie said it happened slowly. One cold October night, a Courtney attended her first meeting, then another and another. It was as if the chamber was a hive being invaded by really perky Africanized