"Mitchell." Anita wasn't one to swoon, but found herself smiling at the sound of his voice. Not that his voice was made of sex, like Jean Claude's--frankly, no one had a voice like Jean Claude's--but there was something about him. Judging by his accent, she guessed maybe London Irish, and her senses put his age around a hundred, a hundred and thirty. Hardly old enough to be a Master vampire yet--though he certainly had potential. So what was it about him that made her want to bend over the desk right then and there?
It had to be the Ardeur talking. She ignored it as best she could.
"Did you catch the show?" she asked, glancing to the door, to indicate she meant the exotic dancers. "Or did you come to pay your respects to the Master of the City?"