Not all IRS employees perform in-person audits, but the government thought with me being a monster, I would be a good representative to knock on other monsters’ doors.

Except in the five years that I've been doing this, I've only audited two monsters—all the rest were human.

Whether the IRS doesn’t realize that the combination of being audited and by a monster is a disaster in the making, or they just don't care, I don't know.

But it certainly doesn't make my job any easier.

One woman thought I was actually there to mummify her. I jokingly told her that I left my Canopic jars at home…

She slammed the door in my face, locked it, and refused to open it again. The IRS had to send someone else to audit her.

At this point, you think the government would’ve wised up, but they didn't. And here I sit, ready to traumatize some other poor soul.

It takes me a moment to unfold myself from my tiny electric car. I love that I'm helping cut down on Earth's carbon footprint, but wish they made these things bigger.

Even for a monster, I'm fairly large.

Straightening my suit jacket and tie, I step onto the porch. The wood groans under my weight, but holds, and I hope the structure is sturdier than it looks.

Because the only thing worse than being audited by a monster is one that breaks your house.

With a deep inhale. I rap on the door and wait. My keen hearing picks up on the sound of a television set, but that doesn't necessarily mean that someone's home.

People leave their TVs on all the time for their pets.

I knock again, and this time I hear a distinctive feminine murmur. The pitch and lack of echo tells me it is not the TV—someone’s here.

After waiting another moment, I knock again. And again. Until whoever's inside creeps out towards the door.

Through the small frame of stained glass above it, I spy a redheaded woman. The glass distorts her features, but I can sense her apprehension from a mile away.

Even though she wasn't given a specific date or time, the IRS does alert people when they're going to be audited.

When it becomes obvious she’s not going to open the door, I sigh. “Ma'am, are you going to let me in?”

She squeaks and crashes to the floor, and I wince in sympathy as her ankle twists underneath her.

“N-nobody's home!” she attempts, and I hang my head.

We’re off to a great start.

“Listen, I promise that you have nothing to fear. I come in peace.”

The woman clambers to her feet, muttering some more, and finally opens the door. I have my non-threatening smile pasted to my face, but it falls away as I drink in the vision before me.

Short red hair threaded with bands of gold frame the woman’s heart-shaped face. Her large, hazel eyes are tinted both brown and green with flecks of yellow.

She’s tall for a woman, but still would likely only come to my shoulders. Her form is thick and curvaceous, and my mouth waters.

In a word, the woman is stunning.

“Miss Fern Mabon?” I manage to ask past the lust hammering my body.

“Yes?”

“I’m Ahnou Napa with the IRS. I’d like to talk to you about your taxes.”

From her dumbstruck expression, I can only surmise she had no clue that I was coming, or she had forgotten.

Miss Mabon blinks rapidly, as if in a daze, before asking me to join her. Then, the redheaded woman turns on her heel, leaving me no choice but to follow her inside.

The view of her ass covered in what looks like pajama bottoms does nothing to help the heat spreading through my limbs.

I remind myself that IRS employees don’t check out the very rounded bottoms of their auditees as Miss Mabon walks into what I assume is her living room.

With a flick of her wrist, she gestures for me to sit down on an orange couch that’s a few shades lighter and yellower than her hair.

The air feels charged with an inexplicable tension as our eyes lock. Fern's gaze holds a mixture of uncertainty and curiosity, her lips slightly parted as if she's about to say something.

I can't help but feel the pull between us, a magnetic force that defies explanation. The simple act of being in her presence stirs something within me, something that I've long kept buried.

The gorgeous woman tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers brushing against her skin in a gesture that's both unconscious and mesmerizing.

"You know, I never imagined that an IRS auditor would be, um, like you."

I lean in slightly, my voice a low hum. "And how did you imagine an IRS auditor to be?"

She meets my gaze, hers searching mine for something I'm not sure I can name. "Not as good looking."

A relieved smile tugs at my lips as red spreads across her face, but I’m glad she isn’t put out by the fact that I’m a monster—and that she finds me attractive.

"Thank you. I don’t think anyone has ever complimented me before when I’ve come to audit them.”

“About that, Mr. Napa—”

“Please, call me Ahnou.”

The request slips past my lips, and the tension in the room becomes palpable, almost suffocating in its intensity.

It's as if we're tiptoeing on the edge of a precipice, unsure of whether to take the plunge or step back, but whether she’s experiencing the same emotions as me, I can’t say.

“Then please call me Fern.”

“Perhaps…if we’re alone.”

The words are out before I can take them back, but the lovely female doesn’t blink. Instead, her eyes dilate and the scent of her arousal perfumes the air.

Down boy, I caution my body, which thrums with awareness.