Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine

H arper

The present

After my run in with Wyatt at the store, I feel more dejected than ever. I thought coming back home to Rockview would be a refuge after the heartbreak of Paris. I thought I’d cry on my mom’s shoulder for a bit, mope about in my pajamas and then whip my life back into shape.

What I wasn’t expecting to find here was Pack Stanton. Of course, I knew I wouldn’t be able to avoid them forever – even if I had done a very good job of avoiding them for the last ten years. There was always going to be a time when we would meet again. I guess I assumed that would be a fleeting moment – a family do, a parental emergency. Nothing that would have me bumping into those three alphas on the regular.

Because – oh my gosh – bumping into them is hard. Way harder than it should be after ten years.

They set my heart racing and my stomach butterflying just like they did all those years ago.

And even when I’m not bumping into them in person, there are still reminders of them everywhere I go in this house. I can’t look at the kitchen counter without remembering what happened there – or the couch, the pool deck, the washing machine or the hall stairways.

Then there’s the actual guest bedroom itself – I simply have to look at the door to the room and my head starts spinning.

Plus the photos. My mom’s always loved to cover her home in pictures of those she loves and Daxton’s face seems to be everywhere, like he’s haunting me.

I stand looking at one now, hanging in the hallway. It’s one that must have been taken that holiday Daxton, Owen and Wyatt came home to visit. Or if it wasn’t then, it must have been taken around that time. Wyatt’s hair is buzzed short like it used to be, Owen’s face is smooth and they all look younger. The three of them are laughing, arms slung around each other’s shoulders, exhilarating youth and freedom and warmth. I want to climb right into that photo and bury myself in between the three of them. Somewhere I’m sure I’d feel safe and warm and happy.

I thought I was over them. I am not. I am not over them.

This can’t go on.

I decide enough is enough.

Pack Stanton may affect my pulse and my stomach but I can’t have them. They are strictly out of bounds. What happened with Daxton in the lounge the other night was a silly mistake. One he probably doesn’t even remember, considering all the other omegas he’s been dating.

No, enough moping, enough pining for the past. I need to take action.

Rather than the interview prep I should be doing, I message Molly and remind her of that offer to help me. She sends me the details of several available packs.

There’s the pack who live in the Rockies – friends with her alpha, River. They’re about a decade older than me and live in a huge cabin that looks beautiful when I search for it on Google Earth. But then I read they like to hunt, which isn’t my thing at all.

There’s a new pack Molly heard about through one of her bodyguards. They’ve just graduated college, sons of some of the rich families in the city. I take one look at their photo with their designer suits, expensive watches, and supercars and decide they’re also a no.

Finally, there’s Pack Frimpton. They’re about my age. Fresh out of a break up too. Apparently keen to find someone who’ll make them forget about their ex. I decide they sound like five massive red flags rolled into one.

After I’ve turned down another three of her suggestions, Molly calls me.

“You’re being fussy,” she says.

“And that’s a problem because?”

“Do you want to find a pack or not? I have diapers to change, little girls to manage and alphas to … well, you know.”

“I’m sorry, Molly. They just weren’t for me.”

“You never met them, how would you know?”

“I just do.”

“So tell me,” she says, “what do you like – handsome?”

“Well, it helps.”

“Intelligent?”

“Definitely.”

“Good sense of humor?”

“Essential.”

“Kind?”

“Of course.”

“Works in a hospital?” she says cunningly.

I narrow my eyes. “Not necessarily.”

“But you like doctors, right? Like what they can do with their hands? And their … fingers? Like their bedside manners?”

“Are you done?” I ask.

Molly sniggers. “Sorry, it’s just, jeez, Harper, give these other dudes a try.”

I sigh. “Send me some worth trying and I will.”

“I’m sending you three more. Then you have to pick at least one pack you want to go on a date with. Just one.”

“That sounds–”

“Harper,” Molly says sternly. “Otherwise, I’m done.”

“Fine,” I relent, knowing she’s right.

“Great. I’m sending them through now.”

She hangs up. I should be getting on with those practice interview questions. Instead, I lie out on my bed and wait. I chew on my lip, look out the window, then give in to temptation and head to social media. Pack Stanton don’t have accounts of their own anywhere so I can’t spy on them directly, but I know from my mom they’ve been on dates themselves – something both Owen and Wyatt confirmed.

I check Cindy’s account first. Since Monday there’s been no more mention of Pack Stanton and their heroic rescue but there have been a few posts about heartbreak instead. I try not to feel too pleased about it.

I search through accounts of some other omegas next. One posted a picture of her and Pack Stanton at dinner a few days ago. I study the picture for a while. She’s young and beautiful – of course – and the location looks somewhere intimate and romantic. I tear my eyes away and keep searching. I find two more posts from two different omegas. One posting about a date she hopes will lead to a little doctors-and-nurse role-play. Another posting a picture of herself before leaving for a date with some doctors. I figure both are talking about Pack Stanton.

Daxton, Owen and Wyatt are obviously playing the field. Probably putting into practice all those tips I gave them. Goddamn it. I can’t decide if I’m happy or put out by it. At least it seems they haven’t found The One yet.

Although, is that really such a good thing?

My phone pings and I find the message from Molly with all the pack details. I focus in on those details, determined to find a date or two of my own.

It’s tough. None light up my world, have my stomach spinning with excitement, but maybe that’s unfair. Maybe that won’t happen until I meet them in person, smell their scents, hear them speak, get to know them better. In the end, I opt for Pack Frimpton. At least if we’re both recovering from heartbreak, we’ll be on the same page.

“Good girl,” Molly messages me with a winky face and sets up a date for Friday night.

Unsurprisingly, the Port Gallery is situated in among the expensive boutiques and shops by the Rockview waterfront. From the front it looks small, with only two giant canvases hanging in the windows; but as I step through the doorway, I realize the place is deceptive, a warren of rooms spiraling off the main shopfront.

Most of the paintings hanging in the central and main rooms are the commercial types you find in just about every gallery on the planet, but there are some more unusual ones, more unique, hanging in the back rooms. It gives me a flicker of hope for this place.

It’s also empty. No customers and no staff. I adjust my jacket, check the time on my phone and stick my head round corners.

Finally, I cup my hands around my mouth and call out, “Hello?”

I didn’t get myself all dressed up and drive all the way into the city to be stood up. I’m more than qualified for this job.

There’s some rustling sound from the back of the store, followed by some giggling and what sounds like boxes clattering to the floor. Then a man comes striding through, followed closely behind by a woman.

The woman is younger than me, tall, willowy, with extremely rosy cheeks and a ladder in her stockings.

The man just so happens to be Neon Speedos from the lake.

I do a double take. After all, the last time I saw him he was wearing a lot less clothing and was being man-handled by my step-brother.

“Erm, I’m Harper Hall,” I say, “I’m here for a job interview.”

The alpha holds out his hand to me. “And I’m Derrick, the owner of the gallery, and we’ve met before.” He gives me a knowing smile. I realize he thinks we’ve slept together.

“Yes, at the alpha-and-omega cook-out.” I shake his hand firmly, wondering if he remembers Daxton knocking him to the ground.

“You’re an omega?” the woman blurts out from behind Derrick, clearly surprised by this piece of news. She sweeps her gaze up and down my body as if she doesn’t quite believe me.

“Yes,” I confirm, even though it’s none of her business.

“And you’ve come for the curator job?” she says, sounding confused.

“Yes.” I draw myself up to my full five foot two inches. “I majored in Art History at college and was trained as a curator in Paris before taking up a position in the Louvre.”

She gapes at me like I’m talking French.

“And now you’re back in Rockview.” Derrick motions to one of the galleries where there are a couple of designer chairs waiting. “Usually Sylvie, the gallery manager, would undertake the interviews but she’s unwell. So you have me instead.” He takes one of the seats and without looking the other woman’s way, says, “Petra, can you fetch us some coffees. How do you take yours, Harper?”

“Can I get a latte?”

The girl sniffs, frowns at me and spins on her heels, ruffled ponytail swinging as she shimmies to the door.

Derrick smiles at me and leans forward on his seat, resting his forearms on his knees.

“It’s really great to see you again, Harper. I’ve been kicking myself for not getting your number. This feels like it might be fate.”

Fate or a set-up? Did he really not know it was me? I didn’t pin my photo to my resume – that’s usually asking for trouble – but he could easily have searched for me on the internet.

“I’m rarely in the gallery,” he adds, perhaps sensing my suspicions, perhaps reading them on my face. “I pretty much leave all my smaller businesses to run on their own. They’re a great way to write off tax.”

“So, you’re not an art lover, then?”

He leans backward in his chair, legs positioned out wide, and strokes his chin. “I wouldn’t say that. I’m an admirer of all things beautiful.” His gaze sweeps down mine slowly in case I don’t get his meaning.

Seriously? It’s not like this is my first rodeo. I’ve dealt with slimeballs before – both in my personal life and my work one. It comes with the territory when you’re a woman – sometimes it seems even worse when you’re an omega. There are certain perceptions and assumptions about you that some men and some women just can’t help making. I’m no stranger to it. It doesn’t mean it isn’t freaking exhausting at times. Especially when I’d like a job and the number of galleries in Rockview are limited.

I tilt my head to one side.

“Is that an appropriate comment for a potential employer to be making to his potential employee?” I stare him hard in the eye – which isn’t easy to do, not when all my omega senses would have me cowering.

He chuckles. “Fuck knows what we’re allowed to say or not say these days. But it won’t stop me from making a compliment to a beautiful woman.” Inwardly, I groan. “Now, tell me, what can you do for me?”

“Excuse me?” I say, eyebrows leaping up.

“For my business?” he says with another chuckle. Yeah, right, I’m sure that’s what he meant. “You worked in the Louvre but do you know how to sell art?”

“Yes, as you’ll see from my resume, I worked for smaller commercial art galleries before I took the job at the Louvre and continued to work for a not-for-profit organization for the entire time I was in Paris. The sales of art from that organization went to orphans in war-torn nations.” Derrick adopts a suitably serious expression. “The last exhibition I curated for that organization raised over half a million euros.”

“And how did you manage that?”

“I have an eye for good art,” I say.

“But do you have an eye for what sells? It’s not always the same thing.”

“I think it’s about showing the customer what is good about the art. Why it is a masterpiece. Why they would want to own it.”

“You sound like Sylvie.” Another smidgen of hope flickers in my belly. I think I could work with Sylvie. Derrick definitely not. But if he’s hardly ever here … Derrick smiles. “You’re impressive.”

“Does that mean you’re going to hire me?”

“Sylvie took one look at your resume and already decided we should. I wanted to check you were a living, functioning human being. Sometimes people look good on paper but in reality they are anything but.” I don’t say it, but I think Derrick might be one of those people. He leans forward. “You definitely look good.”

The other woman returns with a tray of takeaway coffees in her hands. She passes Derrick his cup first, places hers down on a table and then gives me mine with a scowl on her face. I’m surprised she doesn’t throw the thing in my face. Instead, she lowers herself elegantly onto the arm of Derrick’s chair.

Derrick takes a long sip of his coffee and then slinks back in his seat, tapping his foot on the floor.

“You’re hired. You can start next Monday and you’ll be working with Petra.” He tips his head in the other woman’s direction.

“That’s if I accept,” I say. “You haven’t told me anything about my responsibilities, the hours or the pay.”

“We can sort that all out later. How about I take you both out to lunch to celebrate?” he says, resting his hand on Petra’s thigh. “Giovanni’s three doors down is almost impossible to get into but he’ll always find a table for me.”

“That sounds lovely,” I say. Derrick grins like a tiger. Petra scowls so hard I’m worried for her if the wind changes direction. “But I already have an arrangement.”

“Cancel it,” Derrick chuckles. “You can’t turn down lunch at Giovanni’s.”

“Maybe not, but this previous arrangement can’t be missed,” I lie. Petra smiles smugly, obviously pleased with that piece of news. “Thanks for the coffee. I’ll wait to hear from Sylvie about the job offer details.”

I stand up.

“We’ll be in touch,” Derrick says with a leer I’m sure he thinks is a smoldering look that will melt my panties.

By the time I reach the door, Petra is giggling again.

I’m really not sure if I’m going to take this job. Derrick seems like a major downside. Sylvie potentially a plus point. Petra? I’m not sure.