He shrugged. “Born in Foxboro. Trust fund baby, but smart enough not to piss it away. Degree in Art History from Princeton. Interned with Sotheby’s. Partied like a motherfucker in college—there are pictures—but nothing nasty. Came out his sophomore year, parents were fine with it, big donors to every charity you can think of. After college, moved to Paris for a couple years, then went to work for his mommy’s firm, Hale & Marrow in Boston. Company’s clean. Personal life is boring as hell. Looks like his mom is overbearing, but not in a criminal way. Had several boyfriends, nothing serious.”
Parker was scrolling through her phone. “He’s really pretty,” she said. “Like, almost too pretty.”
Wrecker growled—a real, guttural thing. She looked up at him, grinned wider, and said, “Easy, big guy. I’m not going to run off with a pretty boy who likes boys from Boston.”
He didn’t answer, but I could feel the tension leak out of his frame. He was as territorial as any man I’d ever met, and twice as bad about hiding it.
I set my mug down. “So he’s just a normal, overachieving, ex-frat bro with good skin and rich parents.”
“Yep,” Wrecker said. “Not a threat.”
Parker smirked. “You’re jealous. Admit it.”
I shot her a look. “I’m not jealous of that guy. I just don’t trust people who don’t have any dirt.”
She stretched, toes pointed like a ballet dancer’s, and said, “Maybe he’s just really good at hiding it.”
Wrecker snorted. “Nobody’s that good.”
Parker glanced at me. “What’s he doing in Dairyville, then? Slumming it?”
“Reppin’ Brie’s first artist for her opening exhibit.” I felt the edge in my voice and tried to smooth it out. “I just want to make sure he’s not going to make trouble.”
Wrecker tapped on his keyboard, then turned the screen so I could see. It was a profile pic of Lysander, dressed in a tailored suit, hair perfect, smile so white it hurt the eyes. The dude looked like a Disney prince who’d just snorted the Kingdom’s GDP. There was a photo of him arm-in-arm with a big foreign-looking guy, both holding champagne.
“See?” Parker said. “He’s cute.”
I leveled a finger at her. “Don’t rile up the monster, Wren.”
She held up both hands in mock surrender. “Just saying. I’m Team Gunner, anyway.”
Wrecker shot me a sideways glance. “You want me to dig deeper? Could have some dirt off-books.”
I shook my head. “Nah. If he’s clean, he’s clean. I just…” I trailed off, because the next words were going to sound petty as hell, but I said them anyway. “I just don’t want him getting in Brie’s head. She’s been through enough.”
Parker’s expression softened. “She really loves you, you know.”
“I know.” I said. “I’d walk through fire for her.”
I finished my coffee, stood, stretched. “Thanks for the recon. I owe you one.”
Wrecker just nodded, already back in the code.
Parker hopped off the couch, followed me to the door. “Hey, Finn?”
“Yeah?”
She hesitated, then said, “If you need anything… like, if you need to talk, you can come to me. I know I’m not your usual type for that stuff, but I can listen.”
I smiled, genuinely. “Thanks, Wren. I’ll keep it in mind.”
I was almost out the door when my phone buzzed. I fished it out, thumbed the screen. Text from Brie:you coming soon?
I started typing a reply when the mate bond shivered under my skin—a weird, electric unease, like the air right before a tornado drops. My heart rate spiked. The world went sharp-edged for a second. I re-read the text. On the surface, nothing alarming. But underneath, I could feel her—tight, anxious, scared. I typed:Everything alright? You sound off.
There was a pause. Then:I just miss you.
It was a lie. She was scared.
