“Who is it?” she whispers.
“A reporter,” I say, not looking at her. “From PackTrackr.”
Her face pales. “How did they?—”
“I’m finding out,” Dane says, his voice a low growl as he speaks into the phone. He listens for a moment, his expression darkening. “I see. Keep her there.” He hangs up, turning to us. “She dressed as a delivery person. Uniform, hat, the works. Said she had a delivery for Zoe from a popular flower shop. Had a massive bouquet that blocked the security’s view of her face.”
“She got past our security with carnations?” Diego says, his voice rising with disbelief.
“The oldest trick in the book,” Tristan mutters. “And the tackiest. Carnations? At least go with roses and commit to your investigative journalism.”
My alpha roars in my chest, a fury unlike anything I’ve felt in years building inside me. Not just at the breach of security, but at the sheer, pathetic audacity of it. My pack has been infiltrated by a gossip columnist with a bunch of gas station flowers. The incompetence of it is almost as infuriating as the breach itself.
“I’ll handle this,” I say, already moving toward the elevator. “Dane, with me.”
“Wait,” Tristan says, holding up a hand. “Let me try something first.”
I stop, arching an eyebrow at him. Tristan is many things. He’s impulsive, irreverent, occasionally ridiculous, but he’s also a PR genius. It’s why he handles the public face of Sterling Solutions while I manage the backend. If anyone can spin this, it’s him.
He steps up to the intercom, pressing the button. “Tiffany? This is Tristan Sterling.”
There’s a beat of dead, shocked silence from the speaker. Then, a flustered, sputtering sound.
“How— My name isn’t Tiffany.”
Tristan’s mouth curves into a small, dangerous smile. “Oh, I think it is,” he says, his voice a low, smooth purr of pure confidence. “And I think you and I have a lot to talk about.”
There’s another, longer pause. I can almost hear the gears turning in her head as she realizes her cover is blown, that she’s been caught, and that she is now talking to one of the most powerful alphas in the city. The panic in her voice is gone, replaced by a much more excited, opportunistic professionalism.
“Tristan! Hi! I’m such a fan of your work with the Sweetwater Symphony Gala last year. The ice sculptures were inspired!”
Tristan shakes his head with a silent chuckle. “Thank you, Tiffany. I appreciate a discerning eye. Look, I understand you’re just doing your job, but I think there’s been a misunderstanding. You’re chasing the wrong story here.”
“Am I?” The reporter sounds skeptical but intrigued.
“Absolutely,” Tristan continues, his voice sliding into that smooth, charming tone that has swayed alphas, betas, and omegas alike. “Zoe Clarke is working with Sterling Solutions on a new philanthropic art initiative. Very hush-hush, very boring.Corporate art acquisition for underfunded public schools. That’s why she’s here.”
I almost smile.
“But what about the claiming marks?” Tiffany presses, not quite ready to give up her scoop. “Our sources say?—”
“Your sources are confusing business with pleasure,” Tristan cuts in smoothly. “Ms. Clarke is a respected curator with connections throughout the art world. We’re lucky to have her consulting on this project. Now, I’d be happy to give you an exclusive on the initiative once it’s ready to announce. Say, next month? Much better story than some fabricated romance, don’t you think?”
There’s a long pause from the other end of the intercom. I can almost hear the gears turning in the reporter’s head, weighing the value of Tristan’s proposal.
“Well,” she says finally, the disappointment evident in her voice, “that does sound interesting. I suppose I could tell my editor?—”
“Perfect,” Tristan says, cutting her off. “I’ll have my assistant send over the details for next month’s meeting. Now, I believe security is waiting to escort you out.”
He releases the intercom button, turning to us with a satisfied smirk. “And that’s how it’s done.”
“Nicely played,” I acknowledge, some of the tension easing from my shoulders. “But we still have a problem.”
“Several,” Dane agrees, already back on his phone. His fingers move with terrifying efficiency across the screen. “I’m pulling her social media profiles, employment history, and direct contact information for her editor.”
“What are you going to do?” Zoe asks, looking between us with a mixture of confusion and alarm.
“Nothing illegal,” Dane assures her, not looking up from his phone. “Just creating leverage.”
