I know, I know. But if you need ANYTHING?—
Me
I’ll call. I promise. Now stop worrying and let me enjoy my pre-heat freedom.
Mia
Fine. But promise me you’ll call the Omega Center if you have second thoughts. They can send a pack to relieve you if things get out of control.
Me
Deal. Love you.
Mia
Love you too. Happy heat week!
I toss my phone onto the nightstand and stare up at the ceiling. The woodwork is gorgeous. Custom, if I have to guess. I’ve spent enough time in high-end venues to recognize quality when I see it.
That’s my job, after all. Sierra Smith, event planner extraordinaire. Creator of magical moments. Designer of dream weddings.
Recent victim of corporate espionage.
Okay, “corporate espionage” is maybe dramatic. But “shameless contract theft” doesn’t sound nearly as sexy.
I sit up, shoving the thought away. I’m not going to think about the Knightley Pack this week. I’m not going to think about how they’ve undermined me for the past two years, poaching my vendors and undercutting my prices. I definitely am not going to think about the Sterling wedding.
Except now I’m thinking about it.
I groan, falling back against the pillows. The Sterling wedding. My white whale. The contract that would have launched me from “successful small business owner” to “major player in the Sweetwater event scene.”
I’d worked on that pitch forweeks. Poured my heart into the design concept. It was going to be a romantic garden ceremony with fairy lights and vows penned in calligraphy and a reception that would have made Pinterest weep with joy. The omega and Pack Sterling hadlovedit. Had practically been crying happy tears during the presentation.
And then the Knightley Pack had shown up with their slick presentation and their “bolder vision” and their insufferableconfidence, and suddenly my romantic garden ceremony was “too soft” and “not memorable enough.”
They’d stolen the contract right out from under me. And yeah, technically, it was all legitimate. But the way they’d done it, sweeping in at the last second with a proposal that was suspiciously similar to my concept, just “elevated”...
It stung.
No. Itburned.
“Stop it,” I say aloud. “You are not spending your heat week obsessing over four smug alphas who aren’t worth your time.”
Four smug, infuriating,annoyingly talentedalphas.
I’ve done my research on the Knightley Pack after the first time they poached one of my clients. Most packs in the events industry are family businesses, passed down through generations. The Knightleys are different. A pack of four alphas who met in the military and decided to go into event planning together after they got out.
Which is, admittedly, an unusual career choice for a pack of ex-military alphas.
They’re good, though. I can give them that much. Their events are spectacular. Bold, innovative, flawlessly executed. They have a reputation for pulling off the impossible and making it look easy.
They also have a reputation for being ruthless competitors.
Cole Knightley is their frontman. Charming, quick-witted, devastating in a suit. He’d been the one to present to the Sterling pack with his smooth confidence and winning smile. I’d watched from the back of the room (because yes, I’d stuck around like a masochist) and wanted to throw something at his perfectly styled head.
Dax Knightley handles logistics. Gruff, intense, built like he could still bench-press a tank. He’d been the one to tell me, point-blank at an industry mixer, that my designs were “too romantic” for modern clients. I’d smiled politely and then spentthe rest of the evening imagining creative ways to sabotage his next event.
Malik Knightley is the one who organizes. He’s strategic and unfairly good at negotiation. He’s somehow identified my best vendors and offered them exclusive contracts. Half of my supplier list has jumped ship in the past three months.
