Shea opens his mouth to disagree, but Tyler shoots him a glare.
“Yeah, only joking,” Shea titters.
“When you’re finished clowning around, get into position,” Lindsay commands. She tilts her head, studying the four of us. “Yes, this will work.” Her forehead wrinkles as she turns to yell at the crew, “Props, props, props! Where are the props?!”
A flustered young guy hurries forward to hand Shea a cane.
“Really, Lindsay? A cane?” I arch an eyebrow. “Can’t we just take a few quick photos and get out of here?”
She clicks her tongue. “These are your official courting photographs, Kadence. Your father was very clear about what he wanted.”
Someone else gives Kyro a cap to wear. Admittedly, it does make his head look a little less like a thumbtack, but the whole thing feels ridiculous and over the top. We’re college students, not the cast of a period drama.
“More powder!” Lindsay points at Shea. “I can see a sheen.”
A makeup artist rushes to frantically dab Shea’s oily nose.
“How long will this take?” I ask.
My skin’s already crawling from Tyler’s clammy hand resting on my knee.
“We’re ready to start now,” Lindsay declares. “Now smile!”
All the cameras in the room start snapping in tandem, my vision swimming from the flashing assault. We follow Lindsay’s instructions, moving from pose to pose, but nothing seems to satisfy her. Shea and Kyro are the only people who seem to be enjoying themselves, gloating about how they look like movie stars. Tyler, on the other hand, stays inhumanly stiff. The more Lindsay tells him to loosen up, the tenser his shoulders get.
Two hours later, my ass is getting numb from sitting down for so long.
“No, nope, definitely not!” Lindsay’s glasses slip to the edge of her nose as she flicks through the photographs on a laptop. “Nothing is working.”
“You must have taken hundreds of shots by now.” I check the clock taunting me from up on the wall. “Surely one of them will do?”
“None of them have the magic we’re looking for.” She frowns. “There’s just no connection.” A knock on the door makes her face light up. “Finally! More props!”
I groan. “How many more props do we need?”
A delivery person staggers inside, swaying under the weight of a gigantic box that’s almost as large as him.
“Sorry for the delay.” His smooth voice comes from behind the package.
The timbre of his voice slices through the noise, making all the chaos fall away and my thighs clench. What’s wrong with me, and why is some random delivery guy making me want to throw myself at him from across the room?
ELEVEN
Hale
A CEO shouldn’t be making deliveries, but what other choice did I have? I run a million-dollar distribution company. A few years ago, Dad created a new part of the company, providing bespoke courier services for elite, high-paying individuals and businesses. One of my employees called me in a panic, citing that an urgent job came up close to Forestville—of all places. Sure, I could have chartered a helicopter to fly a team in, but that made no sense when I’m already so close to the job.
It’s an unusual request—transporting a valuable lion statue from an antique store to the art building at Scent Valley University. Our premium clients pay ridiculous sums for the craziest things. While I don’t know the name of the client behind this order—they paid extra to remain anonymous—the fee was too good to pass up.
None of the pack could help me.
Riven’s buried in a coding project, and tearing him away would only make him lose his concentration. Calder is even grumpier than usual; quickly returning toTheValley Voiceoffice after ordering a load of pizzas from Marco’s, and Ezra was nowhere to be seen.
Lugging the elephantine box single-handedly wasn’t easy, especially while passing through an army of security guards. From their thorough pat down, you’d think they were guarding the Crown Jewels of England. Hell, maybe they are.
“Put the package there,” a woman with a bossy air—who I assume is running the show—declares when I enter the room. “Quickly!”
I wipe the sweat from my brow, my back sighing in relief from shedding the weight. I hold out the clipboard. “Can you sign for this?”
