“How many three alpha jokes does she know?” I ask.
“Too many.” Shallot sighs, then gives us as pointed a look as hers. “I’d rather not be forced to have the room professionally cleaned—not to mention Johanna will be back in a minute or two with my daughter—so let’s skip playing out the jokes ending in fucking as well.”
He manages to keep a straight face during the first half, leaving open to question whether he’s serious or joking. When he continues, I wince at the mere idea of being caught out by a daughter, even though I hadn’t considered the possibility of fucking anyone—Johanna included—in the room.
Still not thinking of it, in fact. It’s too soon. She’s not ready, regardless of how readily she snuggled in my arms.
As for the men, they’re strangers. The fact that both also winced at the notion of daughters witnessing their fathers in intimate situations, however, offers some reassurance. I’d never knowingly introduce my daughters to anyone I’m not willing to trust with them. Same with my son. I appreciate these men’s similar attitudes, and it makes me more inclined to introduce them to my children someday, if life turns that way.
But Shallot and Morning-or-Evening-or-Whatever are not my pack, not my mates. I recognized my lost packmates as belonging with me at first sight. As songs have put it, ‘seeing a stranger across a crowded room’ led me to my darling Renee, and the instant I walked into a consultation room to meet my sweet Lawrence, I knew.
Nothing of that sort with either of these.
Of course, when I first met Johanna I didn’t see her as a potential packmate either. Nothing about her proclaimed she was mine—she wasn’t. The fire in her gaze caught my attention because I’d lost it when my packmates died. She offered something new, a challenge: helpingherbeloved through his heat.
Which I did, partnering with her in a way I’d never experienced before. She had the heat down to a science and knew exactly how to give Max what his omega needed. The result was brief bursts of sex punctuating long downtimes while his omega rested—and Johanna and I talked. In the warm, dark shadows of Max’s nest, we wound up sharing fears, hurts, and hopes. Things I’d never confided in anyone other than my mates, and things even they hadn’t known, couldn’t know, especially the emptiness left by their loss.
I saw an echo of that emptiness in her earlier, as she sought comfort in my arms. My void is shrinking, slowly but surely,thanks in no small part to those talks where we bared not so much our bodies as our souls.
Until Max’s omega overheard and took my interest in her as a threat. I left early, through no one’s fault.
Ever since, I’ve been plotting ways to meet her again, to show Max I’m not a threat. Worried what might happen if—when—it comes to pass.
She’s still not my mate. There’s no instant knowing, but rather a desire, welling deep within, for her to become my pack, my mate. Fate chose my first mates in a moment, then robbed me of them just as quickly.
This time,Ichoose. I chooseher. I want whatever remains of my life to include the woman who roused me from my slumber with a challenge. The woman who shared hopes and fears in quiet moments while Max slept. I would’ve had him as pack, too, if there’d been time for him to realize that I didn’t need him to be anything except who he was, as long as he’d share her—presuming she wanted me.
I just have to hope that she’ll choose me back.
Well, that, and figure out what to do about these other alphas, who watched her depart with hunger in their eyes.
“So.” Shallot claps his hands. He points at me, then the other man, and finally himself. “Nathan Mazarini, lawyer. Dan Eveson, accountant. Corin Shallot, Max’s cousin and executor. I know why we’re here, but not why Max invited either of you, though it appears Johanna may have a clue. Regardless of all else, we’re here to help her. Hurt her, and you’ll regret it to the end of your days.”
Whether or not Shallot—Corin—has admitted as much, he wants her too. Same with Eveson—Dan—though he looks rather shell-shocked.
Very well.
This is a very different challenge than any I’ve faced before, but I’m not one to shy away from competition. I’m a lawyer. I handle divorces and pack dissolutions.
I play to win.
Chapter 20
Max’s Money
JOHANNA
Preparing to reenter the conference room a second time, I’m calm, cool, and collected, no matter that I’m also shaking underneath. My face is pale and still damp, but from a splash of cool water rather than more weeping. My eyes are probably red, though it was hard to tell. The washroom mirror went wonky and green-tinged a year after being installed and hasn’t been worth replacing yet. Anamaria assures me I look fine, and I trust her enough.
My first crying jag since Max’s death, and it had to happen in public, and before males I haven’t seen for years—not that I’d chose to cry before anyone, given a choice.
Yet somehow, this batch of tears leaves me feeling cleansed.
Anamaria notices, too, her nose wrinkling as we return down the hall.
“You smell better, cleaner.” She nods approvingly. “Ever since Uncle Max got sick, you’ve had a lingering hint of mustiness, as though you’d been stuffed into a closet for too long. It’s gone now.”
My cheeks heat. Why hadn’t she or Corin or Caity mentioned it? Except, they knew I couldn’t do much about it, and probably didn’t want me to worry.
