Page 12 of Howl Lotta Love

“We are not engaged.” Louder. Same lack of effect.

Jace opened his mouth to argue and found the argument dissolving somewhere behind his teeth, because it was, infuriatingly, a solid plan—cover with built-in proximity, a reason for round-the-clock security nobody would question twice. His wolf had checked out fully around the word engaged and was currently marinating in a feeling suspiciously close to satisfaction, a development he intended to address never.

“Operation Happily Ever After,” Roman announced, already retitling the mission file on the presentation screen with the reverence of a man who understood he’d peaked professionally.

“That’s not the mission name.”

“It is now.”

“Priced four venues already.” Tucker spun his laptop around, a spreadsheet on display that had clearly existed before this meeting started. “Rooftop’s got the best sightlines if this ends up being real eventually, which, statistically, given the trajectory⁠—”

“We are not engaged,” Emma said, a third time, color climbing her throat in a way Jace found himself tracking with more attention than the moment strictly called for.

Diesel, silent until now, glanced up from an animal-rescue video on his phone and offered, with total sincerity, “I can guard the cake,” which nobody had asked for and which ended the argument faster than anything else in the room had managed.

“We. Are not. Engaged.” A fourth time, aimed at Gerri specifically, delivered with the determined precision of a woman lodging an objection nobody planned to keep on record.

“Of course, you’re not, darling.” Gerri patted her cheek on the way to the door, utterly unbothered. “You’re fake engaged. Do try to keep up.” She stalled at the threshold, glancing back at Jace, thoroughly satisfied with herself for calling her shot months in advance. “And, darling—wear the blue tie to the party. Gold makes you look like you’re compensating.”

She left before anyone could argue, which Jace was beginning to understand was the entire operating principle of Gerri Wilder: detonate, depart, let the wreckage sort itself out on its own time.

Roman pulled up a ring site on his phone, holding it out for a vote nobody had requested. Milo recalculated odds under his breath, a wedding date freshly factored into the math, and flagged Jace down long enough to add, “I called this in week one. I want that on the official record somewhere.”

“There is no official record.”

“There will be. I’m starting one.” Milo was typing it into his phone, dead serious. Tucker, meanwhile, had three browser tabs of venue photography open and no plans to close a single one.

“This is not happening,” Emma said, quiet, aimed at Jace alone.

“It’s already happening.” He steered her toward his office by the elbow, ignoring Roman’s wolf-whistle at his back. “The only choice left is whether we do it well.”

“So.” Emma dropped into the chair across from his desk the second his door shut behind them, cutting off the sound of Roman workshopping toast material down the hall. “Fake fiancée. That’s a new one for me.”

His brow rose. “I didn’t sign off on the timeline, if anyone’s keeping score.”

“You didn’t exactly fight it either.”

He hadn’t, and he wasn’t in a hurry to examine why. “It’s a good cover. Gets me close enough to do the job right without every pack and pride and business contact in this city wondering why I’m personally shadowing one accountant.”

“So it’s tactical.”

“Extremely tactical.”

“Nothing to do with the face you made when Gerri said the word engaged?”

“My face didn’t do anything.”

“Your face did a whole production number.” She flashed the first real smile he’d seen out of her since the van, quick and startled like it had gotten loose before she authorized it. Warmth turned over low in his chest, and he decided not to examine that either. “Fine. If we’re doing this, we do it my way. Terms.”

“Go.”

“I stay in control of the investigation. You don’t pull me off a lead because you’ve decided it’s dangerous—you tell me why, and if the reasoning holds, I listen. That’s negotiation. Not a leash.”

“Agreed, with an amendment. If the building’s on fire, you don’t stop to fact-check the smoke.”

“Fair. Second term. I wear the tracker your people will insist on, I report threats the second they happen, and in exchange, your team stops running background checks on my dentist.”

“Tucker’s background checks are thorough.”