Pack Deception: Part Two, page 11
Jerrick shrugs. “Let ‘em go to voicemail. If it’s important, they’ll leave a message.”
Thank the Goddess.
A genuine smile flits across my lips for a moment. There and gone, but there nonetheless. “Oh, there’s Brandon now. Give him a second to get settled, and then you can head over. See you tomorrow.” And with that, he’s walking toward reception. Houston sees Jerrick leave again and gives me a once-over. Probably seeing if I’m about to pack up and leave, too. Instead, I put my lunchbox back in the bottom drawer and grab a notebook and pencil to take notes. After twiddling my thumbs for a few more minutes, I head to Brandon’s office.
“Perfect timing, I was about to come find you,” Brandon says as I knock on his open door and poke my head in. “Come in. Pull that seat around.” He points to one of the two chairs facing the front of his desk. Large, heavy wooden chairs. I set my notepad on his desk and use both hands to drag the chair around his desk. Thank the Goddess for carpeted floors because I cannot lift this chair with my abysmal upper body strength. The noise it would make on tiled floors would be like nails on a chalkboard.
After a minute of struggling, none of which Brandon notices, I breathe out through my nose to try to catch my breath without him noticing how out of shape I am. An alpha, with their heightened sense of smell and sound, may have noticed my labored breathing or smelled the sheen of sweat that broke out on my upper lip. But Brandon is a beta, and one very uninterested in anything outside of his computer. Thanks to small mercies.
“Okay, here is Dillon’s manuscript. I’ve already started making some notes here in the margins,” he says, pointing to the screen at the tiny red print off to the side of the document. I lean in to get a closer look to see what it says and pull back immediately. His scent is awful. Not like body odor or in any way that suggests he’s bad at grooming. But sour. Overly pungent, that may be pleasant to some, but it makes the hairs in my nose burn.
Great.
Looks like I’ll be breathing out of my mouth for the next four hours. Brandon looks back at me, completely oblivious to my newly nauseous state, and smiles. He’s not an unattractive male. His features are symmetrical, facial hair kempt, straight white teeth, and kind brown eyes. All things that someone may be attracted to, but I can’t get past his scent. I lean all the way back in my chair subtly. It helps a little.
“Okay, it may be useful to hear where you’re at with structural editing. What do you know?”
Heat singes my cheeks. Will he not want to teach me when he hears how little I know? For a second, I contemplate telling a little white lie and exaggerating what I know. But then what if he asks me to explain or expects me to be able to do the work? Instead, I go with honesty.
“Nothing. This is my first job in the publishing world, and I don’t have any kind of editing experience at all.” He must see the fear in my eyes because he gives me a reassuring grin.
“That’s okay. From the beginning, then. Crash course.” He slaps his knees and spins his chair around to face me fully, ignoring his computer for now. “Basically, a structural editor is concerned with the overall structure and organization of a piece of writing.” When I nod, he continues, holding up a finger with each point he makes. “They make sure there is a consistent voice throughout the piece, they look at the language as a whole to make sure the voice is the same start to finish, pay attention to character development–namely that there is some and it makes sense to the story–and pay attention to the tone and style of the content.”
So far, so good. Simply reading all my life has given me at least some basic knowledge so I can keep up with him. I jot down a few key words on my notepad. When I look back up, he gives me a kind smile and goes on.
“It’s very similar to developmental editing and can be done at the same time. At Pen2Paper Press, though, they are done separately. George heads up developmental editing and will start on it after we’ve completed our work with Dillon.”
“What really is the difference then?” I ask, never having heard of the two different types of editing.
“George will look at developing specific ideas with Dillon: adding or deleting full sections, developing arguments within the writing, that kind of thing. With me, we’ll mostly focus on organizing and honing what he already has rather than changing the piece.”
“Got it.” I nod.
“Cool. So, let’s start going through it. Don’t be afraid to ask questions if you’ve got them.”
The next few hours are spent doing exactly that. I do ask some questions. For the most part, though, I don’t need to because Brandon explains almost everything he’s doing as he’s doing it. He also added me to the shared document with all his notes on it so I can go through them on my own if I want to.
It’s something I can log on to from home. I don’t have a computer or my own laptop, but I figure one of my mates does. I’m sure they won’t mind sharing with me. When I jump right to that conclusion in my head, I mentally fist-bump myself because a week ago, I would have been too unsure to ask that of them. Not after seeing the nest they created for me already. Without even knowing if I’d ever use it. Those people definitely wouldn’t mind sharing with me.
Progress.
When four in the afternoon hits, Brandon says he’s going home for the day. Which means I am, too. After a quick stop back at my desk to grab my things, I head to reception. Wells is waiting for me. Just an hour earlier, when he switched with Houston, he popped his head in to let me know, but neither of them brought up my phone call from the she-devil. Jerrick is aware of the vaguest details about my personal life, but nobody else in the office is.
So when I get to Wells, I’m itching for an update.
“What’s up, shortstack? Ready to bounce?” Is this man just trying out nicknames for me until he finds one he likes?
I huff a pity laugh at him. When we’re in the elevator–just the two of us–I raise a brow at him. “Well?”
“Yes, Sum?” he says, shortening my name. Gross. I ignore that nickname and growl at the aloof smile he’s sporting. He knows what I’m asking. “You call that a growl?” He howls with laughter. “Cute.”
“Don’t be annoying. Just tell me.” I throw my hands on my hips, my purse and lunchbox dangling awkwardly from my wrists, slapping my thighs and completely ruining the intimidating look I’m going for.
Wells throws his head back dramatically, stares at the ceiling, and lets out a sigh of the long-suffering. “Fiiiiine,” he groans, making the single word four syllables. “There’s not a lot to report, honestly. Houston called his friend. Apparently, it’s not like in the movies.” He makes his voice go high and squeaky to imitate this so-called friend. “Said it would take more than a few hours for him to write the code to get into the security system here to check the traffic for any unwanted users to see how she knew when Houston was walking toward you. He’s still trying to trace the exact location of the call itself. But he was able to, at least, eliminate the Chicago region. All of Illinois, actually. She was not calling from in-state. Which is a good start.”
Tension leaks from my body at that. Jade isn’t anywhere near me. I can relax.
“Would it have been so hard to just say that from the start?” I grumble at Wells.
The jerk laughs at me again. “I gotta have my fun where I can. Let’s get you home before I have to block Hudson’s number. Swear that man blows up my phone more than any client I’ve ever had.”
It’s my turn to chuckle. “Wait, how many texts does he send you a day? Do they all message you?”
Wells digs into his back pocket and brandishes his phone at me like it’s a weapon. “Look at this shit.” My eyes scan over the texts, not reading them but rather noting the volume. Dozens of texts already from today. It warms my heart and makes me want to roll my eyes at the same time. Overprotective alpha males.
“Reminding me what time my shift starts, telling me not to be late, texting to make sure I’m paying attention when I am working. Brooklyn will text me once a shift to make sure I made it to tag Houston out. Sensible. Responsible. Hudson is straight up off-the-wall.”
“Woah, easy. That’s my mate you’re talking about,” I laugh, though, because I know he’s just teasing. “And besides… You know what they say about glass houses and all that.”
“I am not crazy! You take that back.” His mouth hangs open in faux outrage as he stares at me.
“Oh, please. You and Hudson are the same person. Kindred spirits.”
The elevator door pings, and I walk out before Wells does. I’m half-turned, glancing back at him to tease him a little more, when someone grabs my arm and yanks on it.
Thirteen
Summer
“You–” Before I can even register who grabbed me–before they’ve even finished a word–Wells has wrenched me free, and my back is pressed to his as he faces them.
“Ow, let go, you brute! What is your problem?” a high-pitched, whiny voice cries out. Wait… I know that voice. Where have I heard it?
I side-step Wells to get a look at her. “Amber?” My own voice reaches a startling high pitch. Now I know where I remembered the voice. Hudson’s ex, who I saw with him outside the coffee shop not too long ago.
She sneers at me. “Amanda.” Oops. “As if you didn’t already know that.” Her mouth opens like she’s about to say something else when Wells interrupts her.
“Back. Up.” My own blood runs cold at the alpha bark in his voice, and it’s not even directed at me. Ambe–Amanda–whimpers, bares her neck, and stumbles back at least five steps. “Get in the car, Summer.” When he addresses me, his voice is much softer. But I can still hear the seriousness in it. So I don’t hesitate. The SUV is once again in the reserved spot a few feet away. I half-jog to it, jumping into the passenger seat, and watch through the tinted window as Wells says something else to Amanda that has her nodding vigorously and scampering away.
A gun I didn’t even see him draw gets placed back in the concealed holster he’s got inside the waistband of his jeans, and then he’s stalking toward the driver’s seat.
Inside the car, he puts on his belt, places the car in reverse, and backs out of the spot. I jerk forward when he changes gears faster than normal, but I don’t say a word. Not until he does. But he doesn’t. All the way out of the garage and through the Chicago rush-hour traffic, Wells is silent. I’m starting to sweat.
Finally, I break. “Are you mad at me?”
His knuckles tighten on the steering wheel for a second before they relax. A breath spills from him, and the tension from his shoulders along with it. “No, Summer. I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself.”
I frown at him. “Why? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I did. You never walk in front of me again, okay? That was my fault. I should have walked out first. But please… just, wait next time. Deal?” He glances my way when I’m silent a beat too long. I don’t like that he’s beating himself up over nothing. Over an annoying ex. Part of me wants to say something else that’ll absolve him from whatever he’s feeling right now. But I incline my head at him instead.
“Thank you. Fuck, they’re going to rip me a new one.” I’m not sure whether he’s talking about my pack or his own team members.
“Don’t tell them.” His head whips toward mine, eyes incredulous. I shrug. “I’m serious. What good could it possibly do? Nobody was hurt. We learned our lesson. I walk behind you from now on. Done.”
He narrows his eyes at me for a beat before turning back to the road. “You’d lie to your pack?” When he says it like that…
“It’s not lying. If they ask me directly, I’ll tell the truth. We’re just omitting a very unimportant detail. We’ll still tell them we ran into Amanda. They’ll want to know that. But it was uneventful, and you took care of it. End of story.” That really is the truth. So I don’t feel too bad not giving them the version of events Wells is beating himself up over.
A long stretch of silence fills the cab before he gives a reluctant nod.
Ten minutes later, we’re walking through the connecting garage door into the house. Where Maverick is sitting on one of the couches, legs spread open in a lazy, relaxed position, and he’s staring at the phone in his hand. He’s already in a pair of light gray sweatpants and a loose-fitting black T-shirt. Which means he’s been home from work for a minute, probably. Brooklyn is also on her phone, but she’s leaning against one of the floor-to-ceiling glass panes overlooking the backyard, talking to someone on the other line. Two fingers are pressed against the bridge of her nose, and she’s scowling. So, it’s going well.
I don’t see Hudson or Mason right away, but footsteps start thundering from upstairs, drawing nearer. Two shaggy blond heads of hair pop into view a second later, one longer and the other cropped short. They’re nudging at each other and racing down the steps toward me. Hudson beats Mason, sweeping me into a crushing hug and sealing his lips to mine. A grumbled “asshole” comes from Mason. Hudson sets me down but doesn’t let go, grabbing my hands instead. On his way past us, Mason doesn’t miss the opportunity to smack my butt before he jogs over to where Maverick is.
He flops down gracelessly onto the couch, laying horizontally with his head in Maverick’s lap. It doesn’t make Maverick look away from his phone, but his free hand does come up automatically to run his fingers through Mason’s hair in a tender, loving way that makes my heart happy.
“Well, it’s about fucking time you guys got your heads out of your asses!” Hudson booms, leading me to one of the other couches, and pulls me down into his lap.
“My head was not in my ass, thank you very much,” Mason says, popping his lips at the end of his sentence for some extra oomph, I guess.
“What’s up, Wells?” Brooklyn frowns, walking over from where she must have just gotten off the phone and interrupting whatever verbal sparring match these three were about to get into.
With a glance at Wells, I understand why Brooklyn asked. Instead of dropping me inside and walking around the house like he had done before, Wells stuck around. His eyes look around at my mates with an uneasy expression that suggests he’d rather jump into a pool of piranhas than tell a little fib like we talked about. So, I save him from it.
“He’s just swallowed a lemon because he had to deal with Amanda trying to accost me after work.” I roll my eyes, but Hudson goes rigid beneath me.
“She what?” His words are whispered, but everyone in the room must hear because their scents start to sour. The living room, which a moment ago smelled like the most tantalizing mix of summer rain and lavender, citrus and bourbon, now smells like a burning field of grass and rotten fruit.
Hudson’s fingers flex on my hip, Maverick has finally abandoned his phone, and Mason is sitting upright, elbows on his knees as he leans in to hear the full story. While he is usually the one not to overreact–to be level-headed always–his eyes are burning with intensity.
“What happened?” Brooklyn says in the same calm voice Hudson used. I fill them in on what happened–truly, not much if you ask me–and then Brooklyn turns to Wells, who is still lingering in the room.
“What did she say to you when Summer was in the car?”
“That she just wanted to talk. I didn’t give her the chance to say anything else before telling her to kick rocks.” Wells’ eyes darken, too. But not for the same reason as my mates. I’m sure he’s roiling in a pool of self-hatred for his perceived fault.
So, I try to lighten the mood. “You mean before you barked at her to kick rocks.”
Only Mason smiles.
“That fucking cunt. I get a restraining order against her, so she reacts by going after Summer.” Hudson is vibrating under me. “You’re getting one, too. All of you are.”
I startle. “Don’t you think that’s a little much?”
“No.” Brooklyn, Maverick, and Hudson all chorus at the same time. Mason has leaned back against the couch and looks to be contemplating it. At least he’s back to thinking level-headedly. Though with all the others so firmly behind the restraining orders, I’m not sure his sensibility will sway anyone this time.
“I’ll call Renee.” Maverick’s phone is already back out and to his ear before he’s finished talking. He gets up, kisses Mason on the top of his head, and walks out of the room. Hudson, clearly still letting the nerves and stress eat at him, lifts me, kisses my head just as Maverick did to Mason, and follows after him.
“I’m calling Carl about the building’s security,” Brooklyn says, leaving the room as well. Carl, the building’s front desk security. Apparently, they’re on good enough terms that she’s got his number. The thought makes me snort. Not that he’s not a good man. I really like Carl. But I guess I’m finding the humor in all this that they are not.
Overprotective alphas. Can’t live with them, can’t live without them.
Mason and I watch all the alphas leave the room, taking the stress and tension with them. When I turn around, Wells is gone, too.
“Sooooo. Here we are. All alone… What are we going to do?” The flirting and teasing in his voice makes me laugh.
“Actually, I did want to ask you for something,” I put a seductive kind of purr in my voice, batting my eyelashes.
“Oh?” Mason’s grin is near-feral, and he leans forward again, intrigued.
I get up from the couch I shared with Hudson and walk around the coffee table separating us until I’m standing right in front of him. His hands come up and wrap around the backs of my thighs.
“Mmmhmm,” I hum, yelping a little when he pulls me down to straddle his thighs. My hands dart out and hold onto his shoulders to steady myself.
“And what does my mate want? Anything her heart desires.”
“Anything?” I purr, massaging my fingers into his shoulder-length blond hair, pulling a little to tilt his head up so his eyes meet mine.
