Chapter Three
Frey
Plastering his best flirty smile on his face, Frey tugged on the hem of his pastel green fitted shirt that he’d left untucked over his forest green skinny legged slacks and walked towards Booker’s secretary.
He’d given himself a solid two hour talking to, while he’d formulated a plan. He was going to act like he usually did. It seemed to annoy Booker, so he’d lay it on thick. Then it would only be a matter of time before Booker would beg Hollis to switch Frey with one of the others. His smile dimmed a little, but his shoulders rolled as if he was preparing for a fight. In a way, he was because his secrets needed to remain just that. Booker, wanting him permanently, wasn’t ever going to be on the cards. The sinking feeling that came with a bout of nausea left him more conflicted but determined when no one wanted to be rejected because they…
“Morning Pam, is his graciousness in?” he greeted the secretary, with as much forced joviality as he could manage .
Pam was a rather frumpy looking woman who liked way too much floral for Frey, especially when she wore differing patterns that clashed horribly. The skirt, which had bold orange and purple hibiscus flowers on it, didn’t go with the black, yellow and white daisy top. For someone who worked for a company that was synonymous with high fashion, Pam went against the tide. A part of him cheered her on for being that way, while another part of him remained horrified by the fashion faux pas. Her smile, when she glanced up, made her blue eyes twinkle, revealing her amusement at Frey’s choice of name for Booker.
He wasn’t gracious. Grumpy suited better, but he wasn’t about to go around calling him grumpy pants. Which was often how Frey thought of Booker.
“Why, aren’t you looking bright and… green,” she said, her gaze skimming down and back up. Crinkles appeared at the sides of her eyes. “If you’re looking for Booker, he’s not here.”
One quick glance at his watch and Frey frowned. “It’s after nine.”
Pam’s flowery shoulders shrugged, and she flicked at her bangs. “He’s emailed to say he’d be working from home today.”
“Home?” Huh? What the hell was that about? How was Frey supposed to start initiating project ‘get Booker to off load him’ if he wasn’t even in the damn building?
“Yes. He told me he’s sent instructions for things he wants you to get started on. ”
“Has he now!” Frey snapped. His temper flared to life, which was a rare thing for him. He wasn’t going to be ignored. No siree!
Pam’s brows rose. “Erm… yes.” Something about her expression said he’d be the center of office gossip if he wasn’t careful. “Is there a problem, Frey?”
The head shake was immediate, Frey giving her an extra wide smile. “No, I’m just thinking while the bear’s away, the fox can play.”
“I wouldn’t let Hollis hear you saying that,” she said in warning.
“I was joking,” he explained quickly. Clearly Pam didn’t get the joke and took him literally. He made his excuse to return to his office via the coffee lounge to check what cake Monty, an otter who could out bake them all when he chose to, had made.
They had a rotation for baking, something that Lane Starling, the owner of the fashion business and his previous boss, had started a couple of years ago. At the same time, he’d also started a group chat on WhatsApp that was part cake chat and part vent. The vent part was usually about one of Lane’s eight sons, not that he seemed to mind. In fact, at times, Lane actively encouraged them.
In the beginning, everyone, including Frey, had been wary, but as the weeks and months slipped by they’d kind of forgotten—in the main—that Lane was related to the alphas they complained about.
Back in his office with a wedge of pecan pie, Frey kicked the door shut and went to his tidy desk. He opened the bottom drawer and pulled out the little cake fork he used when he ate at his desk. He didn’t like to get his fingers sticky. Placing the plate down next to his keyboard, the fork he sat next to the big slice of pie.
He went to the small cool box he kept a supply of soft drinks in and took out a bottle of Mountain Dew. He poured a drink into the glass he’d washed Friday evening and left on his desk, then he eyed his computer, ready to start.
Frey enjoyed the challenges of his work and, from a young age, became fascinated with how decisions got made around what ended up on the high street from fashion shows. For him, it had led to his choice of degree. He didn’t have any talent to create fashion, which was a minor disappointment he lived with when he got to work on bringing runway fashion to the everyday person on the street. Working with Booker would surely allow him to be a part of the process from beginning to end.
Then why are you thinking about sabotaging yourself?
Why do you have to be so sensible? It really wasn’t fair.
One of us has to be.
Frey switched on his computer and did what he usually did when his fox annoyed him with reason, shut him out.
The first email in his inbox was from Booker. He opened it.
Frey,
I’ve attached a list of projects I’m working on for the spring fashion show that Jup is planning to connect with the launch of the season's fashion accessories. The priority right now is what our Native American designer comes up with. Sourcing the materials and checking with our existing manufacturers, we need to see if they can produce the level of detail in the designs he's sending me this week, so we can figure out how to achieve them…
Frey read it through twice, making himself a priority list, intrigued at what the new designer was going to produce. Frey had only seen a couple of sample designs and he’d been majorly enthusiastic at thoughts of owning one of the pretty leather belts, or a pair of shoes with the design detail on the sides. A perk of the company was that they could get a discount on new fashion items and obtain them before anyone else.
When he finished, he was grinning with excitement. His plans to annoy Booker were forgotten amongst the challenge of helping the grumpy bear achieve his goals to make the Milan fashion show an absolute knockout.
“Yeah,” he called out absently at a tap on his door.
“You busy?” asked Bowie as he slipped into the room, looking utterly miserable.
Frey gave him a scrutinizing look and pushed the piece of pie, which he’d not yet touched, toward the edge of his desk where there was a spare seat. “You look like you need this.”
Bowie was an absolute sweetheart. He wasn’t trendy or kept up to date with what was happening in the world. He always appeared to be one step behind everyone, but he was good at what he did, despite that.
His sneakers dragged over the carpet and caught on the rug. Wide eyed, Frey jumped up and grabbed a hold of Bowie's arm before he ended up face planting the corner of the desk. “Bowie,” he exclaimed, his pulse getting some morning exercise it didn’t like.
“Sorry,” Bowie mumbled, looking close to tears.
“It’s okay,” Frey assured, tugging him down into the empty seat and shoving the plate into his hands, minus the fork. He didn’t like anyone licking at his things. “Want to tell me what’s got you upset?”
Frey perched his ass on the corner of his desk and stared at Bowie, who was looking at the plate he held. He shrugged his wide shoulders, then looked up at Frey from under his eyelashes. “I heard Kari and Kodi talking…”
The twin brothers looked a lot alike, but they had very differing personalities. Kodi was more of a hothead and Frey had witnessed on more than one occasion Kari work to contain his twin brother's volatile nature.
“Were they talking about us? Who Hollis assigned them?” It was a natural thought process when it was what everyone else was talking about.
A loud sniff and nod were Bowie’s answer. His big brown eyes gleaming with tears.
Frey sighed at the urge to go and kick an alpha in the butthole. He came off the desk and wrapped his arms as best as he could around Bowie’s broad shoulders, avoiding the plate he clung on to.
“What did they say?”
The tension that came from Bowie got Frey bracing. “Kodi said he felt sorry for Kari getting the dumb one.”
Frey jerked back, nearly knocking the plate out of Bowie’s hand in outrage. “He said that! ”
“Sort of,” he mumbled, picking up the pie and taking a huge bite.
Eyes narrowing on Bowie, Frey softly said, “Either he said it, or he didn’t?”
“He said I was always a step behind everyone,” he mumbled around the mouthful of pie. He swallowed thankfully because pecan pie in someone’s mouth did not look appetizing at all. “That makes me dumb.”
As the ‘a step behind everyone’ comment was kind of true, Frey considered how best to deal with the situation. He would never be cruel. He rubbed Bowie’s shoulder when he took another bite of the pie.
“You go at your pace, you always have. Answer me this, do you get the job done for the alphas in the allotted time frame?” He did. A plodder by nature, that worked for Bowie well enough. He never missed a detail.
His reply came in the form of a nod, thankfully keeping the pie to himself.
“There you go. How does that make you dumb? You’re thorough and definitely a details person. If you don’t keep step with others, is that wrong?”
Bowie stared at Frey, his head tilting to the side as he finished chewing on the pie. “I’ve never thought of it like that.”
Frey grinned, pleased to have helped. “Whatever works. No one way is right for everyone. Be you, Bowie. You’re absolutely adorable.” Frey came forward and kissed Bowie’s head.
He sniffed at it .
Bubblegum!
Bowie gave Frey an odd look and touched his head where Frey had been sniffing.
“Your hair smells of bubblegum!”
“It’s a new shampoo I found.” He clutched the plate in front of him. “Erm… you aren’t flirting with me, are you? I like you an all, but… you know… not like that.” He was bright pink by the time he’d finished and was back to staring at the plate of half eaten pie.
Frey ran a hand over the silky scented strands and teased, keeping a straight face. “Are you sure?”
At Bowie’s alarmed look, Frey gave in and laughed. “I’m joking. I like big, hot alphas.”
He lied… kind of.