Knot Her Shot (MVP: Most Valuable Pack Book 2)

Chapter 26

chapter

twenty-six

Within ten minutes,both of my hockey-playing alphas have enormous duffle bags of equipment slung over their shoulders as they head out the kitchen’s back door. They both pause, Damon kissing me in a way that should be illegal, and Cassian sweetly nuzzling my cheek.

But then they’re gone.

And I’m on the chopping block.

The door falls shut, and I startle, my features creasing as my eyes dart around the room. Smith misreads my terrified expression as judgment and shoots me a cool look. His shoulders tense and he jams his hands into his suit pants. “It’s fully functional,” he snaps, almost defensive.

The kitchen?

He thinks I don’t approve of the kitchen?

As if the rest of the house isn’t ten times worse.

It doesn’t make sense, based on what I’ve seen from him so far. Yes, he’s aloof; even a bit callous—but he appears extremely put-together and into appearances. Living in a half-finished house like this must be killing him.

So why hasn’t he done anything about it?

I bite my lip, considering the pack alpha and his snarling expression. The scent of coffee is thick in the room—in the whole house, really—but, at the moment, it’s less smooth-freshly-brewed and more pungent-over-roasted.

Stress. Which means, no matter how unaffected and detached he seems, this really is hard for him.

Maybe he’s embarrassed? I can’t say I’d blame him. This place is his responsibility, and he obviously isn’t managing it in the same obsessive way he manages his businesses.

Clearly, he has the money to do anything he wants. I suspect this doesn’t really have anything to do with funding. After all, I’m no millionaire, but I didn’t have roach remains on my floor. Or sawdust. Or—are those Cocoa Puffs?

Oh dear.

Somehow, while the others were here, I managed to block out the reality of just how bad this place is. It’s such a shame. Underneath all of this grime and indecision, the house’s bones are beautiful.

Maybe the alpha is the same way, my Omega whispers.

She’s been so sassy lately, especially about Smith. This softer tone gives me enough pause to gather my nerve. Eyes scanning over the room, I search for anything I could say to put him at ease. When my focus falls on the pristine, unpainted cabinets, I get an idea.

“Light blue.”

His jaw muscle ticks, as if speaking to me in a level tone is strenuous. “Excuse me?”

“For the cabinets,” I murmur, moving to hold the skirt of my soft blue sundress off to the side, giving him a visual of what the cabinets would look like if they were the same color. “With this white quartz? And maybe gold handles.”

Smith just… stares.

Geez. Why is he so rude?

Is it possible the scent tests and my Omega are wrong? He feels relatively safe—when he isn’t barking or drowning me in alpha dominance. But how could I have a mate who’s so cold and demanding? And how can I make him like me?

Besides, didn’t Damon say they were all waiting for me? And that’s why this place is in shambles?

Instead of backing down, I wait politely. He eventually narrows his eyes and walks over, staring down at the portion of my dress that’s pinched between my fingers and then over at the Calcutta Gold counter.

“Approved.”

My Omega instantly seethes. I know this asshole did not just?—

HUSH, YOU.

I swallow the unladylike urge to guffaw, returning his earlier words to him. “Excuse me?”

“I approve,” he clips, sliding his hand into his suit jacket. He extracts a flat billfold and pulls a credit card out of it. Instead of handing it to me—and, you know, having to touch me—he sets it on the quartz counter and steps back with a curt nod.

For a long moment, I’m baffled. Then, I see that the carbon-fiber card isn’t emblazoned with his name. It’s the pack’s.

Pierson Pack.

“I’ll call and add your name to the account this morning. The card has no limit.” He clears his throat, pulling at his sleeve cuffs. “Use it for whatever you need.”

I look down at it, trying to understand. Does he mean… different clothes? Because I’m holding my skirt up? Surely he can’t mean…

Do they even make credit cards that could pay for all the work this house needs? Should we be taking out a loan against our mortgage or?—

Oh.

They probably own it. And have enough money to pay for everything outright.

Smith must sense how foreign that concept is to me because he produces another card. Mallory Taylor.

“Miss Taylor does all of our property renovations at Pierson. She coordinates the contractors. Call her, and she’ll send over crews for anything you think the house needs. Give her the credit card info to pay for the materials, and the company will take care of labor costs.”

My head spins as I half-turn, taking in the enormity of the property and all the things it will need. A rude word climbs halfway up my throat before I stab it and swallow it down in a wad of dismay.

You have to prove yourself to this alpha somehow. Guess now’s your chance.

To call Smith’s tour “perfunctory”would be generous. He keeps his irritatingly handsome features set in a snarl the entire time, sloughing out one-word descriptions for each room we pass.

“Den.”

“Parlor.”

“Foyer.”

By the time we reach the second floor, I’ve tallied thirty-two things I need to attend to on the first level and ten are safety hazards. My sandals are pinching my toes, I’m slightly out of breath, and I almost tumbled right down the stairs when I slipped on one of the sanded, unfinished steps.

Turning on the landing, Smith casts me a scowl and opens his mouth before closing it again. He clears his throat—a gesture I’m learning to associate with him forcing himself not to bark at me.

I wonder whether he realizes that stopping himself doesn’t really help much. His waves of dominant force still wash over me, even when he makes himself choke down the command itself.

All he’s accomplishing is keeping me on edge. My Omega wants to obey as much as my pitiful heart wants to please, but neither of us have any clue what the order is.

“My room is at that end of the hall,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Cassian’s is the next door on the right, and Damon’s is here, at the top of the stairs.”

I follow his nods and then keep going, turning to the right stretch of the hallway and the double doors at the end that mirror the portal to his room. “What’s over here?”

He lets out a hard sigh. “The Omega Suite is at the end. The rest are guest rooms and a guest bathroom.”

The Omega Suite.

He moves in that direction and my heart somersaults. Will it have a nest? A bed big enough for Cassian or Damon to fit in it with me? Heck, I’d be thrilled with one that’s big enough for me, after sleeping on an extra-thin twin mattress for as long as I can remember.

But Smith stops in front of the last door on the left and knocks it open.

Inside, there’s an unfinished guest room, covered in a thin layer of dust. A new mattress, still in plastic, sits on a metal skeleton. There’s a dresser of some sort, though I can’t see it because of the tarp over it. Aside from the two square windows on either side, the room is utterly empty. Not a blanket or a pillow in sight.

“You’ll stay in here,” he says, looking around the room as if it’s the first time he’s really inspected it. “I have to get to the office now, but I’ll have the guys bring your things up as soon as they get home.”

My mouth drops open in shock. He isn’t even going to carry my boxes in for me? He’s leaving them outside?

Seeing my face, Smith frowns. “Of course, you’re welcome to unpack them yourself. Cassian left his keys for you. They’re on the kitchen island. I’ll have a set of house keys made for you at some point.”

At some point?

And he’s sticking me in here? A spare room that’s literally inches away from the suite he reserved for their chosen omega?

Everything inside of me sinks. I’ve been in this position before. Going home with a new family, hoping they’ll really invite me in… only to be given a cot in a corner or a sofa bed.

It isn’t so much the accommodations as what they say.

And this is the Pierson pack’s equivalent to a basement futon. It says, in a tone as clipped and cool as the alpha’s, “Don’t get comfortable.”

He must really hate me.

How long will he let me stay here? Can I possibly convince him to keep me?

Smith points at the one closed door in the room. My heart lifts, thinking that maybe I’ll at least get a temporary nest.

But he tilts his chin at it before turning to stride away. “Towels are in there.”