Chapter 7
SEVEN
TRINITY
I slump into the heart-shaped chair, trying not to grimace at the aggressively cutesy decor of Elite Comfort Service’s meeting space. Walls painted pastel pink with purple trim remind me of a dessert shop, not a professional matchmaking agency.
Pictures of puppies and kittens stare at me from every wall—which I suppose is marginally better than hanging up Anne Geddes baby prints and stock photos of weddings. That would be too on the nose, even for this place.
I drum my fingers against the table, checking my watch for the fifth time in as many minutes.
I’ve already sat through multiple disastrous interviews today with both packs and individual alphas.
One alpha actually picked his teeth with his business card after explaining that he expected even his pretend omega to cook dinner every night, regardless of whether she works full time.
An opinion that he refused to compromise on despite being between jobs himself.
One more like that, and I am officially giving up .
It’s not that I’m looking for my perfect scent-match, not that I’d ever even find them while swimming in suppressants.
I stopped believing in fairy tales around the same time I realized Santa Claus wasn’t real.
But is it too much to ask for an alpha who can string together a coherent sentence?
Who doesn’t view women as walking incubators?
Who might actually convince Egret and his cronies that I’ve moved on with someone worthwhile?
I know good alphas are out there, my step-fathers are a testament to that. But the chances of finding some for myself, even just for a week, seems less and less likely with each passing interview.
The door opens and a familiar face appears. Amara glides in with the effortless elegance that seems standard issue for professional matchmakers. Her silk blouse is tucked into a pencil skirt that highlights a figure I’d be proud to have at her age.
“Ms. Jones,” she says, her voice professional but also warm. “Just checking in. I assume that last pack wasn’t quite up to snuff, either. They seemed eager to leave when I passed in the hallway.”
The pack that hadn’t bothered to shower before coming here after working all day sweating under the sun and clearly stopped by a bar for happy hour beers before our appointment. Then loudly proclaimed that any omega who smells as good as I do should spend her whole life pregnant.
Not to be elitist, but drunk and rowdy isn’t going to be an acceptable vibe for a place like Heat Island. Plus, I need Egret and the others to be convinced I’ve moved on, not laughing at me behind my back because my supposed mates spent the entire week at the lobby bar watching SportsCenter .
“I want to apologize for the quality of today’s candidates,” Amara continues with an understanding smile. “I assure you, they’re not representative of our usual caliber. But this shortened timeline does represent a bit of a scramble.”
I swallow a snort. What she means is: take what you can get, sweetheart , just said with slightly more professionalism. The only minimally acceptable alphas I’ve met so far hadn’t been willing to consider a pack arrangement, even just to pretend.
“I understand,” I say, gathering my purse.
Since I’ve already interviewed every alpha listed in the prospectus she emailed me yesterday, I assume that she’s here to tell me we’re done for the day.
“I appreciate your time and effort. If there are any changes to your roster in the next week, please let me know?—”
“Wait,” Amara interrupts as I half-rise from the table. “We’ve actually had a last-minute addition. If you have the time to meet them, of course.”
“Them?” I pause, hand still on my bag. “A pack? As in multiple alphas?”
She nods, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “Two alphas and a beta, to be exact. I’ll be honest and admit this is their first contact with the agency. But I’ve explained the details of the arrangement you need, and they seem quite motivated.”
Hope flutters in my chest before I ruthlessly squash it. “What’s wrong with them?”
Amara’s eyebrows rise slightly. “I beg your pardon?”
“A new pack suddenly available and willing to sign up for an escort arrangement? There must be something wrong with them. Are they convicted felons? Unemployed? Living in one of their mother’s basement? Divorce from their last omega only just finalized this week?”
She laughs, the sound musical and genuine. “Nothing like that, I assure you. They’re quite...exceptional. But I understand if you’re tired and would prefer to decline the interview. No pressure at all.”
I should leave. I should thank her politely and walk out that door.
I’ve already wasted an entire morning meeting men who make my least favorite sex toy seem intellectually stimulating by comparison.
Maybe if I lay the groundwork now with some physical complaints and forged doctor’s notes, I can convince Josephine that I’ve contracted the pneumonic plague just in time to miss the wedding.
And let her be disappointed and worried about me on the most important day of my life.
With the even less pleasant alternative of showing up at Heat Island alone, facing my three exes without backup or even a distraction from the humiliation.
The wedding is in less than a week, I don’t have any time left to be choosy.
“Fine,” I sigh, dropping back into the heart-shaped chair. “Send them in. But if even one of them asks when I’ll be in my next fertility window, we’ll be finished before you get back to your office.”
Amara’s smile widens. “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised. The best matches always come when we least expect them.”
The cryptic comment hangs in the air as she disappears, leaving me alone with my thoughts and a room full of babies and puppies staring at me mockingly from their overly ornate frames.
I straighten my blouse and run a hand through my hair, wondering what fresh hell awaits me on the other side of that door. At this point, three wooden carvings in the vague shape of men would be preferable to the alphas I’ve interviewed today.
The door swings open, and my jaw nearly hits the floor.
Matheo—the photographer from the gallery, the one who I smacked in the face with a door—walks in with two other men trailing behind him. His dark eyes find mine immediately, and a wide smile immediately spreads on his lips.
“Trinity,” he says, voice deep and smooth. “Nice to see you again. With no doors between us this time.”
I straighten in my chair, trying to process this unexpected development. “What are you…I mean, hi. This is... surprising.”
“A pleasant surprise, I hope.” He gestures to his companions as they all sit down. “This is Cash Matthews and Lucas Ortiz. My pack.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Your pack? You didn’t mention having a pack when we met. Were they at the exhibition?”
Cash—the leaner one with auburn hair and intelligent gray eyes behind thin glasses, who has to be the beta—extends his hand. His handshake is firm, professional. “Scheduling conflicts. We’re all too busy to travel as a unit. Though I’m sorry we missed the chance to meet you.”
“We barely met,” I say quickly, hiding my blush by taking a large gulp of my lukewarm tea. “I was there for business, not pleasure. By the way, congratulations are in order. The show was incredible. Those wildlife shots were breathtaking. I think I heard that every single piece was sold.”
“Thank you,” Matheo says with a self-effacing shrug
Lucas tilts his head. “Wait, what show?—”
“The gallery exhibition,” Matheo interrupts, shooting Lucas a look that could melt steel. “Remember? I told you about it.”
“Right,” Lucas says slowly. “The...gallery thing.”
I shoot a confused glance between them, but Cash distracts me by shifting his chair closer and leaning in conspiratorially.
“Like I was saying, we lead very individual lives. It’s just what happens when everyone is working hard.
I’m in tech leadership, Lucas is focused on home and community projects, and Matheo here—” Cash’s eyes sparkle with something like suppressed amusement “—just retired from his software development career to focus on his art.”
“Retired?” I ask, studying Matheo with renewed interest. The man is obviously still on the right side of forty with vitality to match. “You must have been successful.”
Matheo shrugs, suddenly fascinated by the edge of the table. “I just developed some apps. Got lucky with one of them. Nothing special.”
Cash coughs into his hand, clearly hiding a smile. Something’s off about this story, but I can’t quite place what.
“We’re at a point where we’re looking to settle down,” Cash continues. “Especially now that Matheo has more time.”
I can’t believe I’m saying it because these guys are exactly what I need—attractive, personable, sane— but better to ruin things now before I get too attached. “You know I’m only looking for a temporary arrangement, right?”
“Of course,” Matheo says smoothly. “We’re happy to help. And this is a good way for us to figure out our own dynamic as a pack now that our lives are starting to settle down.”
“So this arrangement would be practice for you?” I ask, unable to hide my skepticism. This sounds perfect—too good to be true. So, of course, I don’t trust it.
Matheo leans forward, his dark eyes intense. “Exactly. And from what the agency told us, you need a convincing pack for a week at a luxury resort. Seems mutually beneficial.”
“Can we ask why?” Lucas asks, ignoring Matheo’s unsubtle elbow to his ribs as he studies me. “The agency just said you need us for a wedding, but didn’t give any more details.”
It hadn’t been my plan to reveal everything at the first meeting, mostly because I assumed any sane pack would run for the hills when they heard my crazy explanation for all this.
But I like these men. And it isn’t as if they won’t learn the whole truth, eventually.