Chapter 1 #2
Finally. Someone who understands efficiency.
“Crowd control, primarily,” I tell him. “Last year we had a minor bottleneck at the entrance during peak arrivals. I’ve redesigned the flow pattern to prevent that, but I’d like at least two deputies on site for traffic management and general safety.”
“I’ll make sure we’ve got coverage.” He nods once. “Nate’s on duty that night anyway.”
Deputy Nate Thorn. Quiet, competent, doesn’t complain about my detailed instructions. I’ve worked with him on events before. He’s good people.
“Perfect. Thank you, Sheriff.” I make a note. “Now, regarding the ticket sales—”
My phone buzzes. Then buzzes again. And again.
I glance at the screen. Three texts from my venue coordinator at Pine Valley Lodge, the backup location I’d secured for a corporate retreat next month. The messages are in all caps, which is never good. PIPES BURST. FLOODING IN MAIN BALLROOM. NEED TO RESCHEDULE.
Oh, you have got to be kidding me.
“Is everything alright?” Elijah’s quiet voice cuts through my rising panic.
“Fine. Everything’s fine.” I’m already pulling up my calendar, mentally shuffling dates, calculating which vendors can be moved and which will charge cancellation fees. “Just a minor scheduling conflict that requires immediate attention.”
“You look pale,” Milo observes.
“I’m fine.” My fingers are flying across my phone screen, already pulling up backup venue options. “Just need to make a few calls and—”
The room’s starting to lose focus. People are checking their own phones, having side conversations, eyeing the exit. I’m losing them, and I still have fourteen items to cover.
I take a breath. Okay. Damage control mode.
“Okay.” I set my phone face-down on the table with deliberate care.
“I know everyone has places to be. Let’s table the detailed logistics for now.
Bottom line: Valentine’s fundraiser, four weeks out, bachelor auction plus dancing and refreshments.
I need volunteers for setup, decorating, and eight bachelors total.
We have two confirmed.” I glance at Milo and Elijah.
“Six more needed. Sign-up sheet is here on the table. Please add your name and contact information before you leave.”
I start packing up my materials with efficient movements—laptop in case, binder stacked on clipboard, pens clipped to the edge. My phone is buzzing non-stop now, the venue coordinator panicking, which means I need to panic-solve this before it becomes a real crisis.
“Tessa.” Maeve appears at my elbow with a small paper bag. “Take these.”
I glance inside. Chocolate chip cookies, still warm. “I don’t have time—”
“Make time.” She presses the bag into my hands. “And for god’s sake, refill your suppressants. You’re starting to smell stressed.”
My stomach drops. “I smell fine.”
“You smell like you haven’t slept in three days and you’re running on coffee and anxiety.” Her voice is kind but firm. “Take care of yourself, honey. These events will still be here tomorrow.”
She’s wrong. If I don’t handle this venue crisis immediately, the corporate retreat will fall apart, and my reputation will take a hit I can’t afford. But I nod anyway because arguing with Maeve never works. “Thank you for the cookies.”
“Mm-hmm.” She doesn’t look convinced. “I mean it about the suppressants.”
She walks away before I can respond, leaving me standing there with my carefully organized materials and my phone having a meltdown and the scent of lavender and citrus probably betraying exactly how frayed I’m feeling.
Across the room, Milo is watching me with an expression I can’t quite read. Elijah too, though his gaze is more guarded. Both of them alpha, both of them making my omega biology take notice despite the suppressants, and when did that stop working properly?
Suppressants. Maeve’s right. I need to refill my prescription before this gets worse.
I grab my things and head for the door, already mentally drafting the email to Pine Valley Lodge while simultaneously calculating which vendors I can call in favors from and wondering if I can fit a pharmacy run into tomorrow’s schedule between the florist meeting at nine and the caterer tasting at eleven.
The January air hits me like a slap when I step outside—cold and sharp and exactly what I need to clear my head.
Snow blankets the Town Hall parking lot, footprints and tire tracks crisscrossing the white.
My breath fogs in front of me as I pick my way carefully across the icy pavement.
Ben Wilson’s truck is gone, of course. Not that I care.
Ben Wilson and his inexplicable aversion to my clipboard aren’t my concern.
The way his scent lingers even after he’s left isn’t either.
Real problems need my attention. Flooded ballrooms. Missing volunteers. A pharmacy prescription I keep forgetting to refill. My phone buzzes again. Right. Venue crisis. That’s the priority.
I unlock my car—a sensible sedan with excellent gas mileage and zero personality—and climb in, cranking the heat immediately.
The windshield is frosted over and I let the defroster run while I dial the venue coordinator’s number.
The cookies Maeve gave me sit on the passenger seat, still warm through the paper bag.
My stomach growls. Later. I’ll eat later.
First, I save the corporate retreat. Then I finalize the Valentine’s fundraiser logistics. Then I tackle the seventeen other items on today’s to-do list. Then maybe—maybe—I’ll remember to take care of myself. But probably not.
The coordinator picks up on the first ring, voice frantic. “Tessa, thank god. It’s a disaster. The insurance company is saying—”
I put the phone on speaker and start the car, pulling up my backup venue spreadsheet on my tablet. “Take a breath. Tell me exactly what happened, and I’ll walk you through the solution. I’ve got contingency plans for this.”
Because I always have contingency plans.
Even if I can’t quite remember when I last ate a full meal, or slept more than four hours, or refilled the prescription that’s supposed to keep my omega biology from interfering with my carefully controlled life.
Even if my scent is apparently broadcasting “stressed and running on fumes” to every alpha in a ten-foot radius.
Even if Ben Wilson took one look at me and my clipboard and literally fled the building.
I’ve got contingency plans.
That’s what I do.
I plan. I organize. I control.
And I definitely, absolutely, do not think about the way three different alpha scents made me want to breathe deeper in that meeting room.
Because I don’t have time for that.
Work comes first. It always has.
And that’s exactly how I want it.
Probably.