Chapter 4
Presley
The helicopter landed.
It was a sleek, black beast that looked more like a weapon than a mode of transport. The blades kicked up a cyclone of dead leaves and gravel. They also rattled my caravan's thin aluminum walls until I thought the whole thing might tip over into the stream.
Five minutes later there was a knock at the door. Not a polite tap, but a heavy, rhythmic thud that made the entire frame shudder so hard it was going to collapse like a three legged chair.
“Just a minute.” I unraveled the wool from the door handle and pulled it open. Standing there was a man who looked like he’d been built out of bricks. He was enormous and filled the doorway with his too-wide shoulders and massive arms.
"Miss Prince?" he asked.
I stared at him.
He looked like an alpha. He was broad, intimidating, and stood like he owned the world. My nose twitched. He didn't smell of anything other than expensive laundry detergent and mint.
Maeve had told me I’d know an alpha when I met one.
Unique scents, Presley. If the alpha is perfect for you, the smell hits you like you’ve been punched in the guts and winded, and you’ll immediately want to drop your knickers.
If not, he’s probably a Beta.
This man was definitely a Beta. He didn’t look like one, but he smelled of one.
"That's me," I said. My fingers tightened around my borrowed backpack.
"I'm here to escort you to London. Please, follow me."
I turned back to the caravan. Mr. Cheddar sat on the table, eyes narrowed in judgment at the man. I dropped the bag and scooped him up for one last squeeze.
"Right, you," I whispered into his fur. "No breaking in while I'm gone. And no leaving me gifts. I mean it. If I come back to a field mouse in my bed, you’re banned from my home forever."
He’d left me three last week. One had been sitting on my cheek when I woke up, staring me in the eye. I’d nearly hit the ceiling.
I set him down, grabbed my bag, and stepped out into the gale.
The walk to the helicopter felt like a dream. I just hoped it didn’t turn into a nightmare. The man helped me into the cabin, and as I sat down, I gasped. I lifted my bottom up and down while checking the sensation.
"Is the seat…warm?"
"Heated seats, Miss Prince," the pilot replied as he buckled himself in.
As I settled back, a grin spread across my face despite my terror. "Heated seats. God, they really are rich. Forget the flying, this is the best bit."
The flight was a blur of gray clouds, and my stomach threatened to unload up my throat. When we finally landed hours later, it wasn't at an airport. It was on top of a building that pierced the sky like a needle.
Hastings Tower.
A woman in a navy dress met me on the roof. She didn't say much, just guided me into a private elevator that moved so fast my stomach stayed on the roof while the rest of me plummeted to the fourteenth floor.
She opened the door to a suite that was larger than the café.
"Mr. Hastings has arranged for your dinner to be sent up," she said. "The interview is at eight on the dot tomorrow morning. Use this fob and the elevator will take you directly to the thirty-fifth floor." She placed a circular disk on the side table by the door.
She left, and I just stood there and stared. The carpet was the color of cream and with each step my feet sunk into the softness. It was like I was walking on a sheep.
I strode to the floor-to-ceiling windows to see London sprawled below me. A sea of lights that blinked and pulsed like a living thing. Somewhere down there were people who belonged in places like this. People who knew which fork to use at dinner and didn't check price tags before ordering.
I caught my reflection in the dark glass.
Pale skin, blonde hair that desperately needed a trim, and eyes that looked too wide, too scared. My cardigan hung off one shoulder, the holes at the cuffs visible even in the dim light.
What was I doing here?
I turned away from the window and my gaze landed on my backpack. It sat on the cream carpet, battered and patched with duct tape where the zipper had broken. Inside was everything I needed. A change of underwear, my toothbrush, and the turkey baster Maeve had insisted I bring.
The turkey baster.
Oh God.
My chest tightened. I could leave. There had to be a train station nearby. I could walk there, explain to someone that I needed to get home, maybe beg for a ticket or…
No. I had no money. Not even enough for a coffee, let alone a train ticket back to Yorkshire.
I was trapped in a luxury hotel room and I didn't know what to do.
My hands shook as I grabbed my phone and called Maeve.
"Jeez, Presley. I've been having kittens here, worried that the helicopter would fall out of the sky."
"I'm fine. But Maeve!" I dropped onto the edge of the bed. "I can't do this. I don't belong here. Have you seen my reflection lately? I look like I've been dragged through a hedge backwards. And I brought a turkey baster. What kind of person brings a turkey baster to a job interview?"
"A prepared person," Maeve said. I could hear the smile in her voice.
"I'm serious! These people have heated seats in their helicopter. Heated. Seats. They probably eat gold for breakfast. I eat beans on toast and call it the meal of the day."
"Presley—"
"And tomorrow I have to sit in front of some posh alpha who sounds like he swallowed the Queen's English and convince him that I'm good enough to carry his baby. Me. The girl who lives in a tin can and can't afford new boots. Oh my God, he’s going to see my sole flapping when I walk in."
"Presley!" Maeve's voice cut through my spiral. "Stop it! Right now."
I sucked in a breath.
"You’re perfect for this job," she said, softer now. Her Irish accent was thick with emotion. "You're kind, you're healthy, and you're brave enough to get on a fecking helicopter for a chance at something better. That's more than most people would do."
"But—"
"No buts. Now listen to me. You're going to run yourself a bath. I’m sure it’s a big, fancy bath with all those wee bottles they leave out in fancy hotels.
Then you're going to find one of those free eye masks, stick it on your face, and get yourself ready to knock their socks clean off tomorrow. Yeah?"
I wiped my eyes. "Yeah."
"Good girl. And Presley?"
"Yeah?"
"You've got this. I know you do."
She hung up before I could argue.
My teeth dug into my bottom lip as I stared at the bed. There were piles of blankets of different fabrics. And I hadn’t yet counted the amount of pillows waiting for me to collapse on top of.
In the bathroom, I touched the fluffiest towels in the world before stripping off, and running a bath. It was a deep, freestanding tub with gold taps. I poured in half a bottle of something that smelled like jasmine and climbed in.
I soaked until my skin was pruned, and afterward I used some of every bottle of lotion and potion on the counter, saving the rest for Maeve. She was going to love it.
At eight pm, dinner arrived on a silver trolley.
The woman in the navy dress wheeled it in without a word, lifted the cloche, and revealed a plate of food I couldn't even name.
She told me it was lemon sole with some kind of seafoam on top.
There were also vegetables carved into tiny, identical cubes.
I stared at it.
"Is there... is there any ketchup?" I asked.
She blinked. "I can request some from the kitchen."
"Never mind," I rushed out. "I’m sure it will be lovely. Thank you."
She left, and I ate what I could identify. The fish was good, even if I had no idea what the seafoam was supposed to taste of. I saved the bread roll, wrapping it in a napkin and tucking it into my bag for later.
Old habits.
I stared at the enormous bed. Touching the fabric and imagining it was mine.
“It’s not a nest, Presley. It’s a hotel bed.”
I crawled over the sheets and rested my head on the pillows as I imagined inviting alphas into a nest like this…
“Stop it!”