3. HEATHER
Chapter 3
HEATHER
It’s another beautiful day in this small town, and I don’t even care that everything is a little predictable.
Okay, it’s a lot predictable. But it’s safe. I know what to expect. I know who’s around me and what their intentions are, for the most part. It’s been five years, and I’ve settled in.
People here know me and care about me. After what happened at home, that’s more than I ever thought I’d have again.
I walk to work, and my “everything is safe and predictable” mood shatters when I see both Jessie and Gretta’s cars in the lot. What are they doing here this early? What am I about to walk into?
A feeling of dread starts to build in my chest. Am I about to be fired? When I get inside, I can hear Jessie and Gretta talking in loud and animated voices in the back, but I can’t tell if they’re angry or not.
I head to the back, and I hear Jessie mention that she can’t believe something. Then they’re laughing, I think. Are they laughing? I really hope this isn’t about me. I’m treading softly, making as little noise as possible. They don’t know that I have wolf agility, and I don’t think they’re looking for me.
Fuck, Jessie sees me, and she’s coming to the door.
“Heather, is that you?”
I give her a nervous smile and peek out from behind the corner I’d tried to hide in.
“Oh, come on, you're gonna love this!”
She takes my hand and pulls me into the studio room, where we work on our projects. The dress I’d finished yesterday is sitting there on the form in all its glory. Jessie is studying it, and I feel like the look on her face is one of admiration.
“You’re never going to guess what just happened?”
Gretta is giddy, and I’m so weirded out. I’ve never seen her like this.
“Oh, wipe that look off your face. This is exciting!” She claps her hands together.
“Okay, what happened? You two look like you won the lottery or something.”
“Well, we kinda did,” Jessie turns around with a grin.
“What are you talking about? Spit it out,” I demand.
“Our sister shop in New York City called in an order for their most high-profile client!” Gretta practically squeals out the news.
I feel the blood drain from my face, and my knees fall out from under me. I land in a chair, but I don’t know where it came from. Jessie is talking to me, and the words sound like they’re coming from underwater.
She said “New York City,” didn't she? How is this happening? Is the shop near Greenwich Village? If we have a client from there—if they see me—the wolves will find me. I’ll be dead. Well, that won’t happen. I’m just a hired hand. Jessie will go herself. I’m sure of it.
“You’ll have to go there and meet the client, then.”
I snap back to the conversation. What the fuck is Jessie talking about?
“Wait, what? Go where?”
“To New York City.” Gretta looks at me like I have three heads.
“Me? Why do you need me to go? Shouldn’t you go, Jessie, you’re the owner?” I turn to Gretta. “Or you? You’re the head seamstress. I’m barely more than an intern.”
Jessie sighs. “Heather, most of the new designs are yours and everyone knows it. I told this client I’d send our best, and that’s you. Gretta couldn’t go anyway. She has that blood pressure issue, and flying would be a problem.”
Fuuuuuuuuuuck.
“I can’t go back there,” I say, barely above a whisper.
“What? Speak up,” Jessie is starting to sound annoyed.
“I can’t go,” I repeat with more conviction.
“You have to go. I’ve already booked your flight and told them to expect our seamstress later tonight. Go home and pack. I have the key to your place, and I can take in your mail and everything. Pack for a long trip. The wedding is in three months, and they’ll probably want you to stay.”
“Three months?!” I swallow hard.
“Yes, did you have other plans?” Jessie raises her eyebrows at me.
I can’t imagine anything that will get me out of this. I can’t explain wolf politics to them. They wouldn’t understand exile, and I can’t talk about the laws that got me kicked out of the city in the first place. But if the alpha finds out I’m there, I’m dead. There’s no way around that, either.
To make matters worse, I can feel my claws coming out, stabbing me in the heels of my hands as they’re balled into fists.
I can feel hair bubbling under my shirt, and my ears start to point. I take a deep breath, ignoring Jessie and Gretta yelling at me and asking what’s wrong.
They know about the existence of wolves, but they don’t know about me. I can’t let them find out that I’m in exile—that I’ve kept my wolf hidden from them all this time.
I calm down, and my claws retract. I feel my ears return to normal—thankfully hidden beneath my mess of brown waves—and Jessie and Gretta’s voices become clearer.
“Are you okay?” Gretta asks. I can tell it’s not the first time.
“I’m fine, just excited.”
They’re not buying it.
“Aren’t you from Greenwich Village, in the city?” Jessie asks. “I’d think you’d be excited to see your people and your hometown.”
Greenwich Village . Of course, it had to be there. “I am. I’m nervous, too, though. I mean, this client is important, right?”
I’d been so wrapped up in my panic that I hadn’t even heard the client’s name.
“Violet,” Jessie supplies.
“Right, Violet. If she can afford all of this—a seamstress onsite for three months—she has to be important.”
Jessie nods and continues to explain the arrangements. Her sister, Marly, owns the sister store, and she will pick me up when I land. She’ll set me up at the shop and arrange my accommodations, and then I can meet the client.
“One more thing,” I chime in with a sudden idea. “I should stay at the shop if that’s possible, and no one but the client should be allowed in. You said she wants an exclusive design based on my signature beading style. I think that should be kept a secret, don’t you?”
“Yes!” Jessie loves the idea instantly. “I can play up the exclusivity of the design, and then when it’s revealed at the wedding, it’ll be even more anticipated. Heather, I want you to take credit for this one.”
I’m floored. I can’t believe Jessie would give up credit for anything. I put up my hands.
“No, Jessie, I can’t. It’s your name that got us the account.”
“And your design. She wants your specific signature technique. We wouldn’t have gotten the account without you. Your name should be on it.”
I’m feeling dizzy again. I never wanted to be famous. That’s totally the last thing I need.
“How about we settle this later? After we see how the client likes the design.”
“Okay.” she gives me one of those looks of hers like she knows she’s going to get her way regardless. “Now, off you go. Pack up and be ready to head to the airport by noon. Your flight leaves at 1:30.”
Holy shit. This is really happening. I’m going home. I’m putting my whole fucking life in danger for a dress design. I should run when I get back to my apartment. But where will I go?
I don’t have anything prepared, and Jessie’ll send the police after me—thinking I’ve gone missing. And this will just draw attention to The Alpha, who will definitely find me if Jessie makes a literal federal case out of it.
If I do this and stay in the shop and only see the client….it could work. I might get away with it. But if the cops come after me, that sort of exposure isn’t going to help.
As I walk home and start packing, all these options volley in my head. I hesitate at the sight of the photos of my parents on my dresser. If I pack them and someone finds them, they might recognize my parents and then turn me in.
But I can’t imagine not seeing their faces for three months. I already can’t see them in person. I pack the photos and leave behind the latest dress I’ve been working on, still on the form in my dining room. Hopefully, I live to return and finish it.
I walk around leaving little notes on things—instructions for my plants, things that are about to go bad in the fridge and need to be tossed or eaten, a request to sort the mail on the dining room table, whatever I think Jessie might need to know while I’m away.
Jessie graciously agreed to waive my rent while I’m gone. The shop is making more than enough off this client to make up for it. I look around at this cottage I’ve called home for the past five years and think about the life I’ve built that I was just admiring this morning.
That seems like it was ages ago.
When I walk outside, Jessie is already there in her black sedan. I put my bags in the trunk and get in on the passenger side.
“You ready?” She smiles at me enthusiastically.
“As ready as I can be.” I look ahead.
With a happy nod, she puts the car in drive, and we head off. At the airport, an attendant gathers my bags out of the car. Apparently, the client had told Jessie to book me in first class. Violet . That name sounds familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it. Not a lot of people are named “Violet.”
I’ve never flown first class, and I couldn’t tell you what it was like because the entire trip went by in a blur. I know someone handed me a glass of champagne at one point, and I drank it way too quickly.
I don’t know what this feeling is, but I know it’s taking over. Is it terror? Anxiety? I really hope it subsides before I have to meet this client in a couple of hours.
I can tell who Marly is as soon as I see her at baggage claim. She looks like a slightly older version of Jessie.
She’s prattling on as we walk to the parking lot and get into her car. I barely register what she says and she doesn’t pause long enough for me to get a word in anyway.
We get to her shop, and she starts showing me around. No one else is here, and I feel a tiny bit of relief that we drove in her car instead of taking a train from the airport—less chance of someone recognizing me.
Marly gives me a tour of the bathroom, the break room, the sewing room, and the display area where the client can try on the dress in front of mirrors on a platform.
I put my bags in the break room and ask Marly where to set up to talk to the client and when she’ll arrive. Marly waves her arm at a table near the back, which has catalogs strewn atop it and fabric swatches falling to the floor.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” She starts tidying up.
“It’s fine,” I tell her, “Really, I can do this.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course. Like I said, I prefer privacy. You can head out. I’ll meet with the client and then give Jessie a call and tell her how everything went.”
“Oh, I already texted her that you got here okay.”
“Perfect. Thank you so much for letting me use your shop like this.”
“The pleasure is all mine. I can’t believe Violet Hanover wanted you to make her dress and that you’ve been working for Jessie! My own sister is going to be responsible for a Hanover wedding!”
My blood runs cold. Terror seizes me.
“Are you okay?” Marly looks at me with concern.
“I’m totally fine, really. I’ll see you around, okay?”
I’m trying not to let my panic show—at least, not until Marly leaves and I hear the door close. Then, I run to the bathroom. Everything I’ve eaten today, including the champagne, comes up. I start shaking.
She said Hanover. Fucking HANOVER.
The Alpha is a Hanover. Violet must be related to him. I hurry to the file I hadn’t read earlier on my tablet and almost drop the whole device when I read the details.
Bride: Violet Hanover
Father of the Bride: Richard Hanover
Brother: Trey Hanover
Bridal Party: TBD
I have to keep it together. This woman is going to be here any minute. The Alpha’s fucking daughter. How am I going to do this? I have to at least meet her right now to keep up the pretenses. I don’t have time to run. I have to think. They’ll find me unless I have a plan.
I hear the door open, and I sit down at the back table to wait for Violet. I hear her heels clicking on the floor, getting closer. When she appears in the doorway, she is the picture of femininity.
She looks like a member of the Alpha’s family. If I hadn’t already known, I’d have been able to tell by her smell and attire. Both aristocratic.
She’s wearing a dusty pink skirt suit with a ruffled rose pink blouse underneath, matching shoes, and a designer bag. Her makeup is perfect. Her hair, a darker brown than mine, is shiny and twisted into a chignon at the back of her neck.
I instantly feel like hot mess in my leggings and tank dress. My hair is probably still frizzy from the plane and me constantly running my fingers through it.
She puts a hand out. “Hello, I’m Violet Hanover. I thought I was meeting Jessie.”
Wow, she doesn’t miss a beat. I hope she doesn’t end up disappointed. I’m already dealing with the terror of my identity being discovered.
I take her hand in a firm shake. “No, Jessie sent me. The design you wanted is one of my signature pieces. I’m the tailor who does all the intricate beading.”
Her eyebrows hiked in delight. “Then you’re the one I want.”
She sits down across from me and takes a folder out of her purse.
“I brought some inspo photos. I wanted to have the visuals here instead of on a screen. I’m okay with you emailing me, but I want to see pencil-on-paper sketches, too. Is that something you can do?”
I think I’m in the clear on the recognition-as-an-exile front, so I take my seat.
“Absolutely, yes. I always do paper and pencil sketches to start so I can scan them in for you, or you can come see them in person.”
“You can scan them in unless I tell you I’m coming down.”
“Right, okay, so let’s take a look at these inspo photos.”
We get into it about her exact specifications. This is the part I love, and I try to let the rest go and concentrate on the dress. She’s on her phone a lot, too.
She says she’s talking to her fiancé, but she doesn’t want him seeing the dress. After about an hour and a half, she’s looking around behind her.
“Are you expecting your fiancé to come in? I can hide these inspo photos.”
“No,” she says, still twisted around in her seat, “I’m waiting for my brother. He’s my ride.”
“Your brother?”
“Yeah, is that okay?” It was a challenge more than a question.
“Well, I was told I’d only be seeing you and that this design would be top secret.”
Violet waves her hand at me, “He’s fine. He won’t say anything, don’t worry. He knows nothing about haute couture, anyway.”
The panic builds again as I hear the door open and heavy footfalls head toward us. The dark-haired man who fills the doorway a moment later blocks out half the light. When he lays eyes on me, he sniffs the air.
He knows. He fucking knows.
In the next second, he has me by my throat and up against the wall. Violet is screaming at him to let me go. I see his fangs protrude, and his claws pin me to the wall.
I can barely breathe. I didn’t think it would take this long for someone to discover me. I thought I’d have more time to plan an escape.
I guess not. Tears start falling down my cheeks as I realize that these are about to be my last moments on earth.