Chapter 3
ANITA
I’m still replaying the powdered sugar incident in my mind when I finally find the address of my apartment building.
The café is three blocks behind me now, and I’m pretty sure my face is still the color of a tomato. I can’t believe I sneezed on a gorgeous stranger, made him go viral, and then spent ten minutes staring at his Instagram profile like some kind of creep.
Things happen, right? That’s what normal people say. Things happen.
Except normal people don’t accidentally photograph hot strangers and turn them into internet sensations within the span of twenty minutes.
I hitch my backpack higher and drag my protesting suitcase over the cobblestones, squinting at the building numbers through the falling snow.
It’s darker now, the afternoon bleeding into evening, and the streetlights are flickering on one by one.
The mist has rolled in properly from the harbor, thick enough that I can barely see the water anymore.
Just gray pressing against gray, the world narrowing to this one street with its pastel buildings and glowing windows.
The address I’m looking for is painted on a building that matches the rest of the town’s aesthetic perfectly.
It’s three stories tall, narrow like its neighbors, and is a soft blue gray with white trim around the windows and door.
The roof peaks sharply, designed to shed snow.
The nautical vibe is strong here. There’s a ship’s wheel mounted decoratively beside the front door, white and weathered to look antique.
Rope details frame the entrance. Even the house numbers are done in a font that looks vaguely maritime.
It’s charming. Exactly the kind of place I’d choose if I were actually moving here instead of conducting a temporary investigation.
Someone is already at the front door.
A very large man.
He’s fiddling with the lock in a way that immediately sets off alarm bells.
He’s massive, easily six foot three or four, with shoulders broad enough to block most of the doorway.
Blond hair falls to his shoulders in loose waves and shifts in the wind, and he’s wearing a heavy black coat that makes him look even bigger.
His boots are serious, the kind designed for actual work, not fashion.
He looks intimidating, and he’s definitely trying to get into the building.
I slow down, gripping my suitcase handle tighter. The real estate agent is supposed to meet me here with a key. This guy doesn’t look like a real estate agent but someone who could bench-press a car.
Is he breaking in? Does he live here? Should I call someone?
Before I can decide, he turns around.
And I forget how to breathe.
Ice-blue eyes meet mine, so pale they’re almost startling against his tanned skin. His face is cleanly shaven, all strong angles and sharp lines, with a jaw that calls my attention. He’s beautiful in the way that glaciers are beautiful. Cold and stunning and vaguely dangerous.
Then he grins, and the whole effect shifts. Warmth floods those icy eyes, and suddenly he’s less an intimidating mountain and more an approachable human.
“Hey,” he says, stepping aside from the door. His voice is deep, serious, but there’s something underneath it. Amusement, maybe. “You want to go in?”
I shake my head, still trying to process the fact that this man exists. “I’m waiting to meet someone.”
He straightens, tilting his head slightly. “You’re Ash Monroe?”
My brain fuzzes.
The name that belongs to my fictional brother. Panic hits like ice water.
How does he know that name? Why does he think I’m Ash? Is my cover already blown? Did I mess something up? Oh God, what if he—
“Wait,” I say, forcing my brain to catch up. “You’re looking for Ash Monroe?”
“Yeah.” He’s studying me now, those blue eyes taking in my face, my luggage, my general state of being half frozen and confused. “The real estate agent said he’d be here this afternoon.”
Right. The apartment. I booked it under Ash Monroe because that’s my cover identity for the job at Wilde Charters. A Beta male named Ash who’s coming to work in their marketing department. Not Anita.
Pull it together.
I laugh, and it comes out slightly breathless. “Oh! No, that’s my brother. He’s coming first thing in the morning. I’m just checking into our apartment early. Getting settled in.”
I’m talking too much. I can hear myself breathing heavily.
Stop talking. You sound suspicious and like someone who’s lying, because you are lying, so maybe stop making it obvious.
The man just watches me, and then he grins again. It’s devastating. “Got it. Makes sense.”
Does it really? Because I feel like I just word-vomited all over this interaction.
He extends a hand. “I’m Jasper Lawson. I own the property.”
I shake his hand, and the moment our palms touch, something electric shoots up my arm. His hand is huge, warm despite the cold. He holds my hand just a fraction longer than necessary, and I watch his eyes flicker to my mouth and back.
“Anita,” I manage. “Anita Monroe. Ash’s sister.”
“Nice to meet you, Anita.” The way he says my name does something to my nervous system. “Welcome to Mistberry.”
“Thanks. I just got here, actually. Had the best coffee at this café down the street and now I’m ready to warm up because it is freezing out here.” I’m babbling again.
He chuckles, a low sound that rumbles from his chest. “Nina makes the best coffee in town. And everything else, honestly.”
“I had beignets,” I say. “I think I might have a problem now.”
“Everyone who tries those has a problem after. It’s a town epidemic.” He glances at my luggage, then back at me. “How long are you staying?”
“Not sure yet. Helping Ash get settled with his new job, and I work remotely.”
“You’ll like it here.” He gestures at the building. “This is a good spot. Close to everything, nice view of the harbor.”
“It looks perfect,” I say honestly. “I can’t wait to see inside.”
He grimaces slightly, glancing back at the door.
“Yeah, about that. I was trying to get in to check everything before you arrived, but my keys aren’t working.
” He pulls out his phone, scrolling through contacts.
“The real estate agent was supposed to leave a set of keys for you inside, and I was supposed to get the new keys, but…” He trails off, pressing the phone to his ear.
I stand there, awkwardly holding my suitcase.
“Hey, it’s Jasper… Yeah, I’m at the property with the new tenant…
Uh-huh… No, the keys don’t work… When were you going to mention that?
Right, the new security system, I got that part, but…
” He pauses, listening. “So you’re telling me the only keys are inside?
That’s not ideal… All right, yeah, I’ll figure it out. Thanks.”
He hangs up and looks at me with an expression that’s half apologetic, half amused. “Good news is your keys are inside on the table. Bad news is we need to get inside to get them.”
Before I can ask what the plan is, the wind shifts.
And his scent hits me.
Sandalwood. Pine. Molasses.
It’s deep and rich and absolutely intoxicating. My knees weaken.
I’ve been around Alphas before. Lots of them. I know what they smell like, how my body reacts to the pheromones. It’s biology. Unavoidable.
But this is different.
This isn’t just my body recognizing an Alpha. This is something deeper that curls low in my stomach and wraps around my spine and has every nerve ending suddenly very aware of how close he’s standing.
I grip my suitcase handle harder, trying to ground myself.
He doesn’t seem to be reacting the same way to me. He’s not leaning in, not showing any signs of being affected by my scent. Which is probably for the best, because I’m supposed to be professional and focused and definitely not swooning over my landlord.
But damn. My knees are wobbling from his scent alone. I bet he has women fawning over him everywhere he goes. Probably has to beat them off with a stick.
Jasper steps up to the intercom panel beside the door and presses the button for apartment two.
There’s a pause, then a female voice crackles through the speaker. “Yeah?”
“Hey, Sandy, it’s Jasper.”
Silence at first. “What do you want?” The temperature in her voice could freeze the harbor solid.
Jasper shifts his weight, and I catch what might be a grimace crossing his face. “I need to get into the building. I’ve got a tenant here, and the keys aren’t working.”
“Oh, you need something?” Her laugh is sharp. “That’s rich. You ghosted me, remember? Two weeks of silence. And now you show up and want a favor?”
I raise an eyebrow. This is getting interesting.
Jasper glances at me, and there’s something almost sheepish in his expression. He mouths, Sorry, before turning back to the intercom.
“Look, I know things ended badly, but this isn’t about that. I’ve got someone here who needs to get to her apartment. Can you just buzz us in? Please?”
“So you can, what, come upstairs after and try to sweet-talk me? Fuck you, Jasper. You ghosted me.”
Ouch.
I’m trying very hard not to look like I’m listening to every word of this increasingly awkward conversation, but there’s nowhere else to look. The street is empty. The snow is falling. And I’m standing two feet away from a very large Alpha who apparently has some relationship baggage.
“Sandy,” Jasper states, his voice careful. Patient.
Another pause.
Then a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. But you owe me.”
“Thank you, Sandy.”
“Don’t thank me. Just leave.”
The door buzzes loudly, and Jasper immediately pushes it open, holding it for me with one hand.
“After you,” he says, like the last sixty seconds didn’t just happen.
I grab my suitcase and step inside, into a small entryway with mailboxes on one wall and stairs leading up. It’s warm in here, thank God, and my fingers are starting to thaw.
Jasper follows me in, letting the door close behind us. He reaches for my suitcase. “Here, let me get that.”
“I’ve got it,” I start to say, but he’s already taking it from me.