Thirty-One – Morgan
Thirty-One
Morgan
P ack Redmond’s housewarming was an undeniable success. A spread of picture-perfect food spanned the length of the dining table, while craft beer and bottles of wine chilled in antique bronze buckets of ice on the kitchen island. Floral arrangements and a few scent-cancelling candles were thoughtfully placed throughout the first floor, completing the polished atmosphere.
Sure, the buckets were some of Kelsey’s photography props, and the candles and vases were Beaufeather’s products, but the place looked great. And if Rory’s third pass at the food table was any indication, it could rival even Jacobi’s swankiest affairs.
“Hurry, take your contraband,” Rory said, sliding two pieces of spicy pepper bruschetta onto my plate before slipping away. He seamlessly rejoined whatever conversation he’d been having with Alijah’s communications co-workers, picking up right where he left off.
Piper followed suit a few moments later, handing over some bacon-wrapped jalapeno poppers and a shrimp cocktail. Her sequined shift dress, however, made any attempts at subterfuge impossible. But I’d already decided to ignoreKelsey’s disapproving frowns. My reward for prolonged socialization tonight was copious amounts of spicy food—inevitable headache be damned.
“I love it when Kels shows off,” Piper said, digging into a crab cake. “Do you think there’ll be any leftovers? She never makes these anymore.”
“I doubt it. ”
A fresh wave of guests arrived, escorted upstairs by a security guard—a courtesy I’d arranged. It was meant to be a neighborly apology, but I also selfishly wanted to avoid the relentless buzz of the intercom adding to the crowd noise. My head could only take so much.
“Oh well. Guess I’ll have to eat a few more while they last.” The smokey eye Piper spent half an hour perfecting in my bathroom amplified every mischievous thought in her pretty little head. “Even if the food runs out, you’ll still look good.”
As if I’d had any choice but to surrender myself to her ministrations. Not that I disagreed with Piper’s selection—a crisp oversized white button-down shirt and fitted black pants, paired with her early birthday gift to me—geometric silver earrings and a matching pendant. It was the whole face of makeup I’d balked at. But when Piper insists a moody berry lipstick will “complete the look,” who am I to refuse?
The front door opened again, and a momentary hush fell over the party as Tabitha Redmond made her entrance. Wyatt eased up onto his toes to kiss his aunt’s cheek before taking her coat.
Tabitha was fully leaning into the artist’s retreat aesthetic tonight, draped in a flowing embroidered caftan and oodles of chunky gemstone jewelry that made her turquoise glasses pop.
Owen approached, offering her a glass of white wine and a pair of air kisses. She asked him something, and his reply came with a sharp turn of his head, his gaze veering across the living room.
His intense stare pinned me in place—like a prize specimen—as he murmured a reply to his aunt.
Why me?
Tabitha observed his line of sight, nodded, and glided into the dining room, trailed by four older women in similarly eclectic outfits. Each wore a statement piece of jewelry larger and bolder than the last, their vibrant energy radiating through the room, with a subdued Wyatt bringing up the rear.
His collarless blue chambray shirt may as well have been painted on, perfectly outlining the powerful musculature underneath. As handsome as ever, but his expression was pinched, and his mannerisms unusually reserved—even for Wyatt.
Were the scent blockers Cal prescribed giving him side effects? At least they seemed to be working. The lack of reaction from the partygoers was proof enough.
Joaquin sidled up, wearing an olive shirt, sleeves rolled back to reveal the lean muscles of his tattooed forearms and a leather cuff on his left wrist. He’d gotten a haircut in the few days since I’d last seen himand tidied up his beard, giving his unique features a charming sleekness.
Thankfully, he hadn’t ditched his nose ring and wallet chain for the evening. Turned out I liked Joaquin better with a bit of an edge.
“They’re a bunch of pussycats once you get to know them. But keep an eye out for Ethel.” He pointed his beer toward the wiry redhead at the back of Tabitha’s pack, who was giving a visibly perplexed Wyatta detailed cocktail order. “She cheats at poker.”
“Robbed you blind?” Piper teased.
“Every time. I could probably pay off my student loans with the amount she’s swindled out of me.”
Piper pulled a face. “Then stop playing with her, you idiot.”
“It makes her happy.” Joaquin shrugged, taking a swig of beer. “And helps keep the peace during holidays.”
He and I exchanged a knowing glance. Tabitha had insisted on being a stabilizing force in her nephews’ childhoods, regularly flying out to Arizona to join them for birthdays and holidays. The fact that the tradition had continued and expanded to include Owen’s packmates made me appreciate her efforts even more.
“Your loss then,” Piper said with a wave as she flounced off.
She joined the small group gathered around the bookshelves, admiring Alijah’s framed photographs. They called him over to explain how he’d captured a particular shot at the ballet, and he responded with a beaming smile.
I tried not to be envious. Besides a polite nod when I arrived, he hadn’t talked to me once all evening. Was he still upset about the neighbor thing?
“Are we good?” I couldn’t help but ask Joaquin in a low voice.
Resting his elbow on the mantlepiece, Joaquin tilted his head toward me and leaned closer, though his focus never left his mate.
“Yes and no. I get it. But Alijah… He has hang-ups. Insecurities. Big ones. And a lot of them have to do with money.”
The insight into Alijah’s behavior was both helpful and aggravating.
“He thinks less of himself?”
Joaquin nodded, taking another sip of beer. “Mhm.”
“But that’s not… It’s mostly my settlement money.”
“I know, Morgan.” Joaquin turned toward me, inching a bit closer. “Did some research on your company—and I’ve read up on you. I know that you’ve had to struggle to get here.” His fingers flexed, entering my personal space, then retreated to grip his beer with both hands. “But Alijah still doubts if he’s good enough for me , and you’re leagues ahead of— ”
“No,” I interrupted with a sting of certainty. “It’s the other way around. He’s the one that’s too good.”
A slow, roguish smile worked its way across Joaquin’s face, deepening the dimple on his left cheek until it reached maximum impact. His eyes resembled warm pools of chocolate velvet.
“Can I get you a drink, doc?” he asked, clinking the neck of his beer against the rim of my plate.
“Um, okay,” I stuttered, unsure what had just passed between us. Unable to remember what non-alcoholic options were available, I glanced toward the kitchen—only to find Wyatt leading his aunt in our direction.
“Tabitha,” Joaquin all but purred. “Now that you and your ladies are here, the party can finally start.”
“You smooth talker.” She gave his cheek a fond pat. “You’re looking rather sharp. Knew your mate would clean you up in no time.”
Wyatt moved closer. His elbows were tucked against his sides, and his unsettled blue stare hovered above my left shoulder.
“Morgan, this is Aunt Tabby. And this is…” He faltered, uncertain how to define me. Next-door neighbor, work colleague, or his biggest mistake. I’d opt for the living, breathing embodiment of regret.
“Morgan Van Daal,” Joaquin interjected smoothly, winking at Tabitha before steering Wyatt toward the kitchen. “But you already knew that.”
Tabitha laughed and then turned to face me. Her dominance enveloped me like evening air—expansive and lightly chilled, but not uncomfortably so. Yet.
“You, my dazzling one,” Tabitha said, her elegant fingers hovering over my arm without making contact. The gesture radiated conspiratorial delight rather than alpha arrogance. “I’ve been dying to meet you.”
Hooded lids did little to mask the interest in her pale blue eyes—a cooler shade than Wyatt’s but no less striking.
“Your presentation made quite the impression on my staff.”
“I hope our suggestions for PheroPass met your expectations,” I said, defaulting to my professional persona.
“Oh my, yes . And then some. Blown clear out of the water.”
She waved a hand for emphasis, mimicking the sound of the world’s daintiest explosion.
“You know,” she said, maintaining eye contact while speaking at a volume only we could hear, “it’s been ages since I’ve met someone who can truly appreciate balance . The give and take of altruism and ambition. Doing what’s best for people without losing sight of the bottom line. It’s an endless struggle. Yet, you must persist, must strive to be bold, even if it burns you.” She abruptly leaned closer. “Don’t you agree, my darling?”
Nothing. I had nothing. My reserves of small talk were limited at best, and this conversation was so far beyond my comfort zone that she might as well be speaking in an alien dialect from several thousand light-years away. All I could do was smile and nod.
Tabitha laughed, a singular bubble of delight that sounded low in her throat. “Of course you do. If only Owen could understand.”
She sipped her wine, her focus drifting to her mates as they followed Owen out of the primary bedroom into the omega suite. No doubt, he’d been coerced into giving his aunts a thorough tour of the place.
Joaquin returned, handing me a large glass of water infused with raspberries and lemon slices. “Does this pass muster?”
“And then some.” Before deciding whether to be impressed, I glanced around him, suspecting the drink was my sister’s handiwork.
“Hey.” He leaned into my field of vision and renewed his ever-present smirk. “Kelsey only gave me a few pointers. I did the rest.”
“Then full marks it is.” I raised the glass toward him in a mock salute and took a sip.
“Don’t I qualify for drink service? Or do you only do Alijah and Morgan’s bidding?” Tabitha teased him, although her keen gaze remained fixed on me.
“Now, don’t get jealous, Tabby,” Joaquin said. “If I start catering to your every whim, what’s the point of keeping your nephews around?”
“True, true,” Tabitha murmured into her wine glass. “Always knew you were a bright lad—and speaking of bright...”
My lungs deflated as Tabitha stepped into my personal space, blue eyes shining with intelligence. The shift was so fast that I barely registered it. Gone was the kooky aunt, replaced by an iconic chief executive giving me her direct attention. It was even more daunting than Owen’s.
“Your proposal to explore producing condition-specific PheroPass sensors. It seemed superfluous at first glance,” she said in a brisk but measured tone. “But I’ve had time to revisit the idea. My inner circle still thinks vetoing it was the right call.”
Her presence grew sharper as she stretched the considerable talons of her dominance.
“Convince me otherwise. Specifically, seizures.”
Now, that was a topic I had plenty to say about.
Joaquin wisely retreated, leaving us to havea spirited and overly detailed conversation about the intricacies of sweat.
** *
It was almost ten when Cal walked through the front door. I was taking a much-needed people break, standing a few steps up the staircase—the perfect vantage point to watch him slide off his wool overcoat, revealing his cream cashmere sweater underneath.
Owen greeted him with a beer, and then Cal started making the rounds, exchanging greetings with an exhausting number of people. Not that it surprised me. The man had more connections than anyone else I knew.
My phone buzzed, and I resumed my ongoing conversation with Jacobi.
Thought you were going to send photos?
Didn’t Piper appease you earlier?
Loft photos. I know what you look like.
No. Too many people here.
You never let me have any fun.
I resisted the urge to tell him I’d greenlight unlimited fun if he moved back. As good as the place looked, it wasn’t the same. The lighting was too bright, and none of the seats had enough pillows to tempt me.
At least the food was good, I thought, surveying the plate of spicy tidbits resting within easy reach on a nearby step. I helped myself to another jalapeno popper and savored the delicious heat.
The next text was classic Jacobi.
You know you look great, right?
Already told me three times. Kelsey too.
My sister deserved the compliments. She was in her element tonight, not just because she was a domestic goddess of the highest order. Kelsey’s outfit could have graced a vintage fashion plate—her hair styled in a chic French twist, our late Oma’s pearls draped over a fitted black sweater that showed off her curves, paired with a vintage tartan A-line skirt. She’d turned more than one head tonight. Not nearly enough, in my opinion.
Would she kill me if I suggested she get back into the dating pool?
A strong, clean-shaven jaw came into view as Cal walked past the staircase, a bottle of beer tucked in the crook of his arm, balancing a loaded plate of food in one hand and a glass of fruit-laden water in the other. He turned, climbed up enough steps until our eyes were level, and held out the water.
“You’re late,” I said. It was an observation, not an accusation.
Sliding my phone into my pocket, I leaned down, took hold of the precariously positioned beer bottle, and swapped it for the water.
“Couldn’t get out of family dinner.”
Balancing his plate of food on the newel post, Cal downed nearly half his beer in one go. His chin tilted back a little farther with each gulp, giving me a close, personal view of his Adam’s apple. Dinner with nine parents must be even more trying than I’d imagined.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” Cal reached beneath his glasses to rub his eyes, then paused. “Actually, no.” His hand dragged down his face, worrying at his chin before setting his glasses back into place. “They’re talking about moving my grandfather to hospice.”
“Oh, Cal.”
“He’s ninety-seven. Been a hell of arun.” Cal drained what little remained of his beer. “But there’s a lot of bullshit to sort out.”
His large frame angled a bit closer, shielding the hand that settled on the nape of my neck. Broad fingertips left a trail of teasing, circular strokes along my spine.
Given our location, his touch felt scandalous—and yet, I didn’t want to lose contact with him, leaning closer, purposefully increasing the soothing pressure of his long fingers against my back.
“Tell you about it later,” Cal murmured, withdrawing his hand as Joaquin approached.
After deftly swapping out Cal’s empty bottle for a fresh beer, Joaquin nodded at the fruit-filled water in my hand. “Did he tell you I made that?”
“Why would he?” I asked. “When you’re perfectly capable of bragging about it yourself.”
Joaquin let out a gruff chuckle and shook his head before heading off to help Alijah and Kelsey set out trays of bite-sized desserts, leaving me alone with the oppressive weight of Cal’s curious grin.
“Well, now. What did I miss?”
“Don’t ask me,” I said, taking a deliberate sip of my water.
Rory’s hearty laugh cut through the low murmur of conversation, pulling my attention to the far side of the living room, where he sat a little too close to one of Alijah’s co-workers.
“They’re not flirting.” Cal ate half a crab cake in one bite. “Very chill vibe in that corner—mostly talking about reality shows.” He nodded toward Piper, who was accepting a fresh glass of wine from one of her ballet colleagues. “But that beta is down bad for your sister. And a few more are putting out feelers toward Kelsey.”
I shot a critical eye over the rims of my glasses. “What are you doing?”
“Being your pheromone interpreter,” he replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and polished off the rest of the crab cake.
Laughter, pure, unguarded laughter, the likes of which I hadn’t experienced in ages, poured out of me, earning the most endearing smile from Cal as he studied my face, undeniable yearning in his hazel eyes.
For a few precious seconds, I felt attractive—not broken.
A momentary lapse of control allowed the truth to slip out on a sigh.
“You’re wearing me down.”
“Then I guess I’d better keep going.” Cal wiped his mouth with a cocktail napkin and scanned the partygoers. “Owen’s in a better mood than I anticipated. Very mellow tonight, with only the occasional hint of acidity. Tabitha being here helps. Her pack always keeps him busy. And they are in rare form tonight.” He nudged my side with his elbow. “What do you think the coven of aunties smells like?”
“I don’t know. Something expensive but not too feminine?”
“Like a greasy spoon. Waffles, fried chicken, grits, biscuits and gravy. Tabitha smells like hollandaise sauce.”
“You’re lying.”
“It’s true—I swear!”
“Nope, I don’t believe you.”
Cal shifted closer, brushing our shoulders together. “Would you believe me if I said the lovebirds are happy? Especially Alijah.”
A surprising amount of relief warmed my chest. “He is?”
“Yeah. Very bright and citrusy. Joaquin’s a bit spicier, but that’s par for the course.” He paused for a moment to consider the other alpha. “Playful might be the better term. And a little proud?”
“You can tell all that?”
“Mhm.” He tapped the jagged edge of his nasal septum with a smug little grin. “My nose knows.”
I shook my head, partly in amusement but also to mask my curiosity about the one notable exception to his pheromone report.
Cal washed down a deviled egg with a sip of beer. “Don’t worry. Got him on the appropriate dosage. ”
“Good.”
That meant there was zero chance of a boxwood-scented disaster tonight. I knew Cal would get Wyatt sorted out.
He raised an expectant brow. “That’s it?”
“Yes, that’s it.” Violations of patient privacy make for shitty party favors. Setting the water beside my plate, I turned, resting my hip against the railing, and loosely crossed my arms. “What about you?”
“Me?”
“Yes, great and powerful pheromone guru. What’s your vibe tonight?”
“Hm.” Thick fingertips drummed against the side of his beer bottle. “A little tipsy, kind of flirty.”
His gaze trailed from my shimmery, kohl-rimmed eyes to the faint traces of lipstick on my mouth, down the length of my neck, to the pendant resting just above my cleavage.
“More than a little hopeful.”
“About what?” I asked softly.
“Walking you home.”
Another laugh escaped. I couldn’t help it. “Relax, good sir. The hallway can’t hurt me.”
“Yeah, but you’re not the one I’m worried about.” He gave a vague nod meant to encompass all my siblings. “They’ve been drinking. None of you are mated. And these aren’t your friends.”
“You…have a point,” I conceded.
Even though Pack Redmond knew everyone here, that didn’t guarantee good behavior, especially when you mixed alcohol with suggestive pheromones.
“How soon?”
Cal tried—and failed—to hide his triumphant smile by draining the rest of his beer. “One more drink, then I’m all yours.”