Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Emily
My Alpha instincts register Leif’s fear before my conscious mind catches how the openness that had softened his features seconds ago vanishes, his periwinkle eyes dulling.
“Excuse me,” Leif says, his broad shoulders curving inward, his chest hollowing. “I should check on Quinn.”
Before any of us can respond, he slinks away, his tall frame moving with a furtive stealth that strikes me as far more concerning than if he’d bolted in panic. I’ve seen fear before on job sites after accidents, in crew members trying to hold it together when catastrophe strikes.
This isn’t that.
Around us, the guests continue to celebrate, and the string quartet transitions into a livelier piece. Yet my focus narrows to Leif’s back as he navigates through clusters of laughing guests, heading for the exit.
I roll my empty glass between my fingers. “Who is Carson Whitaker?”
“All I know is that he’s the new dean at Pinecrest Academy, where Quinn starts Monday.” Grady tracks Leif’s progress across the room, too. “And that he was the former department chair at Westbrook Preparatory.”
My throat tightens. “I see.”
Beside me, Jared shifts his weight, angling his body toward the entrance Leif disappeared through. His sea-glass eyes remain fixed on the spot where the Omega vanished, muscles coiled beneath his suit jacket.
I don’t need to speak for Jared to understand my intention. Three months together have taught us to read each other’s smallest signals. When my hand brushes his, a fleeting contact hidden by the table between us, his chin dips in acknowledgment.
Grady reaches for his cane, which he’d hooked over the edge of the table. “Think I’ll step out for some fresh air.”
He limps off, following the same path Leif had taken. Chloe spots him and tries to wave him over, but he ignores his friend.
The muscles along my spine tighten as I resist the knee-jerk reaction to follow, too. Every Alpha instinct screams at me to pursue, to protect, to place my body between Leif and whatever threat caused his light to dim. But doing so would likely spook him. Grady, as a Beta, is the better choice.
A server approaches to clear empty plates, and I slide mine toward her with a murmured thanks. The motion gives me another opportunity to scan the room. Grady has disappeared in pursuit of Leif. Beside me, Jared’s pheromones hold a slight sharpness of agitation.
My nostrils flare as I catch a new scent beneath the others, a subtle tang of cedar smoke and iron. It’s faint but distinct. An Alpha who doesn’t belong here.
I straighten, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from my dress as I spot Blake and Nathaniel cutting through the crowd. Between them walks a man in a tailored charcoal suit, his posture impeccable, his smile empty of any real warmth.
Carson Whitaker.
My instincts bristle, and beneath the table, out of sight, I curl my fingers into a fist. This man is the source of Leif’s fear. Whatever he did to Leif, whatever caused his instant retreat, was significant enough to send him into hiding.
As they approach our table, I catalog the calculated casualness of Carson’s stance, the way his cool gray-green eyes sweep over our group, assessing each of us in turn before settling on me with quiet interest.
“Emily,” Blake says, gesturing toward me with obvious pride, “this is Carson Whitaker, the new dean at Pinecrest Academy. Carson, Emily is the construction superintendent who brought our Homestead back from the ashes.”
Carson extends his hand, palm down, in a subtle power move I notice without comment. His grip is firm but not challenging when I meet it with equal pressure.
“A pleasure,” he says, smooth as polished stone. “I’ve heard wonderful things about your work.”
“Thank you.” I maintain eye contact for three beats before releasing his hand. “We’re proud of the results.”
Nathaniel slides a fresh drink toward me, the ice cubes clinking against the glass. “Carson was having dinner at the hotel when he noticed our celebration.”
“I hope I’m not intruding.” Despite the words, nothing in Carson’s posture suggests he considers himself unwelcome. “But I couldn’t resist stopping by to express my gratitude.”
Blake tilts his head. “Gratitude?”
Carson turns toward him, his movement fluid and controlled. “For the Wright Pack’s generous donation to our performing arts program. The new sound system will benefit every student at Pinecrest Academy, including young Quinn.”
Nathaniel waves a hand in dismissal. “Oh, it was nothing. We want to support the school community.”
“Nothing?” Carson raises an eyebrow. “It was the largest private donation the academy has received in five years. Such generosity deserves acknowledgment.” He lifts his glass in a toast. “To community partnerships.”
We raise our glasses, the ritual so ingrained that I take part without thought.
“Besides,” Carson continues after taking a sip, “I couldn’t pass up the chance to make your acquaintance before Quinn starts next week. Getting to know our families is a priority for me.”
Nathaniel leans his elbows on the table. “Actually, it’s a wonderful coincidence you’re here. Leif Hollis, Quinn’s tutor, trained at your previous school, didn’t he?”
Carson’s voice rises with surprise. “Leif Hollis? Yes, indeed. One of Westbrook’s most promising young educators. We were so sad when he decided to leave.” He chuckles. “Small world, as they say.”
“When we hired him, we had no idea there would be a connection.” Blake scratches his beard, sending a rain of glitter onto the table. “He’s been wonderful with Quinn.”
“It doesn’t surprise me.” Carson runs a finger along the rim of his glass. “Leif always had a special touch with children. His classroom management was exemplary. I had the pleasure of training him myself when he first started.”
My grip tightens on the glass as he reframes Leif’s success as evidence of his own skill.
“Now, I can’t promise any preferential treatment just because we’re old friends,” Carson adds with a wink that draws chuckles from Blake and Nathaniel.
The exchange fills me with mounting unease.
The dissonance between Carson’s casual reference to friendship and Leif’s visceral fear response widens with each word, the gap between them a chasm Blake and Nathaniel can’t see from their vantage point.
In fairness to them, they didn’t see how fast Leif bolted when he saw Carson.
“Speaking of Leif,” Blake says, glancing around the ballroom, “where did he go? He was just here.”
Carson’s attention sharpens, though his expression remains pleasant. “Leif is here tonight? I’d love to say hello. It’s been too long since we caught up.”
The predatory edge beneath the casual inquiry raises the hair on my arms, my Alpha instincts surging in response to a threat I can sense but can’t yet name.
“He mentioned checking on Quinn,” I offer, the half-truth sliding from my lips. “She’s excited about the party, but large crowds can be overwhelming for her.”
“Of course,” Carson says. “Children need structure and boundaries, especially in stimulating environments. I’m sure Leif knows how to handle her needs.”
Jared tips his chin toward the ballroom entrance, where Grady has reappeared alone, his posture tense as he navigates back through the crowd.
“Well, if you’ll excuse me,” Carson says, following my line of sight and misinterpreting my attention, “I should greet a few other people, then get out of your hair so I don’t intrude further on your celebration.”
“No need to rush out the door,” Blake assures him. “In fact, you should join us for dinner sometime next week. I’d love to hear more about your vision for the school.”
Carson smiles like the cat who caught the canary. “I’d be delighted. Perhaps we could include Leif as well. I’m sure he has valuable insights about Quinn’s educational needs.”
The suggestion hangs in the air, innocent on its surface but loaded with implications I can’t decipher. A bone-deep certainty fills me, though, that Leif needs protection from this man, not proximity to him.
“Excellent idea,” Nathaniel says, unaware of the undercurrents. “We’ll arrange it soon.”
As Carson turns to greet another group, Jared slides closer to me. His fingertips brush the back of my hand in silent question.
I don’t have answers yet, only questions and the knowledge that whatever is happening here runs deeper than social discomfort. Leif’s reaction wasn’t embarrassment or awkwardness. It was self-preservation.
“Emily,” Blake says, pulling me into conversation, “how does mid-November sound for starting the indoor pool construction? Would that give your crew enough time to finish the cabin foundations?”
“With good weather, we can pour the last foundation by Halloween,” I reply while noting how Carson has positioned himself at the center of his new group without appearing to have done so.
The investors angle toward him, their body language deferential despite his newcomer status.
“My crew works fast when motivated by holiday bonuses.”
Blake laughs, clapping a hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder. “See? I told you she’d have a solution.”
As our conversation continues, Carson drifts closer, his movement so natural it appears coincidental when he ends up within arm’s reach of our table. He stands with his back to us, engaged with another group, yet positioned to eavesdrop.
“You mentioned indoor recreation facilities,” Carson says, pivoting back into our group with such practiced ease that Blake and Nathaniel welcome him back without hesitation, as if he’d been part of the discussion all along.
“The academy has been exploring ways to expand our physical education options beyond traditional sports.”
“We’re planning a multi-purpose facility,” Nathaniel explains, his enthusiasm overriding any question of why Carson would be so interested. “Indoor pool, fitness center, and yoga studio. The goal is year-round wellness options for guests and locals.”
“An admirable goal.” Carson clasps him on the shoulder. “At Pinecrest Academy, we believe in whole-child development, physical, emotional, and academic growth in balance. That’s why community partnerships are so vital.”
His educational philosophy sounds perfect on the surface. Who could argue with balanced development for children? Yet the rehearsed quality of his delivery strips the sentiment of genuine warmth.
“Mr. Whitaker,” calls a woman from across the room, waving a program in his direction. “A moment of your time?”
Carson inclines his head with regret. “Please excuse me. Duty calls.” He touches Blake’s shoulder. “I look forward to continuing our conversation soon. Perhaps at that dinner you mentioned.”
“Nice guy,” Blake comments, watching Carson depart. “Smart, too. His ideas for modernizing the academy’s curriculum sound promising.”
I hum a noncommittal response, unwilling to contradict Blake without evidence yet unable to share his positive assessment.
Instead, I scan the room and spot Grady near one of the balcony doors with Chloe. Relief fills me that Leif didn’t return with him.
Carson’s continued presence sends unease through me, as if he’s waiting. Carson Whitaker didn’t stumble into this celebration by accident. He knew when to arrive, who to speak to first, and how to ingratiate himself before anyone thought to question it.
That kind of timing doesn’t happen by accident.
He came here to catch Leif off guard.
And he succeeded.