Lash (The Wilds #3)

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

Josh was a nepo baby—that much was obvious.

Once you know what to look for, they’re easy to spot: the unearned confidence, the careless swagger, the smug smile that’s used to instant acceptance.

And, of course, the whining.

Nobody whines like someone with a recognizable last name.

I’d clocked Josh and nearly a dozen like him within minutes of stepping onto the crowded gallery floor.

I wasn’t surprised. Thanks to the entertainment industry, Los Angeles had more than its fair share of fame-adjacent offspring.

Some were even lucky enough to have inherited their parents’ talents, while others were only heirs to their pride.

But I’m being unfair.

After all, those spoiled kids of the rich and famous were why I’d decided to come to this thousand-dollar-a-head gala. I could have hawked the tickets for rent money. Lord knows, I needed it. But they’d been a gift, and I never passed up a chance to gamble with someone else’s money.

And make no mistake, my plans for tonight were definitely a gamble.

The odds weren’t great, but that had never stopped me before. What can I say? I love a long shot. A one in a million chance.

Who cared that none of my other dice rolls had turned out winners? The only real losers were the ones who quit the game.

At least, that’s what I told myself.

Of course, I wasn’t playing craps or blackjack. This was Wilshire Boulevard, not the Vegas Strip. The only thing I ever bet on was making it big.

Over the years, I’d thrown myself into every half-baked dream that made its way into my head.

I’d gone down the entertainment path—acting, modeling, music, and dancing—but quickly learned I didn’t have the talent.

So, I pivoted and tried to make my mark behind the scenes, but I didn’t have the patience.

The idea of being an entrepreneur was enticing—creating something new, doing something that had never been done—but reality was quick to rush in and slap me across the face.

It turns out you need money to make money… and guess what I didn’t have?

But every day I kept going, making ends meet by walking dogs and driving ride shares, delivering groceries and running random errands for just about every gig economy app I could load on my phone. And I never stopped dreaming, certain that one day my ship would come in.

Any day now…

And who knew? Maybe tonight was the night.

I’d scored the tickets for tonight’s gala at the upscale Howard and Somerset Gallery from one of my dog-walking clients.

She and her Hollywood executive husband had to jet off to Milan on short notice, and not wanting them to go to waste, she’d handed the tickets over in lieu of a tip.

She’d even loaned me one of her evening gowns for the night, so I’d fit in with the crowd.

I grabbed onto the opportunity with both hands, dragging my closest friend Sophia along for the ride. After just getting fired from her cushy hotel job, I figured she could use a night out. But I didn’t dare tell her the real reason we were here.

I was on the hunt for someone with more money than sense—and a thousand-dollar party at an art gallery sounded like the perfect place to find one.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t searching for a sugar daddy.

Ew.

Call me an opportunist all you want, but I’m no gold digger. I was here for business purposes only.

And the second I overheard Josh talking with his friends, I knew I’d hit pay dirt.

“I want that office suite on the twenty-first floor, but Dad says he can’t just hand them out to anyone.” His complaints were loud enough to travel across the crowded gallery. I didn’t even have to strain to hear them. “He says I need to prove myself as a producer first.”

“Prove yourself?” His friend sounded utterly baffled by the idea. “With what? A hit record? Are those even a thing anymore, Josh?”

“Just barely,” he said. “Which is why he’s worried Caine Media is becoming outdated. He wants us to diversify. To come up with something new. Something with the potential to go viral. Sort of like this exhibition.”

My ears perked up.

Like this exhibition…I could work with that.

There was a reason the tickets to tonight’s gala at the Howard and Somerset Gallery had sold out in record time. This was the world premiere of the most anticipated photography collection in recent memory. In the last few weeks, posters and billboards had gone up all over the city.

The Howard & Somerset Gallery is proud to present

A World’s First

Beyond the Wall of the Wilds

A Groundbreaking Photo Exhibition

By Hannah Carter

And for once, the advertising didn’t exaggerate. The pictures hanging on the walls were nothing short of earth-shattering—the first photographs taken in the Wilds, the land of the ferus, a line of mankind that had never shed their animal nature.

Known to be dangerously savage, the civilized world had constructed a massive wall to keep them contained. Like what the Romans did with the Scots—at least that was how my high school history teacher explained it. And until now, I never had reason to question that version of the story.

But looking at all these pictures, seeing the diversity of architecture the ferus had constructed, the complexity of their village alongside the primal, untouched beauty of their land, I was starting to wonder if there might be more to the story.

And that certainly sounded like a new and possibly viral idea to me.

Pulling out my phone, I did a quick internet search for Josh at Caine Media…and sure enough, the first result was a page for Joshua Caine, Junior Associate Producer. I quickly scanned the list of projects he’d worked on before tucking my phone back in my pocket.

This was it—now or never.

“Excuse me,” I said, pasting on my brightest and most confident smile as I turned toward the conversation I’d been shamelessly eavesdropping on. “I couldn’t help but overhear what you were saying about the new media potential of this show. Coincidentally, I was just thinking something similar.”

“Were you?” Josh asked, his eyes sweeping up and down the length of me. Given the smile that curved his lips, he liked what he saw.

Not that I cared.

Like I said, I wasn’t here for a hookup. But, since my dreams of making something out of my life were on the line, I wasn’t above using every advantage that came my way.

“I was.” I batted my false eyelashes for just a second before offering him my hand. “My name is Felicity Waite.”

“And I’m J?—“

“Josh Caine,” I finished before he had a chance. “From Caine Media.”

“You know me?” He seemed flattered to be recognized.

Good. That’s what I was hoping.

Most people love feeling important enough to be picked out of a crowd. It feeds their egos and lowers their defenses. The trick is not to let on that everything you learned about them came from a quick glance at their search results.

“I do.” I let our eye contact go on half a second longer than was polite. “That’s why I hope you’ll forgive my rude interruption. I thought it was worth the risk to meet you.”

Was I laying it on a little thick? Sure, but it wasn’t as if subtlety never made anyone’s dreams come true.

“You’re not interrupting anything, Miss Waite,” Josh said. “I’d love to hear what you have to say.”

Foot firmly in the door, I slipped into the circle of conversation.

“Do you happen to know the story behind this exhibition?” I asked. “The real story?”

Josh and his friends glanced at each other, shaking their heads.

“Just what I’ve heard online,” he said. “Some crazy lady slipped over the Wall to take all these pictures.”

“That’s what I thought too,” I said. “But tonight, when I was talking with the gallery’s curator, Carol, I learned the truth is far more interesting.”

Okay, full disclosure—I hadn’t actually talked with the curator. Just like with Josh and his friends, I’d simply positioned myself near enough to listen in while she talked to someone far more important.

“So what is the truth?” he asked.

“The photographer didn’t sneak into the Wilds,” I said. “She was kidnapped. Taken from our side of the Wall by an alpha. The one in that photo, there.”

I pointed to the large print dominating the wall behind Josh—a brilliant photo of a magical-looking waterfall surrounded by lush greenery. A heavily muscled giant stood with his back to the camera, everything below his hips submerged in the pool of shimmering water at the base of the falls.

“What happened to her?” one of Josh’s friends asked.

“Is she still alive?”

“Did he take her as a sex slave?”

“Where is she now?”

Somehow, I kept myself from grinning like the Cheshire Cat. I had them on the hook. I could feel it.

“Those are interesting questions, aren’t they?

” I said, dropping the coy look in my eye and meeting Josh’s stare head-on.

“The kind of questions that would make an audience tune into a podcast week after week. The kind of viral hit that advertisers would line up to be a part of. The kind of show that could turn a Junior Associate Producer into a Senior Executive with a corner office suite. Don’t you think? ”