Chapter 44
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Zoe
The silence in the penthouse is somehow more unnerving than the chaos.
Another three days have passed since I made my insane “let’s try dating” proposal.
Three days of a strange, fragile, and excruciatingly polite truce.
The alphas are on their best behavior, moving around me with a careful, almost reverent distance.
They’re trying so hard not to spook me that the lack of their usual, chaotic energy is a constant, screaming tension.
Yesterday, it reached a breaking point. I was sitting on the couch, trying to read the same page for the twentieth time, when Tristan walked in, cleared his throat, and made a formal announcement.
“Zoe,” he’d said, his voice a low, dramatic stage whisper. “We need to talk. The pack and I... we’re concerned.”
I had just stared at him. “Concerned about what?”
“About your closet,” he’d said, his expression completely deadpan. “We held a meeting. It was decided that your current wardrobe, while perfectly adequate for a normal, charming beta, is not equipped for the level of high-stakes dating you’re about to endure. It’s an intervention.”
“An intervention?” I’d repeated, completely bewildered.
“He means we want to buy you some clothes,” Diego had cut in, appearing at his side and rolling his eyes at Tristan. “So we can spoil you. If you’ll let us.”
And that’s how I ended up on the most surreal shopping spree of my life. Not at a mall, of course. They had a personal shopper come to the penthouse, turning the living room into a private boutique filled with racks of designer dresses, shoes, and bags.
It was a nightmare of quiet, expensive efficiency.
Rett had approved outfits with a curt nod like he was signing off on a corporate merger.
Dane had vetoed a pair of heels he deemed “unsound.” All while I stood there like a doll being dressed, a part of me horrified by the high-handedness of it all, and a traitorous, much larger part of me thrilling at the sheer, overwhelming intensity of their focus.
Which brings me to tonight.
“Oh god, what do I wear?” I mutter to myself, staring into the closet that is now a sea of silks and cashmeres that I don’t recognize and still don’t feel like I own.
Tonight is our first official date. A real one. All they’ve told me is “dress formally,” which, in their world, could mean anything from a ball gown to a diamond-encrusted space suit.
I run my fingers over a hanger, the soft silk of a black dress slipping beneath my touch. I remember Diego’s eyes lighting up when I tried it on yesterday. I pull it out.
The dress is sleek, with a halter neckline that leaves my shoulders bare and a hem that falls just above my knee. It hugs my curves without being restrictive. Elegant. Powerful.
Perfect for whatever fresh hell they have planned for me tonight.
As I slip it on, I catch sight of my reflection in the full-length mirror. My neck is exposed, unmarked. A strange pang goes through me at the sight.
I shake it off, focusing instead on my makeup. I keep it simple. Mascara, a touch of blush, a nude lipstick that’s a shade darker than my natural color. I leave my hair down, letting it fall in loose waves around my neck.
A soft knock at my door pulls me from my thoughts.
“Come in,” I call, slipping on a pair of delicate silver earrings.
The door opens to reveal Rett, impeccable as always in a charcoal suit that’s clearly been tailored to fit his broad shoulders and narrow waist. His dark-brown hair is styled back from his face, accentuating the sharp angles of his cheekbones. He looks... devastating.
His eyes widen slightly as they take me in, a flicker of heat passing through them before he schools his expression into something more neutral.
“You look beautiful,” he says, his voice low.
“Thank you,” I reply, a flush of warmth spreading through me at the compliment. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”
His lips quirk in a small smile. “Are you ready? The others are waiting downstairs.”
I nod, grabbing a small clutch and a wrap to drape over my shoulders. “Lead the way.”
We take the elevator down in silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. Just expectant. Charged with a subtle energy that makes my skin tingle where his arm brushes against mine.
The others are waiting in the lobby. Diego in a deep blue suit that brings out the warm tones of his skin, Tristan in a lighter gray with a subtle pattern, and Dane in solid black, as if he’s escorting a diplomat rather than going on a date.
They all turn as we approach, and the collective weight of their gazes makes me falter for a moment. Four pairs of eyes, all fixed on me with varying degrees of appreciation…and hunger.
“Wow,” Tristan says, a genuine smile lighting up his face. “You’re going to be the most beautiful woman in the place, and I’m going to be the most envied man.”
“We’re all going to be the most envied,” Diego corrects him, his eyes warm as they meet mine. “You look stunning, Zoe.”
Dane says nothing, but his pale gaze sweeps over me in a silent appraisal that somehow feels more intimate than any spoken compliment.
Rett is the last to speak. He just looks at me, his blue eyes dark with an intensity that is pure, possessive heat. “Ready?” he asks, his voice a low rumble.
I give a slight nod as I take a breath. I guess we’re doing this. Why do I feel so nervous? I’ve been on dates before.
“Your ride is waiting at the front entrance, Mr. Sterling,” Sternam says, rising from his desk.
Then his gaze finds mine. The professional mask softens for a fraction of a second, replaced by a small, almost imperceptible smile and a slight, respectful dip of his chin.
A surprising warmth spreads through my chest.
“Thank you,” Rett says, then turns back to me, holding out a hand. “Shall we?”
The cool night air hits us as we head to a sleek, black customized Cadillac Escalade waiting at the curb. The driver holds the rear door open.
Rett and Dane settle into the seats in front, while I take a seat between Diego and Tristan, their bodies bracketing me, our knees occasionally brushing as the vehicle navigates the evening traffic.
“So, are you going to tell me where we’re going?” I ask, breaking the silence.
“It’s a surprise,” Tristan says, a hint of his usual mischievous grin playing at his lips. “But a good one, I promise.”
“I’m not sure how I feel about surprises from you,” I tease.
“Probably wise,” Dane murmurs, earning a mock-offended look from Tristan.
“I’ll have you know my surprises are legendary,” Tristan protests. “Remember Aspen?”
“Exactly my point,” Dane says dryly.
I laugh, some of the tension easing from my shoulders. This feels almost normal. Almost like the easy camaraderie we had before everything got so complicated.
But then the car is slowing, pulling up to the curb in front of a sleek, modern building with a discreet sign that simply reads “Solitude.”
“Here we are,” Rett announces as the driver opens the door for us.
I recognize the name immediately. Solitude. Three Michelin stars. A months-long waiting.
“Wow,” I say, unable to keep the surprise from my voice. “This is... impressive.”
“Only the best,” Diego says, offering his arm as I step out of the car.
The ma?tre d’ greets us by name, no reservation required, and leads us through the dimly lit restaurant to a secluded table near the back.
The space is elegant. The tables are spaced far apart, the lighting is soft, the ambient noise a hushed murmur of conversation and the occasional clink of fine china.
It’s beautiful. Perfect. And immediately, I feel out of place.
“Wine?” Rett suggests as we settle into our seats. I’m positioned at the head of the rectangular table, with Rett and Diego on either side of me, and Tristan and Dane across from them.
“Sure,” I agree, though what I really want is a stiff drink to calm the sudden nerves that have appeared out of nowhere.
Diego orders a bottle. The silence feels staged.
“So,” Rett says after a moment. “Art history. Why that?”
I blink, caught off guard. “Oh. My mom used to take me to the museum all the time, and I guess I just fell in love with the pieces there.”
“Fascinating,” Rett says, nodding.
I frown, raising a single eyebrow at him. Is this an interview?
I look to the others for rescue, but they’re no better.
Tristan is telling a story about a charity gala in Monaco that sounds rehearsed.
Diego is arranging and rearranging the silverware in front of me.
Dane just sits there, a silent, imposing presence, occasionally nodding at appropriate intervals.
My eyebrow rises higher. What has gotten into them?
These aren’t the men I know.
The sommelier returns with our wine, and I take mine with a silent prayer it will loosen the obvious nerves.
“To new beginnings,” Tristan says, raising his glass in a toast that sounds like it came from a greeting card.
We all drink. The wine is excellent, of course, but I barely taste it.
The appetizers arrive, tiny works of art on oversized plates. I can’t even identify half the ingredients, but I make appreciative noises as Diego explains each component with the skill of a museum curator.
It’s delicious, but… I miss his pasta. The one he made for me that first night in the penthouse. Food that was meant to comfort.
By the time dessert arrives, I’m utterly miserable. This isn’t a date. It’s a performance.
And I hate it.
Rett is in the middle of explaining something about portfolios when I can’t take it anymore. I slam my fork down on the table. The sound is sharp, startling in the hushed restaurant. All conversation at our table stops abruptly.
Four pairs of eyes fix on me, expressions ranging from surprise to concern.
“Okay,” I say, my voice tight. “I’m done.”
“Is something wrong with the dessert?” Diego asks, already looking around for the waiter.
“No, the dessert is fine,” I say. “It’s perfect. Everything is perfect. That’s the problem.”
They exchange confused glances.
“I don’t understand,” Rett says, his brow furrowing.
“This,” I gesture at the table, the restaurant, all of it, “isn’t a date. This is a job interview, and frankly, you’re all failing.”
Silence. Four stunned faces stare back at me.
“I’m not interested in dating the Sterling Pack PR department,” I continue, throwing my napkin on the table. “I’m interested in dating the four idiots who were defeated by a smart stove and almost burned down a penthouse trying to make breakfast.”
I stand up, grabbing my clutch. Without waiting for a response, I turn and walk out of the restaurant, feeling the weight of their gazes on my back but not daring to look back.
Outside, the night air is cool and refreshing after the stifling formality of the restaurant. I take a deep breath, letting it fill my lungs, clear my head.
Did I just ruin everything? Was that outburst the final nail in the coffin of whatever this thing between us is?
I just start walking, not really sure where I’m going. Just needing to move, to put some distance between myself and that perfect, terrible restaurant.
My phone buzzes in my clutch. I pull it out, half expecting to see a text from Leah or Helen, a welcome distraction from the mess I’ve just made.
Instead, it’s Rett.
Rett: The Anchor. Picking you up in one minute.
I stare at the message, a surprised laugh bubbling up from my chest. The Anchor.
The name of the bar where I tried to take back control.
The place where they weren’t the polished Sterling Alphas, but four men in a loud, chaotic room, looking completely out of their depth.
The place where Diego spoke from the heart.
Where Rett stared at me like he wanted to devour me whole.
A minute later, the sleek black car pulls up to the curb beside me. The back door opens, and there they are. All four of them, expressions a mixture of chagrin and relief.
“Get in, loser, we’re going drinking,” Tristan calls, a real grin lighting up his face for the first time all night.
I hesitate for only a second before sliding into the car beside them.
“The Anchor?” I ask, unable to keep the smile from my face.
“The Anchor,” Diego confirms, his own smile warm and genuine. “Where we can be the idiots you apparently prefer.”
“I never said I preferred idiots,” I protest, settling in between him and Tristan. “I just prefer you. The real you.”
“Fair enough,” Rett says, his expression softening into something real, something unguarded. “We can do that.”
“Good,” I say, looking at each of them in turn. “Because that’s the only deal I’m interested in.”
Dane catches my eye from across the small space, and for the first time all night, he smiles. A small, private thing, just for me.
“Noted,” he says quietly.
As the car pulls away from the curb, I feel something settle inside me. A certainty that wasn’t there before. This. This messy, unscripted, authentic chaos is what I want. These four men, with all their flaws and quirks and complications.
They are a mess. All of them. And my life, since meeting them, has become a mess.
A slow smile touches my lips.
Maybe I like the mess.