Chapter 21
Reed
The glasses keep sliding down my nose, but they do the job. Nobody looks at a guy in neon-taped Buddy Holly and thinks undercover.
On my left, Ash strokes the dead blond caterpillar glued to his lip. On my right, Bram tugs at a toupee that never bothered matching his hairline.
Between our disguises and the scent-suppressing spray we’ve doused ourselves with, yeah, we’re slaying.
“My god, this is never going to work,” Ash mutters.
“Have some faith, man,” I clap him on the shoulder. “We’ve got this.”
He doesn’t look convinced.
“Let’s run it again quickly,” Bram says, low, eyes forward.
“We smile, we sign whatever they put in front of us, and we let them wave us through,” I say.
“The second we hit the staff halls, we peel off and find her. Just a quick check-in to make sure she’s okay, and a quick hit of her scent to stop these damn withdrawal tremors.
Then we’re gone before anyone notices three new maintenance guys are missing. ”
“Someone’s gonna recognize you,” Ash says.
“Nobody’s recognizing me, Ash. Or us. That’s the whole point of the...” I tap the plastic frames. “We’re ‘new in town’. We’re ‘nobodies’. Relax. Besides, the owner and the receptionist are the only ones here who’ve actually seen our faces.”
That’s right. No one is getting between me and my scent match. She can’t be more than a hundred yards away and my nose is already twitching with anticipation.
Woo, yeah baby—I am wired. Let’s do this.
We get to the lobby with its waterfall feature, framed mandalas, and enough bamboo to feed a panda for a week.
Behind the front desk is Chloe. Last time we were here, she watched the three of us blackmail her boss across the counter.
But today, she doesn’t even blink. The taped glasses and Ash’s ridiculous squirrel stache are indeed enough to wipe our records clean.
I step up first. Easy posture, hands loose, biggest dumbest grin I own.
“Hi. We’re here for the job hiring thing.”
“Oh yes, of course.” She slides a clipboard across the counter, then another, then a third. “Just sign in on those, and then you can head down that hallway. The interviewers are set up at the end.”
“Perfect. Thank you.”
We sign. Today, I shall be... Bruce Jovi. Beside me, Ash’s hand freezes, and I can feel him sweating through his mustache.
Just sign the sheet, man.
“You guys look familiar,” Chloe says slowly, her head tilted, eyes moving over the three of us. “Have we met?”
Bram goes rigid. Ash’s pen stops dead on the page.
“Nope,” I say, before either of them can ruin it. “Don’t think so. We’re just passing through—three buddies, new in town. Figured we’d pick up a little work for a couple weeks, make some gas money. We’re on a road trip.”
“A road trip.” Her face softens.
“Big one.” I hand her my clipboard. “Trying to hit every dumb roadside attraction between here and the coast. You’d be amazed how fast that drains a bank account.”
“That sounds fun, actually.”
“It’s a blast. You should quit and come.”
She laughs again, waving us off down the hall as Ash finally signs, and just like that, we’re golden.
We move. I keep my pace slow and bored, hands in my pockets. The second we’re out of earshot, Ash breathes out hard enough to wet his mustache.
“See?” I murmur. “Told you.”
“We’re not out of the water yet,” he whispers back.
The corridor’s narrow, lined with more bamboo paneling and little brass bells. And about thirty feet down, planted against the wall with his arms crossed, is a security guard the approximate size of a family refrigerator.
He’s looking at us.
“Don’t look at him,” Bram says under his breath, eyes locked dead ahead. “Both of you. Eyes front, keep walking, nice and normal. We’re prospective maintenance guys. We belong here.”
“He’s still looking,” Ash whispers.
“Of course he’s looking, that’s his whole job,” I say. “Walk.”
We walk. Slate floor, brass bells, refrigerator with a face. We’re almost past him.
“Hey.” His voice drops on us like a dumbbell. “Hold up.”
We stop. All three of us, at once, too fast. My pulse slams up into my ears. Fuck, he thinks we’re sus. Three steps from the back hallway...
The guard pushes off the wall and crosses to us. Steps right up to Ash.
I shift my weight, already running the math on how fast I can get my brothers out the door—
“Man,” the guard says. “That is a clean stache.”
Silence.
Ash blinks. “... Thank you. I appreciate that.”
The guard nods at us and ambles back to his wall.
Ash turns his head, slow, and gives me and Bram what can only be described as a very snobbish look.
“I told you,” he mouths. “This stache’s where it’s at.”
I bite the inside of my cheek and keep moving.
The hall opens up into a little waiting area. There are three closed office doors on the left, and on the right, tucked behind a hanging tapestry, another hallway.
I slow up, casual, pretending to study a wall hanging of a very serene frog.
“Okay,” I murmur. “We made it. That’s our hallway right there, has to go deeper into the place, which is where Luna will be.” I glance both ways. The waiting area’s empty. The guard’s around the corner. “So we just walk right in. Subtle. Don’t rush it. On three. One. Two. Th—”
“Oh, excellent!”
A woman with a clipboard, a beta it seems, steps directly into our path. Flowing linen pants. A nametag that says Sun.
Damn it.
“We are so backed up today,” Sun chirps, and seizes Ash by the elbow. “Thank the universe you’re ready. Come, come—the interviewers are waiting.”
“Huh, actually—” Bram starts, dropping into his deep rumble.
“No need to be nervous!” She’s already herding us toward the doors. Behind her, two more linen-clad staffers have appeared from the offices, smiling, reaching.
I catch Ash’s eye. His smooth, salesman mask has shattered, his chest rising in a silent panic. Bram’s jaw is clamped so tight the muscle is twitching under his fake hair. Both of them are giving me the exact same look: what the fuck do we do now?
We can’t bolt. Not with the guard around the corner. Not with three retreat employees standing here. Fuck, we’re stuck.
Sun shoves Ash through the first door, points Bram at the second, and turns to me with a smile that could power a small town.
“And you’re in here.”
She steers me through the door, then clicks it shut behind me.
The air in the little office is thick with patchouli and burning sage. Sun walks behind a tiny bamboo desk and sits.
“Please have a seat,” she says.
I drop into the wicker chair across from her.
She slides a sheet off a stack and runs a finger down it. “Ah. Yes. You’re applying to guide our guests through their physical and spiritual journeys. Our newest yoga instructor.”
Wait. What?
“Yoga,” I repeat.
I’m pretty sure I only saw openings for maintenance on Ash’s laptop. Is that a new opening or something?
“Yes,” she says, leaning forward, folding her hands over a small pile of crystals. “Tell me. How do you ground yourself when the energy of the universe turns turbulent? When the body resists the flow?”
I stare at her.
I’m a part-time firefighter and I fix things. My idea of grounding myself is a cold beer and a heavy bag. I have never done a downward dog in my life... I’m not even entirely sure which way is down on a dog.
But if I blow this, they might escort me off the property, which means no seeing Luna...
“I, uh.” I lean back, spread my knees, rest my hands on my thighs. “I listen to the heat.”
Her eyebrows climb. “The heat?”
“Yeah.” I nod, slow, drop my voice. “I find the friction. It’s about taking all that tension, you know? Finding the absolute tightest spots. The places that hurt. And then I breathe into them, lean into it, sweat it out.”
Her mouth parts.
“Sometimes,” I add, “you just have to let the fire strip you down to the ashes.”
She stares at me, and I practically wait for her to laugh me out the door. Instead, she presses a hand to her chest.
“Wow,” she breathes. “That is... deeply physical. So raw. So incredibly present.”
Holy shit, she bought it.
“I try,” I say, with a modest little shrug.
“I am very impressed.” She rises and extends both hands across the desk and I take them. Huh, she’s got a strong grip for a beta. “We need exactly that kind of intense, grounding masculine energy in our advanced vinyasa class. You’ll be a wonderful addition to Serenity Ridge.”
“Thank you.” I smile.
“You start today,” she says, handing me a laminated sheet. “Your schedule. Just follow the corridor behind the tapestry, and the first room on the left has all the gear. Namaste.” She presses her palms together and bows.
“Namaste,” I echo, then walk out the door.
Almost as soon as I step out, the door on my left opens and Ash steps out. Then the door on my right opens and Bram emerges.
We form a small circle.
“I’m a yoga instructor,” I say.
“A yoga instructor?” Ash whispers, staring at me. “How the hell did you manage that? I thought we all applied for maintenance. I’m maintenance.”
He got the job we all came for. Of course, lucky bastard.
I look at Bram. Our pack’s eldest alpha’s shoulders are up around his ears. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, crinkled wad of black mesh.
“Bram,” I say slowly. “What is that?”
“I’m on the kitchen line,” he rumbles, holding the mesh up between two fingers. “They gave me a hairnet.”
I bite down on the inside of my cheek. Hard. It isn’t enough.
The laugh punches out of me, bouncing off the bamboo all the way down the hall.
We’re in. But looking at Bram’s mesh net, I have a feeling keeping a low profile is going to be a lot harder than we thought.