Page 6 of The Billionaire Alpha's Surprise Baby

I roll my eyes and turn to go, but then my brother Anders breezes in. “Oh, if it isn’t the walking cliché himself,” he drones, pulling a half-amused, half-constipated smile. “Some people are so poor, all they have is money.”

I flash Anders a warning look as my wolf rises to the surface.

Anders smirks. My older brother has always been adept at pushing my buttons, and he knows I won’t kill him because we’re related.

It’s annoying as fuck.

My position as alpha compels my siblings to obey me on pack matters, but they still strut around this house as if they own the place. I know they’re all just waiting for the day I do something really stupid. They think that if I piss off my father enough, he might install one of them as CEO instead.

It’s not going to happen.

My father is a shifter, too, and he enjoys the power his alpha son affords him too much to disown me. It’s a depressing thought.

I don’t want to be CEO, but I also don’t want to give any of my siblings the power that comes with controlling the Von Horton fortune. Just the thought of Hyacinthe dangling my allowance in front of me like a scrap of meat is enough to raise my hackles.

But then I remember Ava’s smile, and my wolf settles inside of me. The mere memory of her emerald eyes and musical laughter fills me with a sense of calm.

Anders gives me a strange look, but I pull a placid smile and stride past him toward the stairs, replaying my interaction with the cute barista over and over again.

Chapter Three

Ava

It’s nearly nine by the time Jules swings by to pick me up for our girls’ night.

Even though I agreed to go out with her, my heart isn’t in it. It’s been two days since I spilled coffee all over Garrett, the so-handsome-it-should-be-illegal guy who told my asshole customers to go to hell.

I know he only did it because he felt sorry for me, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since that shift. I’ve been dying to go back to the café in the hope that I might see him again, but I don’t work until the following morning.

It’s freezing outside, so I’m wearing a ruched-sleeve black dress, leggings, and boots. When Jules pulls up in front of my apartment building, she rolls down the window and makes a face. “Who died?”

I look down at the dress and back to Jules. “What? I like this dress.”

She wrinkles her nose. “It’s giving religious-cult vibes.”

“At least my boobs aren’t hanging out,” I retort, raising an eyebrow at Jules’s C-cups, which are practically bursting out of her little black number.

She gives a shimmy then twists around to grab something off the floorboard, her raven waves falling across her face. “Here.” She tosses me a shiny bundle of fabric, and I catch it. “Put this on.”

Intimidated by what Jules considers appropriate clubbing attire, I hold the dress at arm’s length and let the silky burgundy fabric cascade down. It’s a short and strappy bodycon dress that looks as though it would fit a child.

“I’m not going dressed as a hooker!”

“It’s sexy!” Jules exclaims. “And we had a deal!”

“I agreed to go out with you.”

“Bup, bup, bup! You agreed to go out and make an effort to have fun.”

I roll my eyes. Damn Jules and her freakin’ transcript-quality memory.

Groaning, I turn and stomp back toward my apartment, which I’m subletting with two other seasonal workers. Having roommates is the only way I can afford to live in this town, and my rent still gobbles up about half my paycheck.

When I emerge wearing the skimpy little dress, Jules gives a loud whistle and an enthusiastic “ow, ow!”

I don’t believe in doing anything halfway, so I paired the dress with my sexiest heels and applied dark-red lipstick. I also gave my hair a flip and an extra spritz of product to enhance that “come have sex with me” look that Jules seems so determined to achieve.

I figure it’s all harmless fun. It’s not as if I’m actually going to go home with someone. In all likelihood, I’ll grab some New York pizza, come home, watch some trashy TV, and be in bed by one.

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