Page 57 of The Alpha's Protective Mate

Turning my attention back to the cups I’m setting up, I frown to myself. I shouldn’t be worrying about Jazz when I have a wolf Alpha chasing me.

I just don’t understand it.

There is nothing remotely appealing about me. That’s not to say that I consider myself ugly by any means. I simply don’t have anything that someone like Robert would be drawn to. If anything, I’m a workaholic. My hobbies are introverted. I keep to myself. I’m not exciting or interesting enough for anybody, especially a wolf Alpha, to pursue me.

So why does Robert want to date me? Why is he so adamant about uprooting this quiet, calm life that I have managed to build for myself?

I don’t understand his logic. I don’t understand his interest in me.

But I won’t bend to his will.

It doesn’t matter what I want or how I feel. I have to use my head, not my heart.

Besides—a soft smile forms on my lips—I’m going to have my hands full with Mano and her little babies soon enough. I won’t have time to think about the blue-eyed Alpha with his charming smile.

******

Robert waits a couple of days before he launches an attack.

And it’s not what I was expecting.

“Delivery for Charlotte Beaumont!”

I look up from where I’m preparing a latte for a customer. “That’s me. I’ll be right with you.”

Putting the lid on the coffee, I hand it over to the customer before rounding the counter toward the delivery man. “Yes?”

“Sign here, please.” He holds out a clipboard with a piece of paper on it.

“I don’t remember ordering anything,” I mutter as I make sure the name and address are correct. It doesn’t make sense that the delivery address is the cafe. I’ve never had anything delivered here. I have a post office box near my house where I pick up my packages.

However, the name and address are correct.

Reluctantly, I sign the slip.

The delivery man hands me a large package tied up in brown paper.

“What is it?” Shelby asks curiously.

“I don’t know,” I reply, confused. Putting the parcel on one of the unoccupied tables, I open it carefully. My eyes widen a moment later.

“No.”

“What is it, Charlotte?” Jazz is impatient and decides to look for herself. She makes a sound of disappointment. “Oh, it’s just books.”

I’m not listening to her, though. My blood is thundering in excitement.

“These are—How did these—”

I can’t even form a coherent sentence, just staring at the hardcover books. They are a fictional detective series from a foreign author who doesn’t sell his novels outside his country. I’ve only managed to read his books online, from no legitimate sources. I never dreamed I could ever own actual copies of his work, including his new releases.

“Are you crying?!” Jazz looks horrified.

“No,” I sniffle, feeling overwhelmed. A card slips from one of the books, and I lean down to pick it up. There is a crudely drawn wolf on one side, and the other side reads, “You mentioned your favorite author while you were drinking all that tea.”

I stare at the message, and incredulous laughter spills out of me.

I have a feeling Robert’s never going to stop reminding me of my mix-up with iced tea and the Long Island variety.

---