Page 7 of Seduced By the Werewolves

I chuckle at this. Maybe these brothers aren’t so bad. Just... very odd. “So do the four of you, uh, ever interact with women?”

Jace snorts. “Honestly, it’s a fair question after today.” He tilts his head and frowns apologetically. “I’m really, really sorry. I know that doesn’t change things, but I promise, I didn’t mean to be an asshole.”

I arch an eyebrow at him. “You could have just said hello instead of, I don’t know. Howling.” Not to mention all that weird shit about me smelling good.

Jace abruptly straightens, then holds out his hand.

“Hello,” he says. “I’m Jace. It’s good to meet you the way normal people meet each other.”

His expression is very serious, so I take his hand and shake it.

“Hi.” I try to hold in a laugh. “I’m Tiff.”

“Hi, Tiff.” Jace releases me but slides his fingers through mine on the way. “Can I buy you your next beer?”

I finally let out my giggle, because he’s making a sweet attempt. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to talk to him more. Jace is easy to look at, and I like his good humor so far. “All right. I’ll allow it.”

Jace calls over the bartender and I tell her what I want. While it’s being poured, Jace gives me his full attention.

“So, tell me everything,” he says. “I want to know who Tiff is.”

I appreciate that Jace doesn’t ask about the panic attack I had in the back of the Lupine Landscaping truck. We have a surprisingly comfortable chat about our parents and where we grew up. My childhood was very uninteresting, until Dad suddenly moved across the country to live with some woman he’d met online. Oh, and I was bullied in school for being on the bigger side, but I don’t tell him that part.

It sounds like Jace and his brothers come from a pretty average home. They broke a lot of stuff growing up, and they shared two bedrooms among them.

“Not to mention all of our toys, all of our clothes,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Poor Quinn always got the clothes last, and by then they were a mess.”

“It’s cute that you guys shared, though.”

Jace hums thoughtfully as he sips his beer. “What about your job?” he asks after a while. “What do you do for work, Tiff?”

It’s such a benign question, but it disrupts all the happy feelings I’d been having just chatting with him.

“I’m an assistant,” I say, trying to hide my resentment. “Personal assistant. I manage some guy’s appointments. Answer the phone. Bring him coffee. Take care of his finances.” I can’t help but laugh bitterly. “Everything you can think of, I do it.”

Jace is quiet at this. I know my job is boring, but he could at least pretend it’s not.

“Sounds like you don’t particularly love it,” he finally says. His dark eyes are inquisitive, not judgmental. I take another long sip of my beer. It’s my fourth one, so the alcohol’s starting to go to my head. Maybe that’s why I let the truth slip out.

“I hate it,” I admit. “I go home every day and wish I could quit. Then maybe pour some gasoline into Mr. Bosley’s coffee on my way out.”

Jace laughs in the middle of taking a drink and chokes on it. After a few coughs, he smiles at me. “You should quit, then.”

“I wish, but I don’t have a choice. I’m doing the only thing I’m good at: filing, keeping things organized, tracking vendors—you know, boring stuff.”

“Those are all pretty useful skills,” Jace says, brow furrowing. “You should see how we run our office. It’s a fucking disaster. None of us has any idea about filing or billing or whatever. We do everything in cash.”

My eyes bulge out of my head. “Do you record your payments? Are you even paying taxes on them?”

He looks at me blankly. Oh, no.

“This is what I’m saying,” Jace goes on. “People like you, who know how to run things, are really valuable.” He offers me a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry you feel that way about your job.”

I shrug. “That’s life. I didn’t have these, um, attacks, until I started working for Mr. Bosley.”

I shiver at exposing this part of myself to a relative stranger. But talking with Jace tonight, well, he doesn’t feel like one.

“Like this morning?” There’s a dark frown on his face. “That’s messed up, Tiff. You shouldn’t have to feel that way about a job.”

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