Page 7 of Howling Mad
“Great, see you then.”I hesitate and then add, “We’ll find someone who gets your finance and stargazing vibe.Promise.”
He chuckles, low and warm.“I appreciate the enthusiasm.”
I hang up, adrenaline buzzing.His voice was reserved but kind, and I’m already curious about meeting him.“Stay professional,” I chant.
Thatevening,PenelopeandI celebrate my “first big client call” with cheap sushi.She teases me for mentioning stargazing.“You’re basically flirting by saying you like his hobbies.”
“It slipped out,” I mumble, dipping a roll.“I was showing we care about his interests.”
She smirks.“Sure.Just don’t fall for him.He’s got the same family drama as you.Recipe for trouble.”
I roll my eyes.“I’m not dating him.He’s a client.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” she says, grinning.
We laugh and then dig through her yarn stash.She’s crocheting a pink cactus that looks like a cartoon prop.My attempts at helping unravel spectacularly, leaving us cackling until the neighbors bang on the wall.
Chapter 3
Finley
Thenextmorning,I’mgiving myself a stern pep talk in the mirror, but I don’t exactly look stern.My reflection shows a woman with hair that refuses to stay tamed, cheeks flushed with stress, and shoulders that keep creeping upward as though trying to clamber into my ears.I tug on the hem of my blouse, which might be one size too small thanks to an impulsive purchase from a clearance rack.Why did I think I could wear an extra-snug wrap top for a big day like this?
I pace the narrow strip of hallway between my room and the kitchen.Penelope’s voice echoes from the living room, where she’s sprawled on the couch crocheting a neon-pink cactus.She insists it’s for stress relief, but it looks like a Technicolor hazard.My stomach lurches every time I think about what awaits me at the office—my very first face-to-face consultation with Michael Thornton, the complicated wolf shifter who scorns pack traditions, invests in human finance, and apparently checks off half the boxes for “impossible to match.”I can do this because I understand wolfish parental oppression more than most.
I straighten my posture again, forcing my shoulders down.“I can do this.”
Penelope lets out a theatrical sigh.“You’ve said that six times in the past ten minutes.”
I take a moment to gather my dignity… what little I have left.“I’m psyching myself up.”
She gestures with her crochet hook.“Look, you’re an assistant at Romance Expected.You’re supposed to be the cool, empathetic wolf, who can handle a complicated case.If you don’t calm down, you’ll freak him out.”
I fold my arms, but it’s more to keep them from shaking.“I’m calm.I’m a Zen meadow of daisies.”
She snorts.“Sure you are.Now, about that top.Are you going to be able to breathe while taking notes, or will you pass out from compression?”
Heat flashes across my cheeks.“Rude.”
“You asked me to keep you honest,” she says in a singsong voice, returning her focus to the crocheted cactus.“Besides, I’m making sure you don’t embarrass yourself by spontaneously ripping seams if your heart starts pounding.”
I glance down, checking that the blouse’s wrap knot is secure.My reflection wasn’t lying; I do look a little squeezed.I mumble something about it being professional but form-fitting and then fling open the closet door and rummage for a backup.The best I can do is a loose gray blouse that’s a bit wrinkled, but at least it’s comfortable.I strip out of the too-tight one—Penelope snickering at the entire process—and then slip on the gray top.I smooth it down, ignoring the mirror’s taunt that it’s slightly boring.
She sets aside the cactus yarn.“Now you look less like you’re auditioning for a TV anchor role and more like a normal person.It suits you.”
I exhale a laugh.“Thank you, oh wise bunny.”I check the clock on my phone.“I need to go, though.If I show up late, Red might feed me to her red panda cousins.”
Penelope flicks an ear in mock empathy.“And we can’t have that.Go wow your fancy wolf man.”
I grab my purse, ignoring the spike of nerves that phrase unleashes.“He’s not mine.He’s a client.”
She smirks, a wicked gleam in her eyes.“Tell that to your face every time you talk about him.”
I refuse to take the bait, darting out the door before I have to defend myself.Honestly, it’s not that I have a crush or anything.I’m just determined to prove that I can handle a tough case and maybe help a fellow misfit find love without being hammered by pack expectations.
That’s all.
Outside, the city hums with early traffic.I wave down a bus—my typical mode of transport when I’m too frazzled to navigate the crowded subway or pull my car out of parking—and spend the ride rehearsing how to greet Michael.“Hi, I’m Finley.So nice to finally meet you face-to-face.I’m your new consultant, and I promise not to drag you on a group hunt.”Too flippant.“Mr.Thornton, I appreciate your time.”That’s probably too stiff.Ugh.
