Page 113 of The Pack Next Door
A slight frown formed as she took in my t-shirt and jeans. I was looking more like a country boy than independently wealthy, and her lips pursed as a result.
“I hope so.” The box was held up. “I have a delivery for Gretchen Morrison?”
“Gretchen?” That mouth pinched tighter. “I can get that to her.”
Manicured hands went out, ready to receive the box, but I shook my head.
“No can do. I’m under strict instructions to hand it over to the lady herself,” I explained.
“Are you from the art school?” An eyebrow cocked upwards as she looked me up and down. “We have students come in here all the time, trying to get a meeting with Ms. Morrison. As I’ve told the heads of department, it’s by appointment only. Ms. Morrison visits all the student?—”
“Not an artist,” I replied. “Definitely not a student. This is from Briar Reynolds at Omega Core.”
That earned me a blink and a blank stare.
“Everything OK, Colette?” This had to be Gretchen. An older woman with the kind of patrician bearing posh betas affected came out, though her smile was far more genuine. Thick silver bangles rattled on her wrist as she offered me her hand. “Gretchen Morrison, though I think you already know that.”
I shook it gratefully.
“Maddox Whitlock. I’m… one of Briar’s mates.” In for a penny, in for a pound, I guessed. “We’ve had an issue with a recent shipment, and as you’re one of her most valued customers, she asked me to come down and see if we could get your opinion on something.”
Colette watched her boss closely, ready to eject me in a moment’s notice, but Gretchen nodded slowly.
“Come through. It’s been quiet today and I admit I’m intrigued.” She glanced over at her assistant. “See I’m not disturbed, please, Colette.”
I followed Gretchen down the hall, past artworks I didn’t understand and likely never would, before being ushered into a palatial office.
“Can I get you a drink? Water? Coffee?”
“Just your gut reaction, if I can.” I pulled the vase from the box and set it on the desk, noting the way the bright lights above had the colours in the piece glowing.
“Oh my…” Her hushed response told me everything I needed to know, but then Gretchen picked up the piece and held it close. “Is this another one of the Japanese pieces? No…” Her finger ran along the seams. “This is modernkintsugi, not the traditional kind. The glaze is definitely a more Western kind, but the blue and the gold…” It was placed back on the desk with care. “It’s really quite beautiful. Is that the feedback you were after?”
“Do you mind if I sit?” She indicated I take a chair as she did so on the other side of the desk. “We’ve run into a problem with the freight company. These pieces, they were supposed to be whole, no gold cracks. It was either throw the bits away?—”
“No.”
She slid the vessel closer to her, as if to protect it from its fate.
“We felt the same way. My brother, he gave this Japanese gold thing a go and we wanted to make sure people would actually like it before we pitched the idea to Briar…”
Uh-oh. Any attempt to pass this off as a sanctioned visit evaporated on the spot. Gretchen’s lips curved into a smile.
“So you thought you’d use me as your test audience first. I’m not sure if I should be irritated or flattered.” Her thumb brushed against the pot. “Flattered, I think.” She settled back into her chair. “Look, I can’t speak for everyone, but I think you have a very saleable product. Can’t ask traditionalkintsugiprices. The lacquer is food safe in ways epoxy never will be, but this is not the kind of vessel used for practical purposes. As an object d’art priced appropriately, I think you’ll find buyers for it. So Iassume this was the shipment from that glorious hermit that makes those beautiful pieces in the country?”
“Tom?” I snorted, not sure if glorious was the word I would use to describe him. Maybe if that was followed by the word prick. “Yep. He’s devastated. Briar’s devastated. There’s a whole lot of devastation going on and my brothers are trying to find a way forward.”
“You’re an alpha.” She leaned forward, a familiar gleam in her eyes. Betas had real weird ideas about us. “As are your brothers. You’re Briar’s mates?”
“Trying to be.” My back softened against the very stylish yet very uncomfortable chair. “We need to prove ourselves to her and this is all part of it.”
A jug was produced and water poured for both of us, then she pushed a glass my way.
“Tell me more.”
So I did. Was this why people went to therapists? Because there was something about telling a complete stranger all of my problems. I kept the details thin, because I was pretty sure Briar was gonna kick my arse when she found out I was spilling my guts to her most important client. Better to ask for forgiveness than ask permission, that was always my motto.
“Oh, this is fascinating,” Gretchen said. “We see so few alphas in the city.” As I got to my feet and repacked the vase, she continued, “Please ask Briar’s people to send me an invite to the launch. I didn’t buy any of the pieces when they were on presale. My husband threatened to divorce me if I brought yet more art home.” I had to laugh at that. “But those… He might make an exception for a few of them. At any rate, I have some friends that would just love pieces like this.”
