Page 31 of Heat Island
I have to remind myself that I don’t want a pack of workaholic alphas who think I should be happy with a black card and no actual time spent with them, while giving up on any plans I have for myself outside of their home.
“And don’t think I’m expecting you to work for free,” Josie adds, sliding into the passenger seat. “Send a bill to Egret for whatever your normal rates are. He specifically said to make sure you’re compensated properly.”
I freeze with my hand on the driver’s door. “That’s...not necessary. You’re my sister.”
“Nonsense! This is your profession. You should be paid.” She fastens her seatbelt with a decisive click. “I won’t take no for an answer.”
I slide behind the wheel, mind racing. Being paid by my ex-fiancé to plan his wedding to my sister—couldthis situation get any more twisted? But as I start the engine, a deliciously petty thought forms.
“Well, if you insist.” I pull away from the curb, lips curving into a smile. “I’ll send him my standard contract.”
“Perfect!” Josie fiddles with the display screen. “Egret handles all the finances. He’s so responsible.”
I nod, already calculating in my head. My standard rate, plus a rush fee for the six-week timeline, plus an international destination wedding surcharge, plus... an asshole tax. A substantial one. After all, the client specifically requested comprehensive service.
“You know what? I think that’s very fair,” I say, merging onto the highway toward the airport. “I’ll make sure he gets every penny’s worth.”
Josie squeezes my arm. “You’re the best sister ever. My wedding is going to be perfect.”
“Oh, I’m counting on it.” I take a sip of my cooling coffee and smile into the cup. Egret always used to hate overpaying for things, he would argue with servers at restaurants if the automatic tip percentage included the tax.
This invoice is going to be a masterpiece.
“How do you put the music on with this thing?” Josie asks, still poking at the screen. “Who suddenly decided that every car needs to have a tablet in it?”
I glance over to help just as a semi-truck cuts into my lane. I swerve, focusing back on the road, when suddenly?—
“—HIS ALPHA SCENT OVERWHELMED ME AS HE PUSHED ME AGAINST THE WALL, HIS HANDS ROUGH ON MY HIPS?—”
My coffee sloshes onto my lap as I jerk the wheel. “What the?—”
“—I MOANED AS HIS TEETH GRAZED MY NECK, BEGGING HIM TO CLAIM ME?—”
“Oh my god!” I frantically stab at the screen, trying to silence the narrator’s husky voice detailing exactly what the alpha was about to do next. Instead, the volume cranks higher.
“—HIS GROWL VIBRATED THROUGH MY BODY AS HE RIPPED MY?—”
“Make it stop!” Josie squeals, sounding both entertained and horrified.
My fingers slip across the screen, accidentally activating the voice command. “PLAYING NEXT CHAPTER,” the system announces helpfully.
“—HARDER,” I GASPED, MY LEGS WRAPPED AROUND HIS WAIST?—”
“Trinity Jones!” Josie’s eyes widen. “Is this what you listen to on your commute?”
I finally locate the power button and slam my palm against it. Blessed silence fills the car as my face burns hotter than the coffee soaking into my jeans.
“It helps me relax after work,” I mutter, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles.
Josie’s delighted laughter fills the car. “I knew there was an omega in there somewhere! Send me the name of the book so I can add it to my TBR.”
“Here. Let me just unplug my phone, and you can use the satellite radio.” I reach over, but she is already staring down at the screen.
Her gasp is immediate. “Trinity Jones! Who are these men?”
My stomach drops. I forgot about the photo. After meeting with Matheo, Lucas, and Cash, we’d taken several posed shots at Amara’s suggestion. Something about needing photographic evidence of our relationship.
I’d practiced the conversation about a hundred times in my head because I’d planned to tell Josie during our flight. Ideally, when we were midway over the Atlantic Ocean without Wi-Fi service, preventing her from web searching their names, or making an announcement in the family group chat.
