Page 81 of Laurels and Liquor

“Vehicle. White SUV. Cadillac,” Caleb replies, clipped and efficient.

Jason, Sammy, and I look at each other with similar bloodless expressions of panic. Mom and Dad are pulling up outside.

Chapter forty-one

Alexandra

Lydia’sspikeoffearruns through my heart like a javelin, and it takes all my willpower not to go to her, gather her in my arms, and take her away from this. But running at this point would be completely counterproductive. So instead, I step forward, putting myself between her and the doorway to the foyer. Rhett moves on silent feet to my right side, fully obscuring Lydia from view. Mateo and Lucas move toward the edges of the room, positioning themselves on either side of the foyer doorway, strategically making themselves less noticeable. Caleb maintains his place closest to the door, and I don’t miss the subtle shift of his arms as they cross over his chest, one hand slipping inside his jacket inconspicuously.

I don’t see where the rest of the guards, or Sammy and Ally, move to, as my focus shifts to the door when it opens, revealing a man and a woman entering with shoulders back and heads high. The family resemblance is obvious. The man, who I can only assume to be Lydia’s father, is average in most respects. His height, weight, attractiveness, all just mediocre at best, but his eyes are the same striking shade of emerald green as my omega’s. His hair is a similar shade of blond as Jason’s, combed back in a careful swoop that reminds me of World War II army portraits. It ages him beyond his true years, but I can’t deny that it has the desired effect of making him appear more severe and respectable than he really is. He’s dressed in pressed pants, and a crisp white short-sleeved shirt, exposing muscular arms that have been darkened by his time working outdoors. He scans the room, and I can tell by the way his eyes skate right past me that he hasn’t identified me as the alpha in charge yet, which is surprising, but is fine with me. He’ll learn soon enough how big of a mistake it is to underestimate Alexandra St. Clair.

“What is all this? Samuel, what’s going on here? Who are you—”

“Good to finally meet in person, Diane. We’ve spoken on the phone a few times. Mateo Hutchenson,” Mateo says, stepping out of a shadow to present his hand for her to shake.

Only years of rigorous control keep me from laughing out loud at the frightened expression that crosses Diane Anderson’s face. I’d heard about that phone call, when Mateo vowed to ruin her if she continued to harass Lydia, and I’m glad she remembers, too. She ducks behind her husband as they continue forward, and the patriarch shakes Mateo’s hand, too much of a Southern gentleman to refuse a handshake, even with a known enemy. Mateo pours on the charm, his smile incandescent as he steps back and motions to the rest of us in the room.

“We were just stoppin’ by for a spell, and were about to head your way. Seems like we’ve crossed paths at the wrong time,” Mateo goes on, his words smoothing out as he puts on the mask he so often wears as the face of my organization. The way he can calm anxious clients with just a few short sentences makes him the perfect salesman, and it’s why, more often than not, I trust him to be the first person an investor interacts with when dealing with the St. Clair Foundation.

In our strategy for dealing with Lydia’s parents, I wanted to have the chance to feel them out before I make my first move, which is why Mateo was supposed to start our introductions. He’s adapted the plan, and is taking point now to allow me time to evaluate. The couple is tense, nearly vibrating with discomfort. Samuel Sr. keeps looking around, trying to find something, but only seeing the small army I’d assembled. Could we have gone on this trip with Caleb alone as security and been just fine? Sure, but there’s something to be said about bigger posse diplomacy.

“What business do you have in my home?” Diane asks tartly, her aging face twisting like she’s sucked on too many lemons.

I don’t see much of Lydia when I look at her mother, not compared to her father. They might share the same nose shape, same ears, but beyond that, it’s hard to tell. Whatever Diane’s natural hair color was, it’s now covered with a truly horrendous shade of chestnut brown, one that makes her spray tanned skin lean an unflattering shade of orange. She’d dressed modestly, but the style of her skirt suit is very dated. The coral color is almost hard to look at, not that I want to give her any more attention than is absolutely necessary.

“Sammy asked us to stop by,” Jason adds, stepping out from behind Ally’s armchair.

Diane’s hair whips around her face as her head snaps to look at her youngest son, and she immediately flushes an angry red. She opens her mouth, but Samuel’s hand on her shoulder halts whatever she’s about to say. Which is for the best, in all honesty. I can feel Rhett through Lydia and Lucas, and he’s hovering at the very limits of his temper. If she tried to go after Jason again like she did the last time mother and son were in the same room, I doubt there would be much I could do to stop him. And, if Samuel Sr.’s nervous glances to the alpha by my side are anything to go by, he’s thinking the same thing. So he’s not entirely oblivious, and avoids conflict whenever possible.

“Where’s Adam?” Jason asks, somehow both pointed and casual simultaneously.

“On a job. With Sammy needing to take care of Ally, and this meeting, I had to leave him in charge,” Samuel says, almost no inflection to the words. Straight forward, honest, no nonsense.

A strategy emerges, and further solidifies as Diane huffs a sigh, looking at Ally with open contempt in every line of her face. To her credit, Ally doesn’t balk, tossing her hair over her shoulder and returning the look with a sweet smile. A woman after my own heart.

“Like I said, we were just on our way out. We didn’t mean to interrupt whatever brought you back home, so we can leave and meet y’all at our previously agreed upon location,” Mateo offers genially, taking back control of the conversation.

His subtle point catches in my mind, and I narrow my eyes. Whyarethey here? Lydia told us the office is about a half hour away from the house, and we’re coming up on our original meeting time quickly. It’d always been my plan to be late, a power play straight out of my father’s handbook, but they should have already been at the office, if not on their way. Samuel Sr.’s eyes flick to me, something stirring in them, but I can’t identify it before he looks away.

“If it’s all the same to y’all, we could get this done and over with here rather than driving all the way out to the office,” he says, addressing Mateo now.

Mateo looks at me in question, and I consider. I don’t like the idea of staying here. Lydia's discomfort lingers on the edges of my senses, her fingers against my back, her steady, measured breathing as she tries to collect herself. Rhett is there, lending her his strength, but the idea of my omega’s distress makes my stomach roil. And even with Samuel Sr. claiming that Adam is out on a job, it’s already been proven that people will show up where they’re not supposed to be. I’d spoken to Jason a lot about the family dynamics in preparation for this meeting, and we both agreed that if we wanted to keep this as civil as possible, Adam should not be present. Lucas might be a bratty little shit stirrer, but he always knows where the line is. Adam, according to all accounts, finds the line, spits on it, and then marches boldly across it without a backward glance.

But we’re here, and it would be better to get this done sooner rather than later. I look to Caleb, and the tension around his eyes tells me all I need to know. We had the floor plan of the office memorized, but we have no idea where anything is, where the exits are, or even if we’re alone. I shift to glance at Jason, and he’s tense, but not obviously so. He gives me a little shrug, and I purse my lips. Mateo gives me a nod of deference, and Lucas is too busy trying to set the back of Diane’s hair on fire with his eyes to notice my questioning glance. Lydia slides her fingers into mine and squeezes twice, silently giving her consent. I turn my attention to Samuel Sr., but before I can respond, Diane is opening her mouth.

“I’ll get drinks. I think we’ve still got some lemonade,” Diane says, striding off through the frankly crowded room toward the kitchen on my left.

Mateo, Rhett, Lucas, and I share a look before I turn and look at Lydia, whose face is nearly as pale as the white walls around us. I squeeze her hand, frowning at how cold her fingers are despite the warmth of the room, pulling her eyes from the middle distance. She blinks, and her nerves echo my own. Not giving a single flying fuck about the company around us, I lean in and kiss her hairline, feeling her little spark of joy at the gesture.

“It’ll be okay, sweetness. We’ve got this,” I whisper reassuringly.

She gives me a shaky smile, but her eyes flick over my shoulder at the same time I hear heavy footsteps approaching. I turn and lift my chin as Samuel Sr. comes within arm’s reach of me, Rhett, and Lydia. We’re still standing partially in front of our omega, but he looks past us to his daughter, giving her an assessing stare. There’s a long stretch of silence, and I give Lydia the room to decide how she wants to handle the waves of rolling off the older alpha. Our fingers are still entwined, and I can tell the moment he notices by the flare of his nostrils, and the tightening in the corners of his mouth. Rhett straightens, the air filling with leather and burning paper. So he doesn’t like that look, either.

“Lydia, help me bring these to the table,” Diane calls pointedly, breaking the tense silence before either alpha can start.

Lydia stiffens, biting her lower lip as her eyes move toward her mother and then to me, her conflict sour like artificial sweetener on the roof of my mouth. But before I can tell Lydia not to listen and to sit with me, movement in the corner of my eye catches my attention.

“Let me help, Mrs. Anderson,” Lucas says, jumping to attention and scurrying over to the kitchen island and the tray of glasses she’s put together.

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