Page 116 of Sweetheart: Part One

“But it… wouldn’t be a good look for you,” I said. “Getting people fired.”

“I wasn’t going totellthem he’s an imbecile.” Ebony snorted. Then that strange look overtook his face again, and he was smiling. “And the driver—Jacob Smith, was it? So charming. They usually aren’t friendly enough to ask for autographs.” This time the mask slid away for a curious look as he took me in. “I didn’t think watching you squirm would be so fun. Should we make it a game? How many people can I get fired in one trip without marring my oh-so-precious reputation?”

I felt sick, unable to take my eyes from him.

He gave me his first honest smile of the night as he leaned close. “Would that break your fragile little beta heart, Vex?”

“Fuck you.”

There was something dangerous dancing in his eyes.

“Maybe that’s what we’ll do. I get every fourth day, right? I could take you on all those dates Love wants, and we can see how many people we can ruin, starting tonight. I’ll even let you choose. Every person you speak to, I won’t just get them fired, I’ll make sure they’re blacklisted from the whole industry.”

He was insane. “I’ll tell Love that’s what you’re doing,” I said.

“You think I give a shit?” Ebony chuckled, letting me go and leaning back on the seat. “You know, these places always have gold pack omegas on staff when I’m around? It’s the business trying to get my endorsement. In the background, of course, never allowed near me. But all I have to say is they came too close—can’t risk a scent match ruining my career.” He snapped his fingers with a smirk, drinking in my expression. “There’s a strike on their worker’s card.”

Hearing him speak those words was like a shot of adrenaline in my veins. There were industries that required gold packs to have a workers card—a special pass that was hard to get approved for—before they could be hired. Take that away, and they wouldn’t be able to do the job anymore. I shoved down my nerves. He was just trying to get a reaction from me. That was all.

It was hard, folding my arms and leaning back against my seat, but I managed it. I shrugged. “Do what you want. I don’t care.”

He grinned, as if he could see right through my indifference, and the rest of the journey was spent in silence. I couldn’t focus, my mind reeling at his gold pack comment.

Finally, we pulled up at a flashy, towering building in downtown New Oxford. It was fronted by broad steps leading up to huge glass doors, and a fountain with a stone koi spouting water before the entrance.

Ebony smiled and thanked the driver before stepping from the limo. There were paparazzi around, and they hurried toward us, cameras clicking as they shouted questions that Ebony ignored. Instead, he turned, holding his hand out to me as I made to exit behind him.

I took his help, keeping my expression neutral. No matter how I felt about him behind closed doors, I would be polite out here. Disrespect to either him or the Crimson Fury pack’s image in public was grounds for contract termination.

The moment I was out of the limo, however, I was glad for his closeness. I felt my heart rate elevate at the attention of the journalists, ducking my head down. Ebony gave them a graceful wave before sweeping toward the building, a gentle grip on my arm ensuring I remained close. I hurried to keep pace with him; he was significantly taller than me, and each of his steps were worth three of mine.

It took a little effort to steady my breathing once we were inside, the clicks of cameras and shouts still dim echoes in my brain, keeping me on edge.

“Ebony!” I heard someone exclaim. There was a handshake and niceties that I couldn’t focus on. An old friend of the pack, it seemed, with a jolly voice.

“Call me if you want any more future collaborations, oh, and here—I only have a few left, but they’re prototypes, ‘put it by your bedside, and let it organise your life’, something like that, anyway. Maybe drop it in a photo or two? Favour to a friend.”

“Of course.”

Next thing I knew, Ebony was passing me something. “If you wouldn’t mind?” he asked, voice sweet as honey. I took what he was holding without thinking, still trying to get my bearings.

“They’re compatible with…”

The conversation continued, but I just stared down at the small glass cube in my hand. It lit up when I touched it, the time, date and weather forecast displayed within.

I was still unfocused. Each of those clicks just now had been photos. I’d always been nervous around people taking photos of me. I couldn’t control where they were posted—and these ones would have a broader reach. There was a pack out there with a daughter long stolen by a woman who’d fled them… But my name was different. I was different, outside and in.

Rationally, I knew they would neither recognise me, nor would they want me back.

It wasn’t that I was afraid they’d come for me—even if they did care enough to, and levelled me with accusations that constructed my nightmares—it would destroy them.

But it would destroy me, too.

So all those eyes made me nervous. I’d been out with Drake, but he’d not been recognised much, and the few times he had it had been a quiet request for a photo with him before we’d ducked away. I’d never beeninthose photos.

When Ebony was done talking, clapping the man on the arm with a goodbye, he led us to a front desk. There was an excited welcome I didn’t listen to, but I was ripped from my anxiety as I heard a question that drew my gaze sharply.

“How did you find your ride here?” The woman behind the desk was the image of office perfection, with glossy black hair, a blazer, and a pencil skirt. But I was focused on what she had said.

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