Page 1 of Knotty New Year

Chapter1

Candy

For my fifth birthday party, my mom baked five different kinds of miniature cupcakes. I got so excited I ate two of each, even the butterscotch lemon ones I hated, and spent the rest of the day sick to my stomach.

When I was eleven, I was so thrilled at being asked to the sixth-grade cotillion dance by Timothy Burgemeister Jr. and Samuel Maulding, I told both of them yes and had to do some tricky explaining to all the parents when the guys showed up with corsages.

I loved having choices more than anything.

But after I turned twenty, and everyone realized I wasn’t just the only child of Marta and Elmer Kane, but also the first omega ever born to either family line? I lost all my choices, except one: which alpha I was going to pick.

At my hastily planned Designation Debutante Ball at the Omega League headquarters, I’d shocked everyone bynotchoosing, slipping out the kitchen door and back to my room alone instead. All the alphas at the party had been butterscotch lemons, as far as I was concerned.

Now, at twenty-four, even though my choices had grown even narrower, I’d decided to try one last time to have the life that had been snatched away from me in a burst of berry and cream perfume.

My teeth chattering from the late December cold, I stood with my finger on the doorbell of a colossal door to a Southern Gothic mansion that was easily five times the size of my parents’ comfortable home. I was about to interview for a temp job working for Nicholas Paxson, the richest alpha on the East Coast. I wasn’t certain what the job entailed exactly, but it didn’t matter. This was my chance.

My choice.

I rubbed my sweaty hands on my thighs, doing a breathing exercise I’d learned online, which made my boobs almost pop one of the pearly buttons that were valiantly trying to contain the girls.

“Get back in there,” I told my left boob, tucking it into the top. I eyed the right one with suspicion, too. But it was smaller, and usually minded its manners.

I had on one of my mom’s “attorney outfits” for this interview. It almost fit me, though my curves made the skirt slightly too tight to bend over in. I’d decorated Mom’s matching jacket with pastry crumbs and a clumsy splash of my cappuccino a half hour before, so I was only wearing the V-neck silk button-down blouse. The top was far too flimsy for the December chill, but I’d taken my puffy coat off and left it in the car to try and look professional.

The giant wrought iron gate had opened when I drove up, the guard quickly checking my license plate and waving my yellow VW Bug through right before he got in his truck and headed off. The second barrier, a line of tall metal bollards across the drive closer to the house, hadn’t descended automatically for my car, though. I’d had to get out and walk through the cold, up the sweeping circular driveway.A few stray snowflakes swirled in the air now, making the scene almost magical.

Something about this whole thing felt too good to be true. But maybe I was due for some good luck?

The week before, my two besties, Soleil and Rain, had slapped together a website for a temp agency we were calling the Blue Skies Concierge Agency, along with a stack of printed business cards that looked official. On her way to St. Croix yesterday, Soleil had texted to say that a garbled phone message had been left about a last-minute position with Paxson Pharma. When I’d checked online, the only positions open were internships, and the PA spot for Nicholas Paxson himself.

So I’d decided to try for it. I was vaguely qualified to be a PA. Sort of. If you counted my unfinished degree and the subsequent two years of volunteer work in the Omega League’s main office.

Still, the one thing that had been clear about the position they needed filled was the word “beta.” I had spritzed on a significant amount of Paxson Pharma’s own guaranteed scent blockers and hoped for the best. Maybe he would see how great I was at filing or social media updating, or whatever, before he smelled me. And then he might choose to let me stay.

A shiver of fear worked down my spine. What if Mr. Paxson thought I was an alpha chaser, like those women who hounded rich alphas all the time in the tabloids? What if he got one whiff of me and called the police?

“I can’t go to prison. I look really, really bad in orange,” I grumbled to the closed door. I yanked my finger away from the doorbell and took a step back, lifting my tan leather tote onto my shoulder.

Then I remembered. I couldn’t go home. If I did, my parents would guilt trip me into marrying Andreas “Booger Nose” Vanderwall III, and I’d rather be homeless. Married to a weak alpha who constantly had a little booger trapped in his nose hairs, waving like a small white flag of surrender with every breath? Who smelled like mildew and tuna fish? Nope.

I had some blankets in the car. People lived in their cars, right? I could make a tiny nest out of the back seat…

I was just starting to back away when the giant door flew open, and I wobbled on my high heels, trying not to fall. An angry voice cut through the whistle of the bitter wind. “Get inside now. You’re late, Miss Kane.”

“I’m… late?” I blinked as a middle-aged, thin woman dressed in a navy-blue pantsuit bustled through the doorway and pulled me inside. I almost fell as she dragged me across a marble floor, my four-inch heels clacking.

“Yes, an hour late, and I may very well miss my flight with the storm that’s coming,” the woman complained. “I’m Mrs. Vincad, the house manager, and I do not have time to do the usual onboarding for a new employee.”

I was already hired? I was giving myself a mental fist bump—the fluffed-up résumé I’d emailed must have been better than I thought—when she went on.

“Now, listen. The baby is upstairs sleeping. Here is the monitor.” She thrust a white cylinder into my hand. “All the instructions are on the counter in the kitchen. The cook arrives at six every morning, and the maids at nine. You will stay out of their way, in the east wing. Do not ask the other staff to take care of him; they are not trained.” She sucked at her teeth. “Donotask Mr. Paxson to help with baby Benjamin. He’s far too busy.”

“Too busy for his own child?” I wondered aloud. I didn’t even know the man had a child, and I’d researched him on the internet last night after Soleil’s text. Though there really hadn’t been much about his personal life, mainly just about his progressive work on omega health issues.

And what was Mrs. Vincad doing telling me all this? Gossiping about her boss was tacky. I’d opened my mouth to politely tell her so when she sighed.

“His nephew! Didn’t the agency tell you? The baby is staying here through the holidays.” Her lips curled into a tight smile. “Mr. Paxson will be working from home. He will spend time with Benjamin where he can, but he must not be disturbed while working. Just keep Benjamin quiet and out of the way. If you do, you’ll get the extra bonus.”

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