by RJ Blain
But first, I’d have to show them I was capable, independent, and able to play their stupid money games, mingling with the wealthy and the elite. My jeans and tank top wouldn’t do. The cute little sundresses Sanders so liked wouldn’t suffice.
Blonde and blue hair didn’t belong among the wealthy elite. The blue would be easy enough to get rid of. I could afford to lose a couple of inches cutting it out before dyeing the rest of my hair a more natural chestnut. A trip to a salon, a trip to a high-end clothing store, and I’d be armed with everything I needed to show everyone I remembered how New York worked.
“Where are you going, Missy?” my seat mate asked, looking up from her knitting.
In the time since we took off, the scarf had grown by several feet. I gaped at it, marveling at the weave of the braiding work. “New York. You?”
“The same. I’m visiting my daughter.”
“I hope you have a nice trip, ma’am.”
“Aren’t you just a polite young lady? What’s such a sweet thing like yourself doing traveling alone?”
“I have a meeting to go,” I replied, wrinkling my nose. “Hopefully, I’ll be headed home in a few days.”
I’d have to figure out where home was, but that was another bridge I’d cross when I got to it.
“You’ll be fine,” the old woman replied, returning to her knitting.
I would be, one way or another.
It was early afternoon when I arrived in New York. I caught a cab and headed for Fifth Avenue.
The bounty for killing Kent left me with a bank account with more zeros than I knew what to do with. If I wanted to prove I knew the New York game, I’d spend a lot of it dressing for the occasion. Before I could hit the designer stores, I needed to fix my hair. It took several stops before I found a salon willing to make the blue and blond disappear in favor of a more appropriate shade.
When I told the stylist I was attending a business party and the blue had to go, he narrowed his eyes, running his fingers through my hair.
“What color is your dress?”
“Undecided,” I replied, shrugging. “I figured I’d dye first and buy second.”
“If you go with a really dark shade, you won’t have to strip your hair,” he replied, making thoughtful noises in his throat. “What’s your natural color?”
“Light brown.”
“Boring,” he declared, grabbing a magazine to flip through it. “Dark brown to black would work well with your skin tone, and you could work a red dress. It’ll be a nice contrast.”
The color he pointed out was black with a subtle hint of blue.
Black wasn’t a color I had ever done before. “Eyebrows, too,” I replied, nodding my approval. “Work your magic. Cut however you think looks best with the color.”
“Style?”
“My hair is your playground.”
If I didn’t like it, it’d grow back.
Two hours and several hundred dollars later, I escaped the stylist with black hair with glints of blue in it. He didn’t even cut much off while layering and styling it. Pleased with the cut, I planned the next stage of my transformation.
In order to hit the high-end boutiques, I needed to dress the part. Service mattered, and the last thing I needed was a sales person wanting to get rid of me because I wasn’t a classy enough broad for their establishment.
I found a mid-line boutique, bought the first dress with a designer label that fit me and didn’t look terrible, found matching shoes, and wore them out of the store, much to the amusement of the employees. My wolf didn’t understand what I was doing or why, but she recognized I was hunting, which intrigued her. Aware of her interest, I prowled along Fifth Avenue in search of the perfect boutique or department store for several evening dresses.
I settled on a large department store. If I ended up wearing the same dress as another woman, all I had to do was wear it better, wear it with more confidence, and accessorize better than she did.
A gentleman in a suit approached me with a smile fixed into place. “Can I help you, Miss?”
I glanced at his name tag. “Logan,” I murmured, offering a faint smile. “I require a dress. I’m looking for something expensive, in red. I will require shoes and a purse to go with it. I don’t want to dance around. Impress me.”
Logan examined me from head to toe. “Size two,” he declared.
“Oh, you’re good,” I replied, fluttering my lashes at him.
“I think I have the perfect dress, Miss. Please come with me.”
He took me to the third floor, guiding me through racks of dresses to a corner. While many department stores displayed the most elegant gowns, the one I had chosen focused on the latest winter fashions most women could afford.
The gown was a deep red, floor length, and came with a white fur shrug. Instead of the deep, plunging neckline I expected, it was designed to show a mere hint of cleavage.
I narrowed my eyes, touching it. “Silk?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“Let’s see if it fits, shall we?” I asked. “Which shoes do you recommend?”
Logan carefully removed the dress from the rack and wasted no time selecting a pair of heels and a purse. He guided me to a dressing room, and when he snapped his fingers, a young woman hurried to join us.
“The young lady will be trying on this dress,” he stated.
I got the feeling he thought I intended to steal it. Forcing a smile, I went to the dressing room and changed.
Maybe Logan didn’t approve of me, but he had a good eye for clothes. The dress Desmond had purchased had been beautiful, but the simplicity of the gown and the way its skirts flowed around my legs with my every movement, put it in a class all its own. I spun, giggling with delight at the way it flared.
When I stepped out of the dressing room to take advantage of the full-length mirror in the main area, Logan was waiting for me. His eyes widened and his mouth opened, but he didn’t say a word. His attention tempted me into taking the first few steps of a waltz and spinning to make certain I wouldn’t trip over the hem should the gala include dancing.
“It needs something,” I declared, coming to a halt to stare at the mirror.
“Jewelry,” he immediately suggested. “Please wait here. I think I know of just the piece, Miss.”
I fluttered my hand at him in dismissal.
When he returned, he carried a jewelry box containing a necklace and earrings. White metal gleamed at me, and I fought the urge to recoil. “White gold?” I asked, forcing my attention to the rest of the piece. A single large, red stone was surrounded by clusters of diamonds, which was held by a delicate chain.
“Platinum, Miss.”
I relaxed, smiling. “Excellent. I’m allergic to silver.”
Presenting my back to the salesman, I clasped my hands in front of me. The necklace hugged my neck, with the stone settling in the hollow of my throat.
The ruby matched the gown, while the diamonds and platinum added a sense of uniformity with the shrug. The tear-drop earrings added sparkle and contrasted with my hair.
“This will do nicely. I’ll take it,” I announced.
“Do you not wish to know the price?” Logan stammered.
“I do not. Work your magic one more time, Logan. I require a cocktail dress for this evening, and I’d like to wear it out of the store. I will need a necklace and earrings to match, as well as a bracelet if you can find one suitable. I have a date, and I wish to look my best.”
I left the department store having done substantial damage to my bank account. Taunting my mate, I had my lingerie, picked to drive him wild when he saw me in them, delivered to his room. Borrowing the department store’s phone, I booked myself into the same hotel with instructions to leave the rest of my purchases in my room. In addition to two purses, I had also acquired two coats and two pairs of gloves matching my dresses.
Witnessing Sander’s expression alone would be worth the investment.
Tonight, he would be at
tending a party with Desmond, Wendy, Joseph, and another one of the pack’s bitches. When I showed up in my little black dress, sparkling with diamonds and sapphires, I would give them all a taste of who I had once been and would be again. If Joseph was going to hate me, I’d earn every bit of his loathing.
When the night was over, when I finished proving there was a prim and proper lady beneath my stripper exterior, I’d find a way out of the pack that didn’t want me while I kept my mate as mine and mine alone.
I wouldn’t accept no as an answer.
With my arrangements made, I made one final stop, purchasing a brand new cell phone. Pleased to discover it came out of the box with a strong charge, I found a discreet corner of the store to place a call.
“How may I direct your call?” the receptionist to Topside asked.
“Topside. It’s Sara Madison, the—”
“Connecting.”
I snorted. “Waiting for my call, were you?” I asked.
“This is not your normal number,” the Shadow Pope commented. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say this was a New York number.”
“Surprise. My phone had an accident.”
“An accident.”
“I underestimated my strength. It’s in a trash can somewhere.”
He sighed. “Where are you, Miss Madison? You’re obviously not in O’Hare, as one of my agents has been searching for you for the past six hours.”
“You already told me where I’m at. I’m calling from a New York number because I’m in New York.”
There was a long moment of silence, followed by a sigh. “How exactly did you make it to New York?”
“Magic.”
“Magic,” he echoed.
“I rebooked on my own and utilized the modern marvels of bus travel and flew out from a different airport.”
“You left O’Hare.”
“Damned fucking right I left O’Hare,” I snarled.
“Would you please call either Mr. Desmond or Mr. Sanders and reassure them you are still among the living?”
“No, I won’t. They can reassure themselves I’m still among the living when they show up at this stupid party this evening like they’re supposed to. You can ensure their attendance, can’t you?”
“You have your invitation?”
“I do, sir.”
“Very well. I will endeavor to make certain they’re in attendance. Could you at least explain what you think you’re doing?”
“Proving a point,” I grumbled. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course, especially if it explains why you’ve taken complete leave of your senses.”
If anyone would know what I needed to know, it was the Shadow Pope. Biting my lip, I considered whether or not I really wanted to know the answer. “Is it possible for me to leave this stupid pack without losing Sanders as my mate?”
The Shadow Pope choked and spluttered. “I’m sorry, you want to do what?”
“I want to leave this stupid, fucking obnoxious pack.”
“Packs are an integral part of Fenerec society, Miss Madison. Why do you want out of Seattle’s pack?”
I swallowed, fighting back the burn of tears in my eyes. “They hate me. All of them. I can feel it. It’s a cold thing writhing under my skin. They all want me gone.”
“I see.” There was a long moment of silence. “I take it this has something to do with you vanishing out of O’Hare?”
There was no point in denying the truth. “Yes, sir,” I whispered.
“Let me tell you something about Fenerec, Miss Madison. Perhaps it will comfort you, at least a little.”
“What?”
“I’m afraid you’re stuck with Matthew Sanders as much as he is stuck with you. Mating bonds are rather permanent. In that regard, you will have nothing to worry about, no matter which pack you’re in. That said, packs do not typically accept only one part of a mated pair. Considering your situation, I have no problem authorizing you as a lone wolf under your mate’s direct guardianship. If you end up without a pack, you will be a sanctioned rogue.”
I drew in a deep breath and let it out in a relieved sigh. “Thank you,” I whispered.
“Fenerec belong in packs. They find comfort, stability, and family in packs. Should you require one, I will authorize Mr. Desmond to bring you into his as a temporary fix while I figure out a suitable resolution to this situation. Alternatively, I will transfer you to Yellowknife’s pack, as your mate and Yellowknife’s Alpha are on amicable terms. How long has this been an issue?”
“All along,” I admitted.
“I see. I’ll deal with it, Miss Madison. I expect you to show up to the party this evening. Do not test my authority again. I’m allowing it due to your circumstances. Do not force me to take action. You will not enjoy the consequences, and I do not think you want to put your mate through such a thing.”
“I’ll be there,” I promised.
“What happened to the phone you were given?”
“I was angry. I broke it turning it off.”
“Broke it how?”
I flushed. “I crunched it.”
“You crunched it.”
“In my hand. The screen shattered and the case caved in, so I threw it away.”
“You know what? I’m just not going to ask, Miss Madison. What sort of phone are you using?”
“I bought one in New York. A cell. It’s kind of like the other one, except this one isn’t quite as stupid.”
“You really are a little savage when it comes to technology, aren’t you?”
“Bite me,” I grumbled.
“I’ve seen your picture, Miss Madison. I value my life, so I will simply leave all biting of your person to your mate.”
I laughed and hung up on him.
Chapter Sixteen
My wolf hungered, but in my effort to make it to the hotel and get checked-in on the sly, I didn’t have enough time for dinner. I guzzled water to hold the worst of my hunger pangs at bay before calling for a limousine.
When I did arrive at the party, it would be in style. The trick would be getting out of the hotel without my mate knowing I was there, if my scent in the lobby hadn’t already tipped him off. Putting on my coat, I flipped the collar up and headed downstairs to wait for my limousine.
It arrived within minutes of me reaching the lobby. The driver held the door open for me, and I slid inside, pleased at having made my escape. After confirming the address with the driver, I settled in for the ride, staring out the tinted window at the city I had left behind years ago.
It hadn’t changed. It was as noisy and full of bustle as I remembered, the streets crowded with honking cars and New Yorkers in a hurry to get where they going. Vegas bustled, but not in the same way.
The drive to the Hamptons took two hours, putting me on the unfashionable side of late, although, to my relief, I wasn’t the last of the guests to arrive. A man dressed in a suit hurried to open the car door for me. Careful to show as much leg as possible without crossing the lines of decency, I slid out of the limousine, accepting his help as was proper.
“Your invitation, Miss?”
I revealed it with a flourish and offered it to him.
After checking it over, he handed it back to me. “They will take your coat inside. Please enjoy the party, Miss Madison.”
I thanked him with a slight nod, lifted my chin, and headed up the walkway to the staircase leading up to the mansion’s double doors. Whoever owned the place had more money than they knew what to do with, I decided while I pretended to admire the gold leafing decorating the entry.
A pair of ushers waited inside. One took my coat while the other confirmed my invitation, made a note on his sheets behind his black podium, and gestured me to go down the hallway. At least they weren’t announcing everyone as they arrived, a contrite little ritual I hated almost as much as the fact I was back in New York in the first place.
Those were the sort of parties my parents loved attending. The few t
imes I had gone, it had been for one purpose. Like the boss, they had wanted to sell me off to the son of the richest bidder, securing more wealth for themselves. Maybe they had been right about Rory all along, but at least Rory had been my bad mistake, not one of theirs.
Following the few people who had arrived before me, I kept my steps small and graceful, my chin lifted so I could look down my nose at the other women, most of whom were shorter than me by at least a couple of inches.
The hallway opened up into a grand ballroom. To access the floor, I had to walk down a flight of curved steps. I recognized the arrangement for what it was: a way for all of the guests to see who was coming and going in the most public fashion possible.
It gave me a chance to scan the crowd, which consisted of at least a hundred people mingling together. If my mate was in the room, I didn’t spot him among the suited gentlemen loitering in the ballroom. When he made his appearance—if he made his appearance—I’d make him look at me and only me.
I made it all of two strides before the first of the bachelors descended on me. So far as the New York elite went, the brown-haired young man wasn’t bad looking, though he carried himself with the snooty, chin-raised manner of someone well-used to getting what—and who—he wanted.
“I wasn’t aware Cinderella wore a black dress to her ball,” he murmured, dipping into a bow. As etiquette demanded, I held out my hand, which he gently kissed. “You’re positively enchanting, Miss…?”
“Sara,” I replied, careful to keep my smile small and dignified. “I’m afraid I misplaced my glass slippers earlier this evening. I simply can’t wear that sort of dress without my glass slippers.”
“Of course not,” he replied, tucking my hand into the crook of his arm. “I am Edward, Miss Sara. Please, join me for a drink.”
I drew in a deep breath, and my wolf went to work, sniffing out any signs Edward wasn’t as he appeared. All she could detect was a faint hint of his arousal, which repulsed her. “While I’ll join you, I’ll pass on the drink, but thank you. It’s a little early in the night for me.”