“No.” He laughed, but there was a hint of worry weighing down his smile. “You saw me take Lenny’s bite in the woods. How could I have shifted anything before that?”
“You couldn’t, right?” I nodded fast, wishing I could take back the question. “Of course not. Because that would be crazy. Impossible.”
What the hell was wrong with me? Was I seriously some kind of freak, catching werewolf-ism just by being around them? If Jack didn’t love me, how could love have begun to transform me? If love hadn’t started to turn me . . . then what had?
“Well, I guess not impossible,” he said. “There is the origin story. Anyone tell you that one?”
I nodded. “Marcus showed me the wall in the basement. Ever hear of that happening in real life? I mean, not including the first time with the twins and the she-wolf?”
I could tell he was thinking about it, but he shook his head. “No. I don’t remember anyone mentioning it. But I’ve only been one of them for a few days. I’m sure there’s a lot I don’t know yet.”
“Right. ’Course not.” I’m a freak.
“According to Frank, it’s not impossible,” he said. “Frank’s the one who took me and Lenny down to see the wall. Told us the story. Said it can only happen with turned wolves, of course—and there aren’t many of us. Maybe it would happen more often if there were. He said it has to be a really special, intense kind of love, though. Like a once-in-a-lifetime, meant to be, against all odds kind of thing.”
Once in a lifetime? Not in my lifetime. At least not with Jack. He’d made that perfectly clear.
“Try to give him a break, Kate,” George said. “Lenny told me Jack’s under a lot of stress. It’s making him a little nuts.”
“Stressed over what?” I asked.
“He’s not sure.” George shrugged. “I guess something about last weekend didn’t go the way Jack had hoped. You sure he wasn’t upset that you left early?”
I looked away. “Positive.”
The last time I’d seen Jack he could hardly look me in the eye without growling. He was convinced I’d betrayed him, and I had no way to prove otherwise. Not that I cared . . . much.
Okay, I cared. A lot. But I didn’t want to. He should’ve trusted me, known that I’d never do anything to hurt him. But how could I explain my mini-shift in the shower? If Jack was telling the truth, he didn’t love me at all—let alone enough to imbue me with his wolf essence. Judging by the look in his eyes when I last saw him, love was the last thing he felt for me.
“Well, maybe you can ask him about it tonight,” George said. “He’s coming, right?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I mean . . . I think.”
“You think?” George turned, staring at me, eyes wide. “Kate, you know how important tonight is. You reminded him, didn’t you? What did he say?”
I caught my bottom lip between my teeth. “Technically? I haven’t spoken to him since I left his parent’s house the night before last.”
It wasn’t all my fault. I’d heard him come back to the apartment from the pack house last night, but I was already in bed. This morning I got an early start and left before he woke. It was a slim excuse for not speaking, but no less legitimate.
“He’ll be here,” I said, not nearly as sure as I sounded. “It was his idea. The food critic guy is Jack’s friend. He’ll be here . . . I think.”
“He’s here,” Madam Opal said, breezing into the kitchen.
“Jack?” I asked.
“No. The New York Times hottie. Just sat him in my section.” The tall blonde bent to see me better through the warmer shelves. “Is Jack supposed to be here?”
“Yes,” George said at the same time I said, “No.”
We looked at each other and I glanced back at Madam Opal. “I don’t know.”
“Well, did you call the boy?” she asked. “Maybe he’s just running late.”
I looked at my brother. His brows were high, telling me he agreed with the suggestion. I sighed and pulled my phone from my pocket. It wasn’t just pride that had kept me from breaking the silence between us. A part of me wasn’t sure he even wanted to speak to me—not after the way he’d looked at me in our room at his parent’s house.
The memory of the distrust and hurt in his eyes still made it hard to breathe. I couldn’t bear seeing him look at me that way again. What if he saw my name on the caller ID and pressed ignore?
I sighed, my hand shaking, and thumbed his name on my contact list then held the phone to my ear as it rang.
And rang.
And rang.
It finally went to voicemail and a knot of emotion choked at the back of my throat. “Hey. It’s me,” I said swallowing hard. “Um, yeah. Your friend, the food critic, is here at The Sweet Spot. We were all kind of hoping you’d stop by, put him in a good mood. If you changed your mind. . . .”
I closed my eyes, lowered my voice, turning my back to my brother. “Jack, please. Whatever you feel . . . or don’t feel about me, remember I’m not the only one affected by how things turn out tonight. Please.”
I stared at the phone a half second, then thumbed the end button. I turned but couldn’t look George, or Opal, or even Diego in the eye.
If I lost the diner now, it was mostly my own fault. I’d allowed my emotions to cloud everything, forgetting that Jack was a businessman first, last and always. Like he said, his heart was never at risk. Only mine. He thought I’d broken our contract, and instead of making sure our agreement was still intact, I’d stormed off like a jilted lover. God, this was my fault.
“Well?” George asked. “Is he coming?”
“I’m sorry, guys,” I said, slipping my phone back into my pocket. “But I think we’re on our own.”
After a rocky start, when Madam Opal served the shockingly thin food critic blue cheese dressing instead of ranch, the evening went smoothly. I introduced myself when he’d finished and was relieved that he never once mentioned Jack.
“I think he liked it,” I said to Madam Opal.
“Of course he did, honey,” she said dropping his dishes into the gray bus bin. “Your brother’s a great cook. And I’m not only witty and beautiful—I’m also one helluva server.”
She winked at me and I laughed, not a belly-shaking laugh, but real nonetheless. It felt good to not be weighed down with worry for a change. How long had it been?
I hadn’t felt like myself for days—constantly thinking about my arrangement with Jack, worrying if our plan would work, what his family would think of me, what Jack thought of me. I realized suddenly, that it didn’t matter. I couldn’t change anything. So I’d allowed myself to feel more for the Prince Charming of Wall Street than was smart. I’d get over it . . . eventually. And if he didn’t feel the same, so what?
We had a deal. If it worked out, I’d keep my diner, Jack would be alpha, and we’d go our separate ways. If it didn’t . . . I’d figure something out. But what mattered most, in the end, was that Jack Pensione was a businessman who honored his contracts. So would I.
I sighed, smiling, leaning against the lunch counter. My phone rang and I pulled it from my back pocket. The caller ID read, Jack.
My breath caught, and just like that I realized I’d been fooling myself. I could be happy without Jack in my life—but I wanted to be happier still, with him. Crap.
I exhaled a long shoring breath, then answered the phone. “Hey. You got my message?”
“Hi, is this Kate?” It was a woman’s voice.
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“Hi, Kate, this is Alexia,” she said. “Um, I’m a . . . ah, friend of Jack’s.”
“Alexia.” I pulled the phone away and double-checked the caller ID. Still said Jack. “Um, hello.”
“I guess you can see I’ve got Jack’s phone.” She laughed, but somehow I didn’t find anything funny.
“Yes. I see that. Is he there?” Wherever the hell there was.
“No. I’m sorry,” she said. She had a nice voice, very proper with distinc
t articulation. “He just left. Forgot his phone. I saw your voice message, though. He must’ve had the ringer off while he was here. I hope you don’t mind that I listened to it. I was worried it might be something terribly important.”
“That’s fine,” I said my chest a little tight, hands sweating. “I mean, it’s Jack’s phone, so I don’t know how he feels about—”
“Oh, Jack won’t mind.” She laughed again and I suddenly wanted to slap something. “We’ve been friends forever. We’re constantly getting into each other’s things. He’s used to it.”
So he’d been with his ex-girlfriend—when he’d promised he’d be at the diner helping us make a good impression on his friend from the paper. Yeah . . . that didn’t bother me at all. Right.
“That’s great.” I said it with a smile, and my cheeks were already aching under the strain.
“It was so sweet of Jack to convince Justin to visit your little diner. Everything went well, I hope,” she said.
I assumed Justin was the food critic. “It went great. He loved the place, and the food.”
Okay, I wasn’t positive about that, but he didn’t spit anything out. So . . .
“Wonderful,” Alexia said. “Well, the reason I’m calling is I was hoping you’d be a dear and tell Jack that I have his phone when you see him. Of course that’s if I don’t see him first. He’s always showing up at my doorstep, but he rarely gives me any warning.”
“Sure. That must suck for you.” Was I really having this conversation?
“Oh, no. I don’t mind,” she said. “I love him to death. Well, I’m sure you’ve heard that we used to be very close. But that’s all in the past now . . . at least for me. We’re still wonderful friends, though.”
“Awesome.” I was still smiling. Not sure why since she couldn’t see me.
“Kate, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?” she said. “I asked Jack, but I’m sure you know how stubborn he can be when he puts his mind to it.”
“Um, sure.” Not really. Jack had always been forthcoming and accommodating to me. Maybe I just didn’t know him well enough?
“Is everything . . . all right between you two?” she asked. “I’m always pleased to spend time with Jack, but I have to tell you he was a bit strange today. He asked me . . . oh, dear. Now I’m worried that maybe I should keep this to myself.”
“No.” Was she kidding? You can’t do that. Don’t threaten to pull the pin on a grenade and then not even throw it. “Go ahead. What did he ask you?”
“Well . . . he asked me to marry him . . . again,” she said and my stomach lurched up into my throat.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m sure you know we were engaged once. It was forever ago. But I called it off. Jack’s wonderful, but he does have his issues. I don’t know about you, but he’s just too much like his father—pack first. You know what I mean?”
“Um-hm.” I hated her. “Did you say he asked you to marry him . . . today?” Was he going to tell me? He ended our deal and moved on to plan B without even talking to me?
“Uh-huh. It’s not like it was the first time.” Her self-amused chuckle turned into a sigh. “I just couldn’t imagine a lifetime of always being last on his list, having him ignore my needs in favor of the pack,” she said. “But, that’s just me. I mean, you two seemed . . . happy last weekend at the pack house.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Jack’s been great. Very attentive.” Not a total lie. Our relationship was strictly business, and Jack was an excellent businessman.
“Really?” She hummed. “That’s so weird. I mean, he’s gotten like this before, bored once he’s caught the girl. He makes them fall for him and then comes running to me. I really thought you’d keep him . . . interested this time.”
“Wait.” There had to be an explanation. Even Jack Pensione couldn’t be this much of a jerk. “What did he say, exactly?”
“He told me he didn’t care that my feelings for him had changed. He was sure he could make me happy. But mostly he wanted to keep me from marrying Marcus. If Marcus doesn’t marry he can’t be alpha.”
“Are you sure?” Wasn’t that exactly what he’d accused Marcus of doing?
“Uh-huh,” she said. “Okay. Total honesty. I mean, if it were me, I’d want to know. Jack sort of implied that your relationship isn’t what it seems.”
A ball of ice plopped into my stomach and chilled me from the inside out. Had he told her our secret? Her? “What do you mean?”
“He didn’t really say, but it sounded like he convinced you to pretend to be his mate so he could step up as alpha when his dad is ready to retire,” she said. “Is that true? I mean, it’s not really any of my business, but did he—I don’t know—pay you to marry him?”
Maybe he hadn’t told her everything, but clearly Jack had said enough so that Alexia was able to guess. He’d told me she was a heartless, power-hungry bitch. So why had he even been with her? Someone was being played, and until I could figure out what the game was, I’d keep my cards close to my chest.
“You’re right, Alexia,” I said.
“I am?”
“Yeah. It isn’t any of your business.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I breathed in the chilled air, willing it to ice the ragged edges of my nerves. It was always blissfully quiet in the walk-in cooler, the steady hum of the motor the only sound. For some reason, people seemed to leave me in peace longer when I escaped to the walk-in rather than my office.
Maybe they thought it was a bad sign—like I was closer to the end of my ever-fraying rope. Maybe I was. Who knows? But I felt more protected here, like the thick insulated walls kept the world at bay.
They didn’t, of course. Eventually someone would need something—from me, or from the cooler. Sooner or later the cold would seep too deeply into my lungs, I’d start to shiver and I’d have to come out on my own. But not yet.
I leaned my head back against the silver door, taking another deep breath of the wonderfully chill air. The evening had been going so well. Granted, Jack not showing up to introduce us to his friend and keep him happy and smiling with amusing anecdotes about The Sweet Spot was a disappointment. But we’d rallied. George and Diego had cooked their asses off, and Madam Opal had charmed the food critic until he was laughing out loud.
We were sure to have a rave review. And then Alexia called, raining doubt and questions all over my happy evening. What was going on between her and Jack? And why couldn’t I stop myself from caring?
God, when had it happened? When had Jack gone from a business partner to someone who could make me feel so insecure? When had I given him that power? And how was I supposed to get it back?
“Kate, honey?” Madam Opal’s voice was muffled outside of the cooler. She knocked but didn’t try the latch. “You know I wouldn’t normally bother you while you’re . . . chillin’—but there’s a small mountain of a man out front asking for you.”
“Tell him I’m not here. I left already,” I yelled. “Come back tomorrow.”
“Right,” she said. “I tried that. He said he could, and I quote . . . smell you.” I stiffened. “Now I know that sounds like a whole ’nother level of weird, but I gotta tell you—there’s something about him. He’s got the sweetest eyes, and a smile that tweaks all my girl parts. Well, y’know, if I had girl parts.”
I jerked open the door and the pretty blonde jumped. “Did he give you his name?”
“Marcus Russo. Said you knew him.” She stepped back, giving me room. “He said you were going to be family soon. I figured he must be related to the Pensiones. Looks rich enough. Do you know if he’s single? And . . .” She winked at me. “Open-minded?”
“He’s engaged. I think. I mean, he’s supposed to be, but . . .” But then Alexia called to tell me Jack had asked her to marry him, and I still wasn’t clear if she was considering it. If she was, then where did that leave Marcus . . . and me? I sighed. “Honestly, I don’t have the first clue about anyone’s romantic statu
s in that family.”
I should never had let George marry one of them. First Jack stands me up and then Alexia calls to toy with my insecurities. Now Marcus comes around? What could he want from me? Relationship advice? Was he going to ask me to help keep Jack away from his fiancée? Like I could. How the hell had I gotten caught up in a Twilight-style lover’s triangle? And I wasn’t even one of the lovers. I was a side character in my own life. What the fuck?
I marched out of the cooler . . . and back into the fire.
“Hello, Marcus,” I said. He’d taken the end seat at the counter. It was well past dinner and the diner was nearly empty. I grabbed a damp cloth and brought it with me, wiping the counter to help hide my nerves. “What can I do for you?”
He lifted his coffee cup. “Warm me up?”
I turned and snagged the fresh pot from the warmer and topped off his mug. Madam Opal was right—Marcus was a mountain of a man. Sitting in my normal-size counter stool, with his butterscotch hair tucked behind his ears, his big muscles pressing against the seams of his jacket, his suit creased from a long day’s work and a pale shadow of stubble coloring his chin, he looked like a dad squeezing into his daughter’s play set for pretend teatime. Even my mugs looked small in his huge hands.
He sipped, then set the cup down with a smile. “It’s good.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Not to be rude, but what are you doing here, Marcus?”
He chuckled and toyed with his mug. “No. That wasn’t rude at all.” I sighed and he held up a hand. “Okay. You’re right. This isn’t just an odd coincidence. I want your help.”
Seriously? What was I, the poster girl for werewolf outreach? “How? With what?”
“I want to be alpha—I have to be,” he said.
News flash. Not. “Marcus, Jack is in line to be—”
“I know.” He shifted forward, cutting off my words, sitting on the edge of his seat. “And I know you’re helping him. But I want you to help me instead. I can make it worth your while. And you don’t have to do anything. In fact that’s exactly what I need you to do . . . nothing.”
Marriage Claws Page 17