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He smiled, taking in a couple of pictures of her and friends. She smiled blissfully in all of them, looking as beautiful as she had the first day he met her. He wanted to see her smile like that every day.
He turned, taking in her living room. She had a large cream-colored couch with a basket filled with knitting items next to it. She had a glass coffee table with books and magazines on how to knit. There was even a stack of news articles from clippings about events that had happened. She had even more plants that were bringing life into what would be a simple room.
He turned, scanning the large window that overlooked a desk where she had various letters and notebooks lying about. He walked over, peeking outside the window and taking in the view. It was nice. The street wasn't too crowded, and you could hardly hear the traffic.
She had a lot of natural light pouring into the room, giving it a warm feeling. It felt cozy in here, and she decorated it that way as well.
He looked down, and his eyes dropped on one of the notebooks she had splayed open. His body stiffened as he read the print on the top.
Full Moon Masquerade.
He scowled as he leaned down a little closer to get a better look at it. He had to be reading it wrong, but as he reread the words, he hadn't.
He grabbed the notebook and read what was written. There were four pages of descriptive notes, with even more pages explaining the layout of his home and details of the party, from what music was played to what was served.
His stomach dipped. Why on earth would she be writing about the party? And why in such detail? His head felt like itwas spinning as he flipped back and forth, his eyes scanning the words over and over on every page.
Anger filled him, and he ground his teeth together. Just then, he heard footsteps behind him, and he turned, holding the notebook.
Fiona stood there, running her hands through her hair. "Ah, shit … so you saw that then, huh?"
He just stared at her for a moment, unable to wrap his head around why she'd be writing something. Was it for her personally? Or was it professionally? And if it was for work, why hadn't she said anything?
"What is this?" he asked, waving the notebook.
She walked over to him, snatching it from him. She looked down at it and raised an eyebrow as she looked up at him. "You shouldn't snoop."
"It isn't snooping if you have it laid out," he snipped back. "Now tell me what it's for."
She sighed, tossing the notebook onto her desk. "It's for work."
"What kind of work?"
She turned, went to the couch, and plopped down. She looked uncomfortable for a moment before she looked back at him. "I'm a journalist."
Of course, she was. Not only was she a human who got into his party, but she was a human who wrote for the public. He took a deep breath. "You can't write about the party."
"Why not?" she said, looking irritated now. "It's a great scoop. No one has ever written about it before, and everyone will love reading about it. I just have to get all the information down, and if I could, I'd love to …"
He waved a hand, stopping her before she could finish. "No, I mean you're not writing about it. You didn't get the clearance through me to run it."
She half chuckled. "I'm kind of asking for it now. Can you just see where I'm coming from?"
"No," he growled at her. "You don't get it."
She looked a little surprised at him, and her eyes widened. After a moment, she shook her head. "Callum, I should have told you, but you don't understand how big this is. I could get a promotion for an article like this. This is good. This is the story of a lifetime."
"For you," he stated. "This isn't good for me or any shifters. What you are writing about is a very sacred and intimate part of us. The masquerade is part of the shifters' world, a place where they can relax and do whatever they want. It's not for humans to see, and if you write an article about that. My people won't feel safe coming. My parties will be over."
She took his words in and was silent for a moment. She looked at her desk and then back at him. "Don't you think you're being a little dramatic? It's just an article. And would it be bad if you didn't have parties? You could just attend them instead of throwing them."
"No."
She sighed heavily and rubbed at her eyes. "Callum, I don't think it's that big of a deal. I'm a journalist, and if I stopped publishing every article because someone had a problem with it, I'd never have anything done."
"This isn't the same."
"Oh, but it is," she said, waving a hand. "You think this is the first party I've written about that made people uncomfortable? No, and it won't be the last."
