Chapter 1
"Oi. Babes."
The gentle nudge of an elbow in my upper arm pulls my attention away from the calendar app on my phone. Instead of staring out the window at the city crawling past us, Loz is inspecting me from behind her long lashes.
"Hmmm? Yeah, Loz—you alright? You need something?"
Her dress sparkles in the traces of light that seeps in through the tinted limousine windows.
A small sigh falls out of her mouth. "I'm absolutely fine. Fuckingpeachy. You, on the other hand, look like you've swallowed a damn lemon."
A little nervous giggle slips out as my eyes dart around uncomfortably. "Huh. Yeah—nah, I was just looking at the schedule for the next few weeks." I try to keep my tone nonchalant.
Loz's eyes sharpen into a glare. "Calling bullshit on that one, babes. Spill."
I squeeze my lips together and glance down at my creased sundress. Talking about heats has been an uncomfortable topic for months now. "Loz, I got a message from Doctor Hill today—she really doesn't want you delaying your heat too much longer."
Another long breath hisses from her nose. "Shit. I guess that tracks."
"I'm just thinking about how we can make everything work… I think we can move most of the interviews around and give you a free three weeks from the second Saturday in April… but… oh… hang on a tic. There's a note on their booking site… huh. Christopher Townsend left the pack a few months ago. They may not be able to take bookings for… crap, a couple of months at least."
A small frown flickers across her perfectly made-up brow. She turns away from me and stares out the window, her ruddy gold hair glowing in the dim light. "That alphahole Patrick fucking Townsend's the one who leaked those fucking photos, so that's a fucking moot point," she mutters, her voice low and tight with fury.
Tension twangs in my shoulders as my lips curl between my teeth and I fidget with a ragged edge on my fingernail. "Did the investigative team find something?" I don't think I managed to keep my voice as steady as I should have.
Loz snorts. "Trix did. The team just confirmed it."
It makes sense that everyone around her, even me, was kept out of the investigation. It makeslesssense that my pushy, nosy big sister found out about it, and somehow figured out the stuff the professionals overlooked; but knowing her, she would have been like a dog with a bone and refused to stop digging until she'd got to the bottom of the situation.
To be fair, if I had been in Loz's shoes, I wouldn't have done much differently. If anyone knows what it's like, having something plastered around in public that's supposed to be private, it's me. I can't even begin tothinkabout how much it would have hurt not knowing if I could trust my oldest friends or the men I'd invited into my nest—I'd want to connect with someone who couldn't possibly have been involved, too.
She smooths an errant sequin in her skirt. "I'll forward you the report when we get home. Apparently, ChristopherTownsend reported it to the cops fuckingmonthsago, but the report sat in a fucking drawer 'til last week."
She's glaring at the sequin like it owes her beer money. "Trix figured it out. She started sniffing around Patrick fucking Townsend, 'cuz he started splashing an awful lot of cash around all of a sudden, and got the info together. Then, when she shared what she'd found with the PIs, they took it to the cops, and oops, whaddya know, look what we found. Apparently, the pigs reckoned his report wasn't enough on its own, so they didn't do shit about it."
Her glossy, blush pink nails continue worrying the black sequin. My phone gives the quiet buzz it makes when it spits out an alert that isn't about Lauren. I ignore it, like usual.
There's a churning, roiling storm in my stomach. I don't know whether it's the nausea that comes when I forget to eat before evening, the thought of what Christopher—the poor bugger I barely know on sight—must have been through over the last few months, or the memory of how we fought to survive those leaked photos that never should have been taken in the first place. But whatever it is, it's sending a swell of nausea through my gut.
From the way her gaze is fixed on her dress, Loz seems to be caught up in the memory of the last few months. I hate seeing her like this, but at the same time, a secret part of me is glad she can still let the mask slip around me, even if only a little. I reach across the empty seat between us, and rest my hand on her bare shoulder. She turns her face towards me, and rests her hand on mine. A small smile pulls at the corner of her lips.
"Well, Pack Townsend's dead to us. Now let's talk about your next heat. I reckon your nest is due aseriousoverhaul after that debacle, so I'll make sure you have at least four free days before they come to help you with nesting, and I'll get Ruby to come over for a consult next week."
A smile flutters across her full lips.
"She has some new natural fibre Sherpa blankets that are, apparently, to-freaking-die for," I add, "and she has based her current collection around your nesting mood board on the 'Gram."
Her smile deepens a little, her cheeks pinkening. "Yeah, I still don't get that one."
I try, and fail, to swallow the sputter that spills out. "Uh, turns out when the winner of the Golden Disc Award for Best Supporting Omega tags you on the 'Gram and thanks you for your… uh, what was it you said? Oh, yeah, your 'life-changing throw pillows,' your business picks up. She would make your dodgy flannel the pinnacle of nest fashion if she saw you in it."
Her chuckle makes her face light up. "Bogan chic nests. Heh. I want to make that a thing on principle." She relaxes into her seat.
My snort is louder than I meant it to be. "Don't you dare. Ruby would have to find a whole bunch of new suppliers—I'm pretty sure her current ones would struggle to source such cheap flannel."
Loz laughs properly this time, and some of the tension drops away from her shoulders. I gently tug my hand back and flick through the apps on my phone.
"Anyway. I'm not leaving you stuck in some sodding medical heat clinic that smells like disinfectant, and I'mdefinitelynot abandoning you to a solo heat. Do you want me to start looking into different heat support packs onHeatseekers? I've heard on the grapevine that there are at least thirty packs on there who are supposed to be utterly excellent and who regularly work out of LA, and at least another forty or so in the elite tier that are here regularly. I can reach out to the PA network, see who'sreallytrustworthy—"
