Ah. Whoever's booked us for our April LA gig must be reasonably well known.
"No, that all sounds fine. I'll get our lawyers to review the documentation and get everything squared away today, barring any major issues… yep, we can make that work."
I can feel his excitement vibrating through the bond. We all do; James can barely hide his grin, and even Allen is still a little restless. I can't recall the last client who made any of our pack react like this.
"Yep. That's right, fresh springtime garden, but we always carry descenting spray and deodorizers just in case… Alright. Thanks so much for your help—Adeline, was it? Awesome. Yeah, you can call me Clarke. That's all good. And don't worry about the usual transport fee… Fantastic. Okay. Looking forward to meeting you on the fifteenth."
He hangs up the phone and grins.
"Lauren. Fucking. Treloar."
I feel my jaw slacken.
"Are you… are you kidding? Like,actuallyLauren Treloar?Shebooked us?"
He nods like his head is on a spring.
"She really did. That was her PA. I thought it was some weird glitch on the app and Heatseekers had let a false name through, but look at her profile. She's verified. It's really her."
He proudly pulls up the booking request on his phone screen, and presents it to us on the benchtop. I snatch it up and navigate to the client profile. I scroll down, and take in the raft of five-star customer ratings. There's only one that's anything less than perfect—great client but can get a bit nippy, make sure she wears her bite guard—and that's from years ago. Although there is a gap over the last three years or so.
I scroll back to the top of her client profile.
I blink. The woman—no, the goddess—whose poster hung on my wall next to the rows of medals in my teenage bedroom grins at me.
"Holy shit." I run my hand over my face in disbelief, and pass Clarke back his phone. There was a time, not that long ago, when I would have been over the fucking moon at the prospect.
James' hand darts out and grabs the phone. "Hmmm. Good excuse to go home, I guess. Maybe have some time off first."
I nod. Maybe a break will help me get my head back in the game.
Allen frowns, resting his chin in his hands. "This could make our reputation. If we give her the heat she deserves, a recommendation from her would put us into the realms of the elite packs. But if we get it wrong…"
Clarke leans his elbows on the benchtop and exhales slowly. "Better not fuck it up, then."
My lips pull tight. "Yeah. Did her PA give any specifics?"
Clarke shrugs. "Uh, she can't stand people who aren't forthright. And we aren't to comment on her accent. And… um, apparently, we need to be really strict about the bite guard when she's in the thick of things? But other than that—well, she's had a tough year and needs a pack that will make her feel protected and safe. Apparently, the last heat support pack she used—and she'd used them for the last three years running—sold… photos…"
Allen looks like he's going to hurl. The man is a walking, talking ethics guide for heat support workers. Even the idea of betraying a client's trust like that is enough to make him puke. James' jaw is set, and his nostrils are flaring. It sits wrong in my chest, too.
Clarke rubs the back of his neck, unconsciously trying to wipe away the discomfort. "We fly out on the fifth. She's booked the full package—nesting, aftercare, the works. We need to spend a bit of time back home anyway, and having some R&R before we help her nest will make sure we're all in top form."
Something in me uncurls. It will be so good to see Mom and the Dads again, and I know Clarke's parents' pack have been hounding him to come back home for months.
And she's doing it properly. Giving us time to connect and nest together and build rapport, not just expecting us to materialize at the door of her nest and fill her up with knots before we've even said two words to her, like our last client did, as did so many clients before them.
A trip back home, and a proper break; and even if itisanother Heatseekers gig, three weeks helping the world's most glamorous omega through her heat—maybe things are looking up.
Chapter 3
I ignore the buzzing on my phone that tells me I've forgotten something important.
It's not for Lauren's calendar, or a call for her private line, so I'm sure it will be fine.
It doesn't stop.
Ugh.Fine.
