Page 17 of The Alpha's Chosen Outcast

The counter has a pod-based coffee maker and a drawer underneath it containing several pods. Several boxes stocked with more pods are in the cabinet below.

Next to the coffee maker are syrups, different sweetener packets, and tiny sealed cups of shelf-stable flavored creamers. Some packaged baked goods are also on the counter. As I peruse the selection, my mouth starts to water.

I don’t even care what else is in the cabinets or the fridge. These items alone will bring some comfort and enough of a kick to get through the rest of my night.

I painstakingly choose a coffee pod, a flavored syrup, and a couple of those creamer cups. Next, I return to that selection of baked goods and pick a truly decadent-looking brownie.

As I sip the coffee from my paper cup and take intermittent bites of chocolate deliciousness, I start taking things out of my suitcase. One side has clothes, which will probably stay where they are.

The other side has all the other stuff I’d brought like toiletries, my journal, not my vibrator because I’m an idiot and left it at home, sketchbooks, a pencil set, and the photos of my parents I’d had hidden at home. I couldn’t risk anyone finding them.

It hits me then that for the first time in five years, I’m in the same city as my parents. They’re about fifteen blocks down the road, and I can’t even tell them I’m alive.

I can’t see them, can’t leave this shop, can’t let on in any way that they could be walking by me at any time, and I won’t be able to wave at them from the doorway.

I can’t contact them or anyone else. I have to concentrate on staying as invisible as possible. Which means I’m up for three fucking months of using a sink to bathe. Whatever, I do as I’m told.

I find it interesting, if not optimistic, that neither Violet nor her brother let their father, the Alpha, know I was here.

In fact, it looked more like she deferred to her brother for leadership and decision-making. It’s odd that their father wasn’t ever even mentioned.

Time to get to work. I can’t sit here in fear and grief forever. I have a job to do for Violet, and I have to keep Jessie’s image intact. Violet wanted Jessie’s signature on this, so I have to uphold the integrity of her brand. I owe her that much, at the very least.

I’ve been lying to her since the day we met about who I really am. She may know about wolves, but I didn’t want to risk her knowing that detail about me in case anyone came looking for me.

They’re one hour behind back home—because that place is now my real home, not this city. It’s not too late to call Jessie and tell her how the initial client meeting went, minus the claws, of course.

I click on her contact and wait for her to pick up on speaker. No one else is here, so I feel free to talk.

The only reason this isn’t a FaceTime call is because I don’t want her to see the terror probably still written all over my face or the marks on my neck. She answers almost immediately, the excitement practically crackling in my phone when her voice comes through.

“Heather, you’re there!” she says. “How is everything? Did you see all your people yet? Did you meet the client?”

“N-no, I mean yes.” Her enthusiasm has caught me off guard. “I met with the client, but I haven’t had much time for anything else.”

“Oh.”

I feel like a huge loser with that one word.

“I’m sure I’ll see everyone soon enough. I have a dress to make first.”

“Of course. I’m counting on you to make me look good.”

I laugh, but I know it’s not covering my nerves.

“Heather, are you okay? Is something wrong? You sound nervous, hon. You’ve got this, you know?”

“I’m fine,” I lie, “Like you said, you’re counting on me. That’s kind of nerve-wracking in itself. I know you don’t mean it to be. I just want this to go well. I hope Violet loves the dress I make her.”

“Hey, there’s a reason I sent you there instead of going myself. Miss Hanover chose a design that only you can complete. I admit that I can’t do it. Gretta can admit the same. Your talent is unique. Don’t forget that.”

I cringe at the name—Hanover. Why didn’t I hear it before?! I have to say something in response to Jessie’s heartfelt pep talk. This isn’t her fault, and I already feel like shit for making her think she did anything to contribute to my nerves.

“Jessie, I’m honored that you have such faith in my talent. Thank you for the pep talk. I needed that.”

I do my best to sound calm, as if her words had actually had an impact. She seems to accept this.

“Glad I can help! Now get to work,” she chuckles, “and don’t let anyone push you around over there. Miss Hanover may be a high-profile client, but you are the talent. Don’t forget that.”

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