Page 33 of Slow Heat
As they made their way back to the study, Zephyr darted in front of them, prancing with her tail held high. Vale turned on the hallway lights, using the dimmer his father had installed to keep the atmosphere pleasantly intimate. He rarely turned the lights to full brightness since his parents’ death, preferring the gift of shadows over the stark revelations of white electric bulbs.
Back in the study, Rosen and Yosef lounged against each other on the sofa with Zephyr perched on Rosen’s thighs. Vale settled in, and they all stared at the packages on the coffee table.
“Pre-negotiation disclosures,” Yosef explained in response to Rosen’s questioning look.
“Already? It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours.”
“They’ve probably been compiling the file since Jason first presented as an alpha,” Yosef explained. “Most families do. Then when the time comes, they only have to add the latest information to the top, usually the alpha’s final grades, specific plans for his immediate future, career goals and living arrangements, that sort of thing. But aside from those items, they’ve already got a nice packet put together for the family of any omega their son imprints on or considers for a contract.”
Vale picked up a packet, weighing it in his hands and examining the unbroken seal. “These are big envelopes for only a few years’ worth of information on Jason.”
“There’s probably family information as well—ancestry, accounts of the most recent live births in the family, properties Jason would stand to inherit, business endeavors. Basically everything you could possibly need to know about the Sabel and Hoff families. And given their wealth and status, that information might go all the way back to early post-Death years.”
“What am I supposed to do with it all?” Vale brought the packet to his nose, smelling the sweetness of fresh paper mixed with the dust of old documents, too. Whatever was in these packets was more information than he wanted. But it was all things the Sabels would expect him to know.
“I’ll be happy to sort through it with you. I’ve overseen contracts before.”
“I can make myself scarce with a book, or better yet, hop out to the grocery to restock your kitchen,” Rosen offered. “Whatever is in these packets isn’t any of my business.”
Vale nodded slowly. “I appreciate that. There’s plenty of cash in the second drawer down in the kitchen. Below the knives.”
“Because a thief should definitely have access to weapons before robbing you blind,” Rosen scolded.
Vale shrugged. He used to keep his money in a safe in his father’s old study—now a guest room—but then he’d forgotten the combination, locking a nice wad of cash up for all eternity, apparently. So now he just shoved whatever cash he took out of the bank into the drawer in the kitchen. Why not? There were plenty of nicer houses on Oak Avenue for thieves to hit before his. Who’d decide that a house with an overgrown garden and an abundance of dust on all the furniture visible through the windows made for a good bet?
Rosen unsettled Zephyr who protested with a screechy meow and took off for a bookshelf, knocking a few smaller volumes to the floor in her temper.
“She likes you much better than me. Just take her with you when you go.” Vale frowned at the book of Calitan poetry that had landed on its spine, pages falling open.
“Yosef is too demanding of my attention.” Rosen chuckled. “She’s better off with you. All right, I’ll be back in a hour and half with some fresh, mold-free food.” He bent to drop a kiss on Yosef’s head, and then headed out, calling over his shoulder, “Hire my lover, would you? Before you screw yourself over, Vale.”
Vale moved from the wingback chair to the sofa, bringing the packet with him. “Yosef, you know I trust your judgment. Despite our disagreement about the allowance, will you agree to act as my attorney in this matter?”
“Of course.”
“I suppose I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask about your fees.”
“Waived.”
“I insist on paying you.”
“If you accept the allowance, I’ll consider it. If not, then absolutely not.”
Vale sighed and held the first packet out to Yosef. “Will you do the honors?”
“With pleasure.”
There were pictures.Vale hadn’t expected that.
The first photo was of a tiny Jason on his pater’s lap, face covered in what appeared to be chocolate pie, and the words “Mister Mess, age 2” printed neatly on the back. The second was of Jason as an infant, held in his Father’s arms, a tiny fist pressed against his puckered lips. The third was from Jason’s fifth birthday party—cherub cheeks lit by five candles on the cake. The fourth was a painfully awkward shot of Jason during puberty; his nose was too big for his face and his right cheekbone was warped by a large pimple. He was smiling, though, and Vale recognized that smile from earlier in the day when it had flashed at him momentarily and beautifully.
“He’s smart,” Yosef said, tapping the last picture. “That’s an award for the highest marks in science for his school.”
Vale hadn’t even noticed the small trophy in Jason’s hands. He’d been too transfixed by the gangly boy he’d once been. Well, the evenganglierboy. Jason was still tall, thin, and moved like a puppy growing into his bones.
“I’m sure they have his grade reports in here somewhere,” Yosef said, moving on to sort through the rest of the papers.
“Why would they send these?” Vale went back to the first pictures of Jason as a baby. The parents—Yule and Miner—looked quite young in them. They almost glowed with happiness, and Jason was adorable in their arms.
