Page 55 of Fourth Base with the Alpha
“You just said–”
“You’d have to ask her about it.” She walks over to the sink and fishes out a sponge, wiping away the puddle of coffee from the counter top. “But did you not ever wonder why she was willing to do this? You may be a rock star, Hunter, but you’re a fucking grumpy asshole and difficult to get along with most of the time.”
“Takes one to know one,” I retaliate.
Kim scowls at me. “Well, did you?”
“The money,” I say. People are always motivated by fucking money.
“You think Isabella is the kind of girl who just does anything for money? Something which involves lying to her family, exposing herself to public scrutiny? She’s not some fame-hungry wannabe, Hunter.”
“I know,” I say, considering Kim’s words. I stride over to the window and gaze out over the city. The sun beats down on all the people who are scurrying down there in the city and a haze hangs over the horizon.
I’ve been an idiot. Not thought about this situation properly, not given it proper consideration. I was too busy gazing at Isabella’s ass and falling for her big wide smiles to consider her motivations or her feelings.
That’s not me. That’s not how an alpha should behave. Not if he’s a good one anyway.
“You’re right. I need to take better care of things.”
“You do. Just … don’t fuck things up, Hunter. The fake-dating thing is working wonders for your reputation but catching feelings could screw it all up. You both need to walk out of this intact.” She slurps on her coffee. “Anyway, that wasn’t why I came to see you.”
“It wasn’t?” I say absentmindedly, my thoughts fixated on Isabella.
“No. Your sister’s been trying to get hold of you. Says you haven’t been answering her calls.”
I groan. “I was going to.”
“It sounds urgent or something. Must be if she’s calling me. Ring her, okay? I have my own family dramas to be dealing with.”
“Yeah, all right. I’ll call her.”
As soon as Kim’s gone, I take my coffee out into the backyard and dial my sister’s number, the ring tone long and piercing and reminding me how far away she is.
“Hjalmar,” she says with so much relief in her tone my gut fills with guilt. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Busy but fine,” I lie. “What’s wrong, Klara?”
* * *
If I thoughtI was going to have time to wallow in what Kim told me this morning, to consider my position and what the hell I’m going to do about it, tough shit; I’m wrong.
Isabella isn’t the kind of girl to play it cool. She isn’t the kind of girl to play any kind of game. She’s straightforward. And exceedingly enthusiastic.
And ringing my doorbell at 6pm.
I groan when I see her cheery face pop up on the video screen. It’s not that I don’t want to see her. I’m just not in the mood to see anyone right now.
Least of all the girl I’m fake-dating and who I probably screwed things up with this weekend.
I press down hard on the connection button. “Isabella. What are you doing here?”
She slides her hair behind her ear and peers at me through the grainy screen. Then she shrugs.
“I haven’t heard from you today. You ignored all the cute memes I sent you – even the puppy ones – and in my experience that isn’t a good sign. So I wanted to clear the air between us. I don’t want you to think that because of what happened–”
I decide having this conversation through the video intercom is dumb. Plus I don’t relish the idea of the neighborhood learning all my business. Particularly as half of them probably have hotlines to the nearest gossip magazine.
I jam my thumb down on the intercom button and it blares out before the gate squeaks and slides open.
