Reborn to Reject the Alpha

Monday mornings in Portland smell like wet pavement and burnt toast. Today it was worse. It smelled like rain and warm bread, because my office sits right above Kessler's Bakery. I like that. It makes work feel like a hug. I had my feet tucked under me on the old leather chair. A pile of thank you cards sat on my left. A pile of grant forms sat on my right. And right in the middle of the desk was my mug. World's Okayest Boss. The kids in the pack gave it to me my first winter as Luna. Little Benny Torres had picked it out himself. He was seven. He gave it to me with both hands, like it was made of gold. "Mrs. Reed," he said, "my mom says you are the best boss ever. But the store only had okayest." I laughed so hard I cried. I have used that mug every single day for three years. Willa stretched inside my head. She is my wolf. She is also my loudest friend. "You are smiling at the cup again," she said. "It is a good cup." "It is a cup." "Be nice. It has feelings." She huffed. I could feel her roll her eyes, which is hard to do when you live in someone's chest. Then the office door creaked open. "Bread delivery," Marnie sang. She is my assistant. She is sixty one, wears reading glasses on a chain, and treats every problem like a lost kitten. She dropped a warm cinnamon roll on my desk. "You are skinny," she said. "I am not skinny." "You are pale, then." "It is raining, Marnie." "Hmm." She narrowed her eyes at me. "You have been pale for two weeks. And you skipped coffee on Friday. Nobody skips coffee on Friday." My heart jumped. I took a very big bite of cinnamon roll so I would not have to answer. I had a secret. A big one. A tiny heartbeat I had heard for the first time on a screen, a few days ago, in a quiet room. Eight weeks. I was going to tell Mason at the Harvest Gala. In front of everyone. With the cameras on. I had the whole speech in my head, and I had even picked out the dress. "Just tired," I said, with my mouth full. Marnie squinted. "Mm hm." She left. I let out a breath. "You are a terrible liar," Willa said. "I am a great liar." "You are a golden retriever in a human suit." I snorted. Then I opened the laptop and got to work. The food drive books were due. We feed four hundred pack kids every winter, and every dollar counts. I like numbers. They never lie to me. That was what I believed at 9:14 that morning. At 9:42, a number stopped me cold. Forty eight thousand dollars. It sat in the Reed Holdings account list like a stain on a white shirt. The payment went out last Tuesday. The name next to it said Northgate Cargo Partners. I read it three times. "Who are you?" I whispered. "Who is who?" Willa asked. "Northgate Cargo. I have never heard of them." "So? Mason has a lot of vendors." "I know every vendor. I helped him build that list. I sat on the floor of our first apartment with sticky notes." I clicked through the pack's vendor file. I searched it. I searched it again. I typed in just North, then Gate, then Cargo. Nothing. My stomach did a slow flip. I picked up the desk phone and dialed the Reed Holdings front desk. I put on my cheerful Luna voice, the one that sounds like cookies. "Reed Holdings, this is Tasha." "Hi, Tasha! It is Hannah. I am just doing the books and I have a quick question about a payment." "Oh! Hi, Mrs. Reed. Sure." "Last Tuesday. Forty eight thousand to Northgate Cargo Partners. Do you know who approved it?" There was a pause. I heard typing. Then a very soft sound, like someone swallowing. "Um. It was approved from the top floor." "The top floor." "Yes, ma'am. The Alpha's office." My fingers went cold on the phone. "Okay," I said. "Thank you, Tasha." "Mrs. Reed? Is something wrong?" "No," I said. "Everything is fine." I hung up very slowly. Everything was not fine. Here is the thing about Mason. He approves every big payment himself. That was his rule. He made it on the day we got married, standing in our kitchen with his tie loose and his smile wide. "I will always look after the money, Han," he said. "That way you never have to worry about it." I had kissed him. I had thought it was the sweetest thing a man ever said. Now I stared at that number and felt like the floor was tilting. "Maybe it is a mistake," I said out loud. "Maybe," Willa said. She did not sound like she believed it. "Maybe he forgot to write it down." "Maybe." "Mason forgets things all the time. He forgets his keys. He forgets his phone. He once forgot his own birthday." "Hannah." Willa's voice was very gentle. "Look at the other payments." I did not want to. I did it anyway. I scrolled back one month. Two. Three. There it was again. Northgate Cargo Partners. Again. And again. I counted them. Twelve payments in twelve weeks. The first one was tiny. Six hundred dollars. The next was nine hundred. Then two thousand. Then five. Each one a little bigger than the last, like someone climbing stairs and hoping no one would notice. My coffee went cold in my hand. "That is not a mistake," I said. "No," Willa said quietly. "That is a plan." I put my hand flat on my belly. It was a silly habit I had picked up this month. As if my palm could cover the baby and keep it safe from everything I was reading. My eyes stung. I blinked hard. "Do not cry," Willa said. "Cry later. Think now." "I do not know what to think." "Then start with what you know." I took a deep breath. I made myself list it, like a school kid. "Mason has been jumpy for weeks," I said. "Yes." "He wakes up at three in the morning and stares at the ceiling." "Yes." "His mother's photo. He keeps taking it out of his desk." "Yes. And he smells like fear. Remember last Thursday?" I did. I had hugged him at the door and he had gone stiff as a board. For one second, he had looked at me like a man seeing a ghost. Then he smiled and kissed my forehead and said, "Long day." I had let it go. I printed the page. The old printer in the corner wheezed like it was running a marathon. I folded the paper into a tiny square and pushed it deep into the bottom of my purse, under my lip balm and a pack of tissues. Then I sat there, holding the purse in my lap like it might bite me. A knock rattled the door. I jumped so hard my knee smacked the desk. "Whoa," Marnie said, peeking in. "It is just me. Are you okay? You look like you saw the devil." "I am fine." "You are shaking." "It is the coffee." "You did not drink the coffee." "Marnie." She sighed. She came in and sat on the edge of my desk, which she never does. "Hannah," she said. "I have worked for this pack for thirty years. I have seen a lot of Lunas. I have never once seen one carry the whole world on her back without asking for help." My throat got tight. "I am not carrying the whole world." "Honey. You are carrying at least a continent." I laughed. It came out wet. She patted my hand and stood up. "Eat your roll. Call your mother. And whatever it is, it is smaller in the daylight." "Thanks, Marnie." She left. I did not call my mother. I had a bad feeling about that, too. Every Sunday my parents sound like people reading from a card. Too happy. Too loud. I could not stand another cheerful lie today. Instead I looked out the window. A man was sweeping the sidewalk below. A kid was jumping in a puddle. A bus hissed past. Everything looked normal. That was the scary part. My phone buzzed. I flinched. It was a text from Mason. Dinner at the main house tonight. Wear the blue dress. I love you. I stared at it. "That is weird," Willa said. "He never picks my clothes." "He never says I love you by text, either." "He used to." "Used to," she agreed. The blue dress. The one I wore on our first date. The one he said made me look like the ocean. I had not worn it in two years. My heart started to pound. My palms got slick. A thousand questions crowded into my head and not one of them had a friendly face. Why tonight? Why that dress? Why now, right after I had found twelve payments and a company that did not exist? I turned the phone over and over in my hands. Did he know I had seen it? And if he did, what was he planning to say at that dinner table?