CHAPTER FIVE: MORNING AFTER
1081 Words
Aspen
She was in my kitchen.
In yesterday's dress. Hair down. No makeup. Drinking coffee like she belonged there.
She doesn't belong there.
That's the problem.
In my office, I try to focus on work. Can't.
My phone keeps buzzing. Magnolia. Mother. Board members. Everyone wants to know about Lorellai.
I ignore them all.
Pull out my journal instead.
*She woke up at 6:47 AM. Early riser. Like me.*
*She makes her coffee with cream and sugar. I should remember that.*
*She explored the penthouse while I was still asleep. I heard her moving around. Should've stayed in bed. Didn't.*
*I wanted to see her.*
*That's a problem.*
*The wolf is still quiet. It likes her presence. Likes her in my space.*
*I need to maintain boundaries. This is a contract. Nothing more.*
*But she stood in my kitchen in that green dress and I forgot how to breathe.*
*This is dangerous.*
*I'm doing it anyway.*
I close the journal.
Check my phone.
There's a notification. Security alert.
Lorellai received a message from Verity Ashford.
They're meeting for coffee tomorrow.
I should intervene. Should warn her. Should prepare her for whatever Verity's planning.
But Lorellai said she doesn't trust anyone.
She needs to learn to trust me.
And the only way to do that is to let her make her own choices.
Even when those choices might hurt her.
I text my head of security anyway.
*Discreet surveillance on tomorrow's meeting. Don't interfere unless necessary.*
His response is immediate.
*Understood.*
I lean back in my chair. Stare at the ceiling.
The wolf is quiet.
But I'm not.
I keep replaying this morning. The way she looked when I walked into the kitchen. Startled but not scared. Holding that coffee cup with both hands like she needed something to do with them.
The dress was wrinkled from sleeping in it. Mascara smudged under one eye. Hair a mess.
She was beautiful.
Not the performed beauty of last night's gala. Just... her. Real. Unguarded.
And I wanted to cross that kitchen and kiss her.
I didn't.
Because that's not what this is.
This is a contract. A transaction. Partners in public, strangers in private.
I need to remember that.
My phone rings. Mother.
I consider not answering. Answer anyway.
"Aspen."
"Mother."
"I saw the photos. From last night."
Of course she did.
"And?"
"She's... unexpected."
"Is that a compliment?"
"It's an observation."
Long pause.
"I want to meet her. Properly."
My jaw tightens. "Why?"
"Because if you're going to parade a human around as your mate, I need to know she can handle herself. That she won't embarrass the family."
"She handled herself fine last night."
"At a gala, yes. But pack politics are different. More complicated. If she can't navigate them—"
"She'll learn."
"Will she? Or will she become a liability?"
I close my eyes. Count to five.
"Mother. With all due respect. This is not your decision."
"Everything you do reflects on this family. On me. I have a right to—"
"No. You don't."
Silence on the other end.
Then, quietly: "Verity would have been perfect."
"Verity doesn't want me. She wants the title."
"And this girl doesn't want your money?"
The question hits harder than it should.
"That's different."
"Is it?"
I don't have an answer.
"Bring her to dinner. Friday night. Seven PM. I'll keep it small. Just family."
"Mother—"
"That's not a request, Aspen."
She hangs up.
I sit there holding my phone, jaw clenched.
The wolf stirs. Unhappy.
It doesn't want Lorellai anywhere near pack politics. Near my mother. Near the scrutiny and judgment and subtle cruelty that comes with being associated with me.
But Mother's right about one thing: if this is going to be convincing, Lorellai needs to meet the family.
I pull out my phone. Text Lorellai.
*Dinner with my family Friday. 7 PM. Fair warning: my mother is... difficult. —A*
Her response comes three minutes later.
*How difficult are we talking?*
I almost smile.
*Imagine Verity. But older. And with more power.*
*Great. Can't wait. 😬*
The emoji surprises me. Makes her feel more real somehow.
*I'll prep you beforehand. We'll survive.*
*We better. I didn't sign up to be eaten alive by your mother.*
*That's not in the contract. I checked.*
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
*You're funny when you're not being terrifying.*
I stare at the message.
No one has called me funny in years.
*I'm always terrifying. You just haven't figured that out yet.*
*Oh, I've figured it out. I'm just deciding whether to run.*
*Too late. You already signed.*
*Damn. Knew I should've read the fine print.*
I'm smiling at my phone like an i***t.
The wolf is content. Purring almost.
This is dangerous.
I put the phone down. Force myself to focus on the quarterly reports in front of me.
But I keep thinking about her in my kitchen. In that wrinkled green dress. Holding coffee with both hands.
The way she looked at me when I walked in. Not performing. Not trying to impress. Just... existing in my space like she had every right to be there.
Maybe she does.
No.
This is a contract.
I need to remember that.
But the wolf doesn't care about contracts. It only cares that she's here. In my home. In my territory.
Mine.
Except she's not.
She won't be.
This ends in thirteen months.
I need to prepare for that.
Need to maintain distance. Keep boundaries clear.
Need to stop thinking about the way her pulse raced when I touched her wrist.
I pull out my journal one more time.
*This morning she was in my kitchen. I wanted to kiss her. I didn't.*
*This is a contract. I need to remember that.*
*The wolf doesn't agree. The wolf thinks she's ours.*
*The wolf is wrong.*
*She's here for money. I'm here for optics. That's all this is.*
*I need to believe that.*
*Mother wants to meet her Friday. This will either go very well or very badly.*
*I'm betting on badly.*
*But Lorellai surprised me last night. Maybe she'll surprise me again.*
*I'm starting to hope she will.*
*That's dangerous.*
I close the journal.
Stare out the window at the city below.
Somewhere in this building, Lorellai is settling into her new life. Her new role.
Her new lie.
And I'm sitting here trying to convince myself this is just business.
The wolf knows better.
I'm afraid it might be right.
- Writer
