Page 5 of Claws and Effect (Paranormal Dating Agency #87)

FOUR

L aykin clicked through her charity presentation one final time, mentally rehearsing key points for the board meeting. Her office at the Summit Ancestral Castle balanced modern efficiency with traditional touches—sleek laptop on an antique mahogany desk, state-of-the-art scheduling system displayed beside centuries-old family portraits.

She smoothed the lapel of her cream silk blazer, checking her reflection in the ornate mirror. The tailored business attire projected exactly the image needed for this morning’s education foundation meeting—professional, authoritative, royal without being ostentatious. Tonight would be all glitter and glamour at the engagement gala, but mornings remained sacred to her actual work.

A knock interrupted her preparation.

“Enter,” she called, expecting Seren with the financial reports.

The door swung open to reveal a woman with striking silver-white hair styled in a chic bob, dressed in a vibrant turquoise ensemble that practically hummed with energy.

“Good morning, Princess,” the woman announced, striding into the office like she’d been personally invited. “Geraldine Wilder—but call me Gerri. We have an appointment.”

Laykin’s diplomatic mask slipped only slightly. “I don’t recall scheduling anything with you, Ms. Wilder.”

“Gerri,” the woman corrected, settling uninvited into one of the visitor chairs. “And technically, you didn’t. The universe did.”

“The universe.” Laykin closed her laptop with a soft click. “Does the universe typically bypass my assistant and my security team?”

Gerri’s laughter rang through the office. “Your assistant waved me through—lovely girl, those curls are magnificent—and your security recognized me from last month’s Supernatural Charity Ball.” She rummaged in an oversized handbag. “I brought cookies. Sugar cookies with lemon glaze. Homemade this morning.”

She presented a small package wrapped in wax paper, the sweet scent wafting across the desk.

Laykin didn’t reach for them. “What can I do for you, Gerri? I have a board meeting in forty minutes.”

“Oh, this won’t take long.” Gerri set the cookies on the desk, undeterred. “I’m here about your engagement.”

“My engagement is a private family matter.”

“Private?” Gerri’s eyebrows rose. “With a guest list of three hundred for tonight’s gala? With press releases in every shifter publication from here to the West Coast? That kind of private?”

Laykin’s jaw tightened. “The diplomatic aspects are public. The personal aspects remain private.”

“Mmm.” Gerri nodded sagely. “And how do you separate those two so neatly when you’ve never even met your future mate?”

The direct question blindsided Laykin. Most people tiptoed around the arrangement with diplomatic phrases.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant to?—”

“To matchmaking?” Gerri interrupted. “It’s entirely relevant. I’m a matchmaker. The best, if we’re being honest. Sometimes brutally so.” She extracted a silver thermos from her bag. “Tea? My special blend. Helps clarify... situations.”

“No, thank you.” Laykin glanced pointedly at the clock on her wall. “As I mentioned, I’m on a schedule.”

Ignoring the hint, Gerri poured herself a cup. The liquid caught the morning light streaming through the windows, shimmering with an iridescent quality unlike any tea Laykin had seen.

“Tell me about the tiger,” Gerri said casually, blowing across the surface of her drink.

“Which tiger?” Laykin’s patience thinned. “The Rubin pride has dozens.”

“Your tiger.” Gerri’s blue eyes locked with hers. “The one you’re supposed to mate.”

“He’s not my tiger,” Laykin corrected automatically. “And I know as much as you do. Zyle Rubin, businessman, alpha of the Rubin Pride. We meet tonight.”

“Ah, but what do you hope he’s like?” Gerri pressed. “Deep down, beneath all that royal duty and diplomatic training, what does Laykin—not the princess, not the heir, just Laykin—hope to find in a mate?”

The question struck uncomfortably close to private thoughts Laykin rarely examined. Her childhood fantasies of a mate who would see her, not her title. Someone whose strength matched her own. Someone who would run beside her across the savannah, not just stand beside her at diplomatic functions.

“Hope is irrelevant,” she said instead. “This match serves the pride.”

“It can serve both the pride and your heart,” Gerri countered. “The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“In my experience?—”

“Your limited experience,” Gerri cut in, “as someone who has never actually met her fated mate.”

Irritation flickered across Laykin’s face. “Ms. Wilder?—”

“Gerri.”

“—Gerri. I appreciate your concern, but I’m quite content with my situation.”

“Content.” Gerri’s voice dropped. “Not exactly the emotion most people seek in a lifetime partnership.”

Laykin stood, signaling the end of their conversation. “Thank you for your visit, but I really must prepare for my meeting.”

Gerri rose, but as she turned to gather her bag, her elbow caught the edge of her teacup. The shimmering liquid splashed across the desk, droplets spattering onto Laykin’s cream blazer.

“Oh!” Gerri exclaimed. “How terribly clumsy!”

Laykin jumped back, but not before the tea soaked through the silk onto her skin. The liquid burned pleasantly warm where it touched, sending an unexpected tingle up her arm. For a heartbeat, the office around her blurred at the edges.

A vision flashed through her mind—piercing silver eyes set in a face framed by white. Not human, not quite, but watching her with an intensity that stole her breath. The image vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving Laykin disoriented.

“What was that?” she demanded, blinking rapidly.

“What was what?” Gerri asked innocently, dabbing at the spill with tissues from her purse. “Oh, the tea? Just herbs and a bit of magic. Nothing harmful, I assure you.”

“Magic?” Laykin backed away. “You put magic in my tea?”

“Not in your tea. You didn’t drink any.” Gerri’s smile turned mischievous. “Just on your lovely blazer. Which I am deeply sorry about. Send me the cleaning bill.”

Laykin stared at the silver-haired woman, suspicion mounting. “Who are you really? What do you want?”

Gerri straightened, her demeanor shifting subtly. The eccentric matchmaker remained, but something older, wiser, more purposeful shimmered beneath the surface.

“I’m exactly who I said—a matchmaker. And what I want is what I always want: to help fated mates find each other.” She stepped toward the door, then paused. “Remember this, Princess Laykin—some arrangements are written in the stars long before they’re written on paper.”

With that cryptic statement, Gerri glided out, leaving behind her half-empty thermos, the package of cookies, and a thoroughly perplexed Laykin.

Seren appeared in the doorway seconds later, eyes wide. “Was that the Gerri Wilder? The matchmaker? What did she want?”

Laykin touched the damp spot on her blazer, the tingling sensation already fading. “I have absolutely no idea.”