Page 13 of Paw Inspiring (Paranormal Dating Agency #86)

TWELVE

T he morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Northern Winds Security, casting long shadows across Artek’s pristine office. The scent of Italian roast coffee mingled with the crisp air from the climate control system as he scrolled through messages on his custom security tablet. His fingers froze mid-swipe at a notification about Betsy Adams’s passing.

“Damn,” he muttered, the word barely audible over the soft hum of his state-of-the-art equipment. The image of Meara’s smile at the gala flickered through his mind, replaced by the gut-wrenching knowledge of her loss. He pushed back from his desk, the leather chair whispering against the hardwood floor as he crossed to the window. Manhattan sprawled below, a maze of glass and steel that suddenly felt cold and impersonal compared to the warmth he’d sensed in Meara’s grandmother.

His bear stirred restlessly beneath his skin, responding to an instinct he couldn’t quite name. The urge to protect, to comfort—to do something—clawed at him. Artek grabbed his phone, punching in the number of Bloom & Petal, the city’s most exclusive florist.

“Two arrangements,” he instructed, his deep voice betraying none of the uncertainty churning in his gut. “The first should have white roses and lilies. For the second—” He paused, choosing carefully. “Daffodils and pink tulips.”

The florist’s enthusiasm grated against his mood. “Such different combinations! The first is quite traditional for sympathy, but the second?—”

“Send them both to the Adams Gallery in Manhattan.” Artek cut off the floristry lesson, softening his tone as he added, “Include a note: My sincere condolences. May you find strength in her memory. Artek.”

After ending the call, he paced the length of his office. The bear inside him demanded action—go to her, offer comfort, stand guard while she grieved. The man understood the need for space, for dignity in loss.

During the memorial service several days later, he stood in the back, his tall frame half-hidden behind a marble column, watching Meara say good-bye to her grandmother. The sight of her shoulders shaking as she delivered the eulogy had nearly broken his restraint. Only years of iron discipline had kept him from striding forward to wrap her in his arms.

Now, a knock interrupted his brooding. Trey poked his head in, brandishing a stack of reports. “Morning, boss! Ready to dive into these thrilling security proposals?” His usual grin faltered at Artek’s expression. “You look like someone kicked your beehive. Still thinking about the memorial service?”

“She shouldn’t have to face this alone.” Artek’s growl held a hint of his bear’s frustration.

“Then why hide in the back like a creeper?” Trey dropped into a chair, propping his feet on Artek’s pristine desk. “You could have?—”

The conference room door burst open with theatrical flair. Vida Riggs swept in, resplendent in a sapphire blue suit, waving a magazine like a conductor’s baton. “Artek, darling! I heard you attended Betsy’s memorial service.” Her perfectly manicured nails tapped against the magazine cover. “Though skulking in the shadows wasn’t exactly what I meant by showing support.”

Trey failed to suppress a snicker. Artek shot him a warning glare.

“I didn’t want to intrude,” Artek defended, his jaw tight. “It was her time with Betsy.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Vida’s expression softened. “Standing in the back watching her cry isn’t helping anyone. Though I suppose it’s progress from your usual stoic distance.” She perched on the edge of his desk, ignoring his pointed look. “But now we need to discuss the cabin.”

Artek’s head snapped up. “What about the cabin?”

“Betsy left it to Meara.” Vida produced a folder from her designer bag with the flourish of a magician. “That lovely property by Crystal Lake. She’ll need advice about security, you know. The property’s quite extensive and too many people want it.”

“The Lopez family,” Artek growled, his bear stirring at the thought of potential threats to Meara.

“Among others.” Vida’s expression turned shrewd. “That German Lopez has been particularly vocal about his... opinions regarding the property.”

Trey whistled low, peering at the folder’s contents. “Prime location, great views. Perfect for an art retreat.” His grin turned mischievous. “Or maybe a wedding venue? Your mother’s not getting any younger, and those grandcubs won’t manifest themselves?—”

“Out.” Artek pointed to the door. “Both of you.”

“Just remember, darling,” Vida rose with elegant dignity, “sometimes timing is everything.” She patted his cheek. “And sometimes a grieving artist might need more than flowers and shadow-lurking.”