Page 7 of Paw Inspiring (Paranormal Dating Agency #86)

SIX

A rtek’s bear stirred, bristling at the threat to their territory. “He’d destroy the entire ecosystem.”

“Not to mention the sleuth’s privacy.” Trey zoomed in on recent photographs. “Look here—survey stakes, environmental impact crews. He’s laying groundwork for something big.”

“Increase surveillance.” Artek studied the images. “I want to know everyone he meets with, every paper he files, every time he so much as looks at our land.”

“Already on it. Put our best people on rotation.” Trey hesitated. “There’s something else. Remember that old cabin on the northeast ridge? The one that belonged to?—”

A knock interrupted them. Alfonso, his mother’s favorite tailor, stood in the doorway clutching a measuring tape and fabric samples like weapons.

“Mr. Riggs!” The small Italian man beamed. “Your mother said you were eager for a fitting!”

Trey dissolved into poorly concealed laughter.

“I’m in a meeting,” Artek tried.

“Nonsense! La signora Vida insisted it was urgent.” Alfonso advanced, tape measure unfurling like a battle standard. “Now then, about your shoulder seam...”

“Trey,” Artek growled. “Help.”

“Sorry, boss.” Trey raised his hands, grinning. “Above my pay grade. Besides, you’ll thank us when you’re the best-dressed alpha at the gala.”

“The gala!” Alfonso clapped. “Si, si, we must make you shine! The cut must be perfect, the fabric must sing—please, Mr. Riggs, remove the jacket. These measurements won’t take themselves.”

Artek’s phone buzzed again. His mother had somehow obtained surveillance photos of him in his current suit. She’d helpfully circled what she called “areas of tailoring concern.”

“Fine.” He shrugged off his jacket, shooting Trey a look that promised retribution. “Ten minutes. That’s all.”

Forty-five minutes, three fabric debates, and one lengthy discussion about pocket square coordination later, Alfonso finally packed up his implements of torture.

“Perfetto!” The tailor practically floated toward the door. “The adjustments will be ready tomorrow. Your mother will be so pleased—she mentioned something about a matching tie selection...”

“No ties,” Artek called after him. “We agreed on one suit!”

But Alfonso had already disappeared, humming what sounded suspiciously like Matchmaker from Fiddler on the Roof .

“Not. One. Word.” Artek turned to Trey.

“Would I say anything about how your mom just orchestrated a complete wardrobe ambush?” Trey’s innocent expression cracked. “Though I have to ask—did she really send you a PowerPoint presentation on ‘How Proper Attire Attracts Proper Mates’?”

“Back to work. Now.”

“Fine, fine.” Trey sobered, pulling up more photos. “But we should probably discuss your mom’s section on color theory and romantic success?—”

“Trey.”

“Okay, okay. Back to German’s land grab.” Trey’s playful demeanor shifted to business mode. “That cabin I mentioned? He’s been asking questions about the deed. Specifically, who owns it now that the previous owner passed.”

Artek’s spine stiffened. “Which cabin?”

“The Adams property. Up near the old hiking trails.” Trey scrolled through documents. “Belonged to some human woman. Betty? Betsy?”

A memory surfaced—his father’s voice from years ago, discussing territory boundaries. The Adams land is under our protection. They’ve been good neighbors to the sleuth for generations.

“Find out everything about that cabin.” Artek’s voice dropped to a growl. “Current ownership, condition, any claims German thinks he can make. And double the patrols in that area specifically.”

“Already on it.” Trey studied him. “You think he’s planning something?”

“German Lopez never does anything without an agenda.” Artek stared at the map, his bear’s protective instincts rising. “And I won’t let him threaten what’s ours.”

“Well then.” Trey’s grin returned slowly. “Good thing you’ll have a chance to gather intelligence at the gala. I hear lots of old property owners attend Gerri’s events...”

“This isn’t about the gala.”

“Everything’s about the gala.” Trey dodged Artek’s swat. “According to your mom’s latest text, anyway. Oh look, she’s sent more suit options! This one comes with a guide to ‘Power Colors for Powerful Mates’...”

Artek growled, but his bear stirred with unexpected interest. Something about all this—the cabin, the gala, his mother’s ridiculous matchmaking schemes—tickled at his instincts like pieces of a puzzle he couldn’t quite see.

Yet.

His phone buzzed one final time. A text from Gerri: Trust the process, dear. Something tells me this gala will be exactly what you need.

“I hate it when they conspire,” he muttered.

“Nah.” Trey clapped his shoulder. “You love it. You just don’t know it yet.”