Page 1 of Petty AF (At First #1)

one

~ River ~

S eated behind an antique desk at the back of the studio, I rubbed the eraser of my pencil over the gleaming mahogany surface.

It was a habit I’d picked up in middle school, an outlet for nervous energy.

Judging by the pale line where I’d worn away the finish, that energy could power a city block these days.

I glanced at my cell phone where it sat atop my planner and sighed. Again.

“You still haven’t found someone?” Perching his bony ass on the corner of my desk, Otto Stillwater ran a hand through his short dark hair and smirked. “It’s been forever.”

“It’s been a week,” I countered.

“Like I said. Forever. ”

Rolling my eyes, I snapped my pencil down on the desk with a bit more force than I’d intended. “I hate you.”

I didn’t. We both knew it. Born two days apart, Otto and I had been inseparable our whole lives, but we’d been connected long before that.

Our dads had also been friends since birth, and they still got together on weekends to drink beer and burn steaks on the grill. And our grandmothers had been partners in crime for over five decades.

“Fair,” Otto replied with a shrug, his golden-brown eyes twinkling with amusement. As he spoke, he casually plucked one of the hard candies from the ceramic bowl I kept there for clients, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth. “What about Alex?”

I shook my head. “No.”

Alex had been great, and our breakup had been amicable. Largely because the shifter hadn’t possessed a personality of his own. Rather, he mimicked whoever happened to be closest at the time. Which was kind of the problem.

If I wanted my own thoughts and opinions echoed back to me, I’d buy a journal.

“Ethan?” he suggested.

I wrinkled my nose as I flipped my hair over my shoulder. Sure, the elf was pretty, but he also had more red flags than a circus tent. Then there was the fact that he’d unsubscribed from our four-month relationship via a generic text message before ghosting.

And it would be fair to say that, six months later, I was still a little salty about it.

“Max?”

I shook my head again. “He’s out of town this weekend.”

“Chase?”

“Mated.”

“Vincent?”

I sighed and leaned back in my chair. “Mated.”

“Ian?”

“Also mated.”

Otto mirrored my frown. “Who does that leave?”

“No one.”

I had the coveted invitation—my golden ticket, so to speak—but as a human, I still faced certain restrictions. Namely, to even get through the doors, I had to be escorted by a member of the supernatural community.

Sadly, we had exhausted the lists of shadelings I knew well enough to ask for a favor. And with less than forty-eight hours until the biggest paranormal gala of the year, I had officially run out of options.

Like most businesses, I had come from humble beginnings, with only a handful of clients and a keen eye for detail.

Over the years, I had cultivated relationships with tailors, boutiques, and local jewelry artists, all in an effort to bring my customers fashion-forward trends that didn’t break the bank.

Though proud of what I had built, the fact remained that it was still a small pool with limited resources.

Technically, I was a stylist. At least, that’s what it said on my business cards. In reality, since its inception, The Silver Thread had been all about possibilities. And for me, entry to the Legacy Gala—a gathering of the supernatural elite—could open the door to countless ones.

New clients. New connections. New opportunities.

While shadelings from every all walk of life and every corner of the state would be there, humans almost never received an invite. Those who did had a hell of a lot more money and influence than me.

Without an escort, however, it didn’t mean much beyond an artfully designed piece of stationery. Shiny but useless.

Otto pursed his lips and leaned back on the heel of his hand. “What about that werewolf you styled last month? The one who insisted on wearing a minidress to her brother’s formal wedding?”

I arched an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, okay, bad idea.” He shrugged. “Oh, what about the vamp who wanted a tailcoat with a bustle?”

“That’s Nadia,” I answered, slumping back in my chair with a sigh. “She’s the one who gave me the invite.”

Otto perked up. “That’s perfect, right?”

Nadia leaned on the eccentric side, but she had influence, status, and a great sense of humor. Since she had also been the one to sweet talk me onto the guest list, she should have been an obvious choice for a sponsor. There was just one little problem.

“She’s not going.” Some family emergency in Romania, if I understood correctly. “Technically, she transferred her invitation to me.”

Otto straightened, squirming on the edge of the desk as he stared back at me, a gleam in his eyes I recognized all too well. He had an idea, and I was probably going to hate it.

“Well, there is this app—”

“Be fucking for real right now,” I interjected before he’d even finished speaking. I stopped short of rolling my eyes, but I couldn’t hold back my snort. “I’m not taking a Grindr hookup to the Legacy Gala.”

Technically, I could. No rule existed that prevented it. While I needed a chaperone to even enter the doors, the only requirement for my plus-one was that they had to be a shadeling. Wealth, status, influence—none of that mattered.

Just because I could, though, didn’t make it a good idea. It also didn’t mean there wouldn’t be judgment. Even the smallest slip-up could spell disaster, and bringing a stranger I’d met on the internet had the potential to nuke my reputation.

“Actually, I meant MNSTR.” Otto stared back, his expression flat, clearly unimpressed with my hastily drawn conclusions.

“Oh.” I pursed my lips and tilted my head as I twirled my index finger around the lock of hair that fell over my shoulder. Another nervous habit. “I don’t know.”

I knew about it, of course, but I had never used it myself.

Otto had employed a task agent through the app a couple of times for emergency deliveries.

A client had hired a witch to hex her ex-girlfriend with hiccups for three days.

Hell, even my own mother had downloaded the app to pay a faery for an enchanted garden.

The flowers were beautiful, and despite her black thumb, they had been thriving for almost two years now.

The Magical Network of Specialized Task Resources offered a dizzying array of services, from the mundane to the arcane. Still, while there seemed to be a vetted agent available for just about everything, this felt…different.

“What other choice do you have?” Otto reasoned as he hopped down from the desk. “I mean, it’s that or Grindr.”

My fingers twitched as I fought the urge to reach for my phone. He made a good point, but I didn’t want him to know that.

“Where are you going?” I asked when he started shuffling toward the office door.

More importantly, why was he abandoning me in my hour of need?

“To get ready for my two o’clock.”

I glanced at the clock on the back wall over the bookshelf and frowned. Damn, I’d completely lost track of time.

Thankfully, I didn’t have anyone on the books for the day, allowing me to spiral without interruption. In fact, there hadn’t been a need for me to come into the studio at all, but hanging out with my best friend beat the hell out of sitting home alone.

Besides, there was always a chance I could pick up some extra business.

Otto and I shared a studio, and we often partnered to give people a more holistic experience, but we each had our own skill set and customer base. I handled the wardrobe while Otto took care of hair and makeup. While the two often overlapped, not every client needed both services.

And some didn’t realize they needed both until they arrived.

“Get the app,” Otto insisted as he started backing away. “It doesn’t hurt to look.”

I nodded, but I still waited until he’d left the office before grabbing my phone off the desk.

Once I had downloaded the MNSTR app, I skipped the process of creating an account, arguing that I probably wouldn’t need it. I just planned to look, research, maybe see what they had to offer. No big deal.

It took only a few minutes of browsing the popular categories to decide that had been a smart decision.

Spells, Charms, and Enchantments.

Hexes and Curses.

Personal Assistant.

Household Tasks.

Protection and Security.

I rubbed my temples. I had barely started, and it was already turning out to be more complicated than I’d anticipated.

I tapped the icon for Protection and Security , groaning when it loaded a new page filled with subcategories. A quick scroll revealed things like Negotiation Specialists , Discrete Transport Services , and even something ominously labeled Crisis Containment .

I immediately navigated back to the homepage and began scrolling again. The Personal Assistant category looked promising. Not exactly what I needed, but maybe close enough.

Before I could click the square icon, however, a chat screen popped up, asking if I needed assistance. Figuring it would probably be the quickest and most accurate way to find what I wanted, I typed in my request.

USER: I received an invitation to the Legacy Gala, but I’m human and therefore need an escort.

The cursor blinked, and for a moment, I wondered if I had been too specific for the chatbot. Maybe I should have just said I needed a plus-one for an event.

MNSTR: Congratulations on receiving an invitation to the annual Legacy Gala! I understand that rules regarding human attendees can be frustrating, but I’m here to help. Can you tell me more about your preferences?

I hesitated. I didn’t need a real date, just someone to get me into the party. If they made it through the evening without crashing out or tanking my career, I’d consider that a win.

USER: No preferences. I just need a professional plus one.

MNSTR: Got it! Here are some top-rated agents in your area with experience as a professional plus-one. Take a look and let me know if you have any questions.

The chat automatically minimized, and my screen refreshed to show a stacked list of six MNSTR agents, along with a photo and a short introduction. As promised, all of them had excellent ratings, and I could click a link to read some reviews from other app users.

While I told myself that appearances didn’t matter, my gaze kept straying back to the picture in the center of the top row. The male had a sort of devil-may-care look with a scruffy jaw, a mop of dark waves that brushed the tops of his ears, and a small silver stud in his left lobe.

Instead of the too-polite, professional smile seen in a lot of headshots, his lips were crooked into a roguish grin, and his dark eyes gleamed with the hint of challenge.

Though he wore a plain black tee in his picture, I had no doubt he’d look amazing in a tailored suit, and having someone like him on my arm would definitely be a confidence booster.

According to his bio, he was a werewolf, a little older than me, and lived here in Circle City. He had immaculate reviews, with words like “discrete” and “comfortable” popping up in many of them.

I did peruse the other agents, just to say I’d done my homework, but truthfully, I’d already made my decision.

While I still had some reservations about hiring a date from an app, I reasoned that he had the experience.

Plus, I would be paying him, making this a business transaction rather than a personal favor.

Of course, I understood that didn’t make it bulletproof, but after some consideration, I concluded it would have to be an acceptable risk.

It seemed to take forever to create an account and fill out all the necessary forms, but I appreciated the thoroughness.

Once I’d entered my payment information and outlined my exact needs, I took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and sent the request, jamming my thumb against the screen like it owed me money.

Within seconds, I received a push notification informing me that my request had been received. Now, I just had to wait to see if he would take the job.

Only a moment later, my phone chimed with another notification.

I tensed. Logically, I knew any rejection would likely be from a scheduling conflict since my request had been last minute, but that didn’t ease my anxiety. Taking another deep breath, I steeled myself before opening the message.

Task Accepted.