Page 1 of Stripe for the Picking (Paranormal Dating Agency #92)

ONE

WREN

T he afternoon sunlight shone brightly through the coffee shop's windows and cast golden rectangles across Wren's laptop screen.

She squinted at the code scrolling past, her fingers tapping across the keyboard with practiced precision.

Croissant crumbs decorated the wooden table near her caramel latte, forgotten casualties of her intense focus.

"No, no, no," she muttered under her breath, pushing a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear.

You foolish man, how did you manage to click on 'Congratulations! You've won a million dollars!' and actually enter your banking information?

Her client's voice came through her headphones, nervous and apologetic. "I thought it was legitimate?—"

"Mr. Jones, the email address was 'Vermont-Offishul-Prize-Departmant.

' With two misspellings." Wren's fingers flew across the keys, isolating the malicious code that had frozen his entire system.

"But hey, I am usually saving people from their own bad passwords, and they don't even know what the problem is, so this is a bit more straightforward. "

She guided him through the cleanup process with patient professionalism, her voice warm despite her internal eye- rolling. The poor man had inadvertently given hackers access to everything from his grocery delivery account to his tax records. Wren had seen worse, but not by much.

Twenty minutes later, she ended the call and immediately opened FaceTime. Her best friend Mallory's familiar face soon filled the screen, her blonde curls bouncing as she leaned closer to her camera.

"Please tell me you're calling with news of wild adventure or scandalous romance," Mallory said without preamble. "Because I can still see that look in your eyes, the same 'I-just-fixed-another-person's-digital-disaster' expression you've been wearing for months."

Wren slumped back in her chair, the wood creaking softly. "Worse. I just spent an hour explaining to a sixty-year-old man why you shouldn't click on a link saying you've won a million dollars."

"Tragic." Mallory's grin was wicked. "Though I notice you're in actual sunlight for once instead of your cave of computer screens. That's progress."

"Don't get too excited. I needed caffeine and carbs." Wren gestured at her surroundings. "Same old routine, different location. Fix other's problems, collect payment, repeat until death."

The words tasted bitter, more so than her cooling latte. She watched people pass by the window—couples holding hands, friends laughing, everyone seeming to move with purpose while she remained stationary.

"You know what your problem is?" Mallory leaned forward conspiratorially.

"Enlighten me, oh wise one."

"You're insanely brilliant, drop dead gorgeous, and completely wasting away in digital purgatory. When's the last time you did something that made your heart race? And I don't mean debugging code."

Wren's laugh held no humor. "My heart races plenty, thank you. Usually when I realize how close my clients come to financial ruin."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it." Mallory's expression softened. "Wren, you're thirty-two. Don't you want more than this endless cycle of fixing other people's mistakes?"

The question hit harder than intended. Wren stared at her reflection in the laptop screen, seeing the truth she'd been avoiding.

"Every day. I wake up wondering if this is it—if I'm going to spend the rest of my life being the woman who swoops in to save the day but never gets to live her own adventure. "

"So do something about it."

"Like what? My parents have basically written me off because I chose 'hacking' over a traditional career path.

" Wren made air quotes, her voice growing sharper.

"They call maybe twice a year to ask when I'm going to find a nice man, settle down, and produce grandchildren.

As if my entire worth is measured by my ability to procreate. "

"Your parents are idiots."

"Harsh but accurate." Wren picked at a croissant crumb. "They think my job is just playing on computers all day. They don't understand that I'm actually protecting people and that what I do matters."

"It does matter. But that doesn't mean it's your only purpose."

Wren met her friend's eyes through the screen. "I keep feeling like there's something bigger out there waiting for me. Something that would make all these years of searching for my true calling feel worthwhile. Does that sound completely insane?"

"It sounds human." Mallory paused. "But what about love? Romance? Someone to share the adventure with?"

"Please." Wren's laugh was sharp. "Every man I've dated either gets intimidated by my brain or assumes I'm some kind of emotionless computer myself. Apparently, intelligence and passion can't coexist in the same woman."

"Their loss."

"Maybe. Or maybe I'm just not built for that kind of thing." Wren's voice grew quieter. "I'm all brain, not enough heart, remember? That's what Trevor said before he decided my IQ was emasculating."

"Trevor was a moron with the emotional depth of a puddle."

"True, but he wasn't wrong about me being complicated.

" Wren sipped her latte, the sweetness doing nothing to chase away the bitterness in her chest. "I'm not interested in love or kids right now anyway.

How can I think about building a life with someone when I haven't figured out what I'm supposed to be doing with my own? "

The coffee shop's noise filled the pause.

The world continued its mysterious dance of purpose and connection, while Wren remained an observer, brilliant and isolated behind her laptop screen.

Around her, the air hummed with afternoon energy.

A young mother bounced her fussy baby while juggling a phone call.

Two college students hunched over textbooks, their whispered debate floating past her table.

An elderly man read his newspaper with methodical precision, occasionally chuckling at something.

Everyone has their thing , Wren observed. Everyone except me.

She watched a woman at the counter order something complicated, gesturing with animated hands while the barista nodded patiently.

Even that interaction seemed charged with purpose.

Meanwhile, Wren sat alone with her laptop, solving other people's disasters while her own life remained frustratingly static.

"I should let you go," she told Mallory, her friend's face still bright on the screen.

"Promise me you'll think about what I said. About finding your adventure."

"Cross my heart." Wren's smile felt hollow. "Though I'm pretty sure my biggest thrill this week will be explaining password security to Mrs. Hendricks again."

She ended the call and closed her laptop, suddenly feeling the weight of the afternoon sun streaming through the window. The coffee shop's warmth pressed against her skin, making her hyperaware of how long she'd been sitting, how many hours she spent in similar chairs, staring at similar screens.

What if this is it? The thought crept in unbidden. What if I'm always going to be the woman who fixes things from the sidelines?

The sound of designer heels clicking against tile broke through her spiraling thoughts. Sharp, confident steps that somehow cut through the ambient noise like a knife through silk. Wren looked up to find a petite woman approaching her table, and everything about this stranger commanded attention.

The woman wore a pristine white pantsuit that seemed to shimmer in the afternoon light, the fabric so perfectly tailored it could have been painted on.

Her white bob gleamed like spun moonlight, each strand falling into place with geometric precision.

But it was her eyes that truly caught Wren's attention—brilliant blue that seemed to shift and dance, occasionally catching gold flecks that made them almost luminous.

The woman stopped beside Wren's table, radiating a confidence that made the air itself feel charged with electricity. Her presence was magnetic in a way that defied explanation, as if she carried her own gravitational field.

"Did someone mention adventure over here, darling?

" The woman's voice held a teasing lilt, her blue eyes now definitely sparkling with gold.

"I've found a special someone who's been waiting just for you.

.. a tiger shifter on the planet Nova Aurora who desperately needs your help.

His planet's defense systems have been under repeated cyber attacks, and he's failing to stop them.

You could change everything. And while you're at it, you might help him finally win the annual Protocol Trials, and maybe even tame his inner beast."

Wren's hand jerked, nearly sending her latte cascading across her laptop. Her heart thundered in her chest as the woman's words registered. "Excuse me? Are you referring to me? There must be some kind of mistake. You must have confused me for someone else."

But even as Wren spoke, something electric shot through her veins. A tiger shifter. Cyber attacks on an alien planet. Protocol Trials. Every word felt like a key turning in a lock she hadn't known existed.

This is insane , her rational mind protested. This woman is clearly delusional.

Yet her imagination was already spinning, painting pictures of alien landscapes and futuristic security systems that needed her particular brand of digital surgery.

The idea of her skills being essential and being the difference between success and failure on an interplanetary scale, made her pulse quicken in ways that debugging code never could.

The woman studied Wren with those unnervingly perceptive eyes, her smile widening as if she could read every thought racing through Wren's mind. "There's no mistake. I'm talking about you, Wren. You're ready to matter, ready to shake things up, and ready to be indispensable."

The words hit like physical blows. Ready to matter. How long had she been waiting for someone to say exactly that?