Page 10 of Unbonded (Pack’s Companion #3)

“I assure you, Mrs. Olsen,” the beta says stiffly, “ nothing in my store is cursed. Kate has kindly stepped in to model the design since our regular girl called in sick.”

“It’s wrong , Florence,” the other woman insists, thrusting her champagne flute at a flustered assistant. “You can’t have unbonded omegas working in a bonding store. It’s… unnatural. Like having an undertaker work in a maternity ward.”

I feel my mouth drop open at the comparison, but Kate doesn’t even flinch, her spine as straight as some untouchable ice queen. Her indifference would be admirable, if it didn’t suggest that she’s heard this kind of trash talk so often she’s become immune to it.

Her boss, thankfully, looks like she’s tasted something nasty. “Kate designed this gown herself, and since you were just admiring it so much, I’m sure you’ll agree her bonding status has little to do with her talent.”

“Talented or not, there’s a reason her alpha left her.”

A stunned silence fills the room at this spiteful comment, and Kate suddenly whirls on the customer, fire snapping in her soft gray eyes. “Unbonding isn’t contagious, Mrs. Olsen. And even if it was, this is a custom dress, so there’s no way your daughters will ever be infected by me.”

The implication is clear – hell will freeze over before Kate will design anything for this bitch and her brood – and Mrs. Olsen makes a high-pitched sound of outrage. “Get down from there, you disgusting girl! Do you really think anyone wants to see you strutting around in that dress?”

Screw that!

“Well, I’m definitely a fan.” I’m also a bit of an expert at making grand entrances, and I know exactly how to draw all eyes as I saunter through the velvet drape.

From the stunned expressions turned my way, I’m guessing a few of the onlookers are ballet fans, but all my attention is on the girl on the dais.

Fuck, she is stunning. “Hello, Kate. Lovely to see you again.”

“Mr. Devereux.” The owner – Florence - has recovered from her surprise and strides towards me with her most professional smile. “I didn’t know you had an appointment with us today.”

“I don’t. I just came to see Kate.” I grin up into her startled face. “Last night we talked about meeting up for lunch, but we didn’t lock down a firm date.”

The implication is clear – and intentional. Dancers, on the whole, are sensual people, and I’m staring up at Kate like she’s a feast I plan to devour.

A tentative smile curves up those luscious lips, but the next moment a hand is tugging my sleeve, and the vile omega shamer is suddenly in my face.

“Mr. Devereux!” she exclaims in a simpering voice.

“I'm Marcia Olsen, and I’m your biggest fan. My pack has a box at your theatre, and we’ve been to every one of your performances. ”

Which means she’s a patron of the company - and probably a very wealthy one - but she can kiss my well-toned ass.

Tugging my sleeve from her grasp, I give her my most withering haughty prince glare.

“I hope your pack got a lot of use out of your box, because I won't step foot on any stage with you in the audience.”

I relish the stunned silence that follows, but Mrs. Olsen looks like she’s about to faint.

Her face goes bright red, and with a warbling moan she turns on her heel and runs out of the room.

Or staggers through the heavy velvet drapes, since she has a little difficulty finding the exit, and no one moves a finger to help her.

“Well,” Florence says when the other woman’s strangled sounds have died away. “Monique, please make sure everyone has a fresh glass while Donavan models some of our dashing new bonding jackets.”

A male model in a pale gray suit strides past me with a saucy wink, but I’m focused on Kate’s boss. “I have a second agenda, actually. I’d really like Kate to design a jacket for my opening night after-party. Should I make an appointment, or can I discuss the project with her now?”

Florence blinks at my most charming smile, probably wondering if I’m a psychopath to be able to swing so easily between vicious and sweet.

But she knows what a coup it would be if I wore a design from her store on opening night, and she doesn’t miss a beat as she says, “Of course. Kate, why don’t you take Mr. Devereux through to the salon? ”

Kate nods and climbs off the dais, her back ramrod straight as she leads me through another velvet drape into a fitting area.

It’s beautifully decorated with silk wallpaper and bedecked mannequins, but it’s a workspace, too, and Kate heads straight over to a long cedarwood bench.

I can’t tell her mood from her scent, and I wonder if she thinks I made the scene worse by butting in.

“I think I might have lost you a customer,” I sigh, taking up position on the other side of the counter. “I should probably apologize for that, but the bitch had it coming.”

She’s kept her face averted until now, and when she lifts her eyes, I’m relieved to find them smiling into mine. “Oh, she’ll be back. Mrs. Olsen has three omega daughters who all want bonding gowns, and Sweet Eternity is the best.”

“ You're the best,” I tell her, looking admiringly at her outfit. Dressed like that, it’s easy to imagine her flanked by a couple of adoring alphas. “This is stunning.”

“Thank you. I got permission from the client to show it, but I’m not sure how she’ll feel once the gossip circle gets back to her.

” She gives a little shrug, like some things are out of her control, and looks at me curiously.

“Do you really need a jacket? Doesn't the company have a whole closet full of designers who are desperate to dress you?”

“Maybe, but I like your designs.” Plus, my blood hasn’t entirely settled since that bullshit out in the showroom, and I want Kate to know that she has my loyalty. In this, and whatever else she needs. “Do you have any samples you could show me?”

“Of course. But first, how would you describe your style? I've only seen you on stage.”

“And bleeding all over a hotel room,” I quip, and I feel a zing of victory in my chest at her soft chuckle.

“Are you feeling better?” she asks, running her hands absently over the counter top. She has long, slender fingers, and I watch as she traces patterns on the wood grain. “No more dizzy spells?”

The truth is, I still feel lightheaded, but that’s more because of nearness than any medical condition. “I had a big breakfast, thanks, so I’m feeling better than ever.”

“I’m glad.” She nods towards a display rack of jackets. “Then if you’re feeling up to it, do you see anything you like?”

“I guess I prefer simple designs that have a few standout features. Not boring, but not too flamboyant. Elegant, but edgy.” I walk over to the display rack and flick through a few of the bonding jackets.

A lot are silver or white, given that traditional bonding ceremonies still favor a light palette, but there are a couple of darker ones, and I pull out a midnight blue jacket. “I like this one.”

“That’s a cotton blend velvet tuxedo jacket with a full silk lining.

Single-breasted and hip-length, it’s a good choice for your physique.

” She takes the garment, flicking the button open and holding it up by the shoulders so I can put it on.

I grin as I quickly unbutton my shirt and smooth down my white compression tee that fits as snug as a leotard.

I enjoy the feel of her hands as she slides me into the jacket, and there’s no mistaking the flare of appreciation in her eyes.

I’m nearly a foot taller than her, even in her heels, but she moves around me with confidence, her dove gray eyes careful and assessing.

Competency has always been sexy to me, and I have the feeling Kate’s has been hard-won, if that shitstorm outside is anything to go by.

“Jewel colors obviously suit you,” she says, reaching for her notepad and scribbling something on it.

When she’s done, she sticks her pencil behind her ear, and hums. “I don’t think I’ve ever worked with a shoulder to waist ratio like yours before.

You’ve probably heard it plenty, but your body is a work of art. ”

She’s right; I have heard it before. Mostly by alphas trying to tempt me into their beds, but Kate sounds more appreciative than seductive. Does that mean she doesn’t want to lure me into bed? Because maybe I should tell her that a pencil behind the ear is my sexual kryptonite.

“Can you tell me anything about your role?” she asks, startling me out of my fantasy. “I might be able to add a couple of features, to tie in with your theme.”

My breath catches as she smooths her hands down the sides of the jacket, checking the length against my thigh.

She’s all business, but my traitorous dick hasn’t got the memo.

“Yeah. Well, the ballet is called The Last Dance, and I play a young soldier sent to hold a fortification from the advancing enemy. Tragically, it just happens to be my character’s hometown, and everyone there – including my long, lost love – thinks I’ve come to rescue them. ”

“But you haven’t?”

“Nope, it’s a Russian production, so we’re all doomed.”

Kate’s hands rest for a moment on my hips, and she looks up at me, her eyes suddenly cloudy. “That’s so sad.”

“Especially because I go into heat on the eve of the big battle and finally bond with my alpha…” I gulp back the rest of my words, wishing I could just as easily swallow my tongue.

Kate’s staring at my lapels, and there’s a little quiver to the edge of her mouth that makes my heart ache.

She didn’t back down when that bitch was harassing her in front of half the store, but my story has hurt her, and it’s not hard to guess why. “Fuck. I’m sorry, Kate.”

“It’s fine…”

“No, really. You don’t have to do this.” I start flicking the buttons open as quickly as I can. “I’ll just wear my Valentino tux…”

To my surprise, Kate gives a snorting laugh and grabs my wrist. “Oh, no! Forced to settle for Valentino. What a tragedy.” I blink at her quasi-mocking tone, and she makes a show of wiping the smile from her face.

“Sorry. That was unprofessional. What I meant to say was that Valentino is a great backup option, but I’d love to design a jacket for you.

And I think a story like that deserves something special, right? ”

I give a mute nod, because if I open my mouth right now, I’m liable to lean down and lick that lingering smile off her face. I don’t know if it’s her vulnerability or that flash of sarcasm, but the urge to kiss her is almost unbearable.

“Well, I’m thinking a deep red instead of blue, given that you’re a soldier,” she says, moving around me again with that assessing eye.

“Not cherry red, but darker, like a claret or burgundy. Black silk lapels, to contrast with the velvet, and something striking on the shoulders. Not epaulettes, exactly, but something to mimic them, which will also play up your V-shape. We’ll add cuff buttons, perhaps brushed brass, and maybe some kind of gilding for the breast pocket, to hint at aiguillettes…

” She’s been buzzing around me as she dreams up the design, but now she stops and looks up at me with a hint of uncertainty.

“Does that sound like I’m on the right track? ”

“You mean the bits I understood? They sound sensational, and I think your vision will be perfect for opening night.”

“Great.” If Kate’s sad eyes squeeze my heart, her relieved smile steals my breath.

I can almost taste her happiness as she pulls a large sample book from under the counter and opens it in front of me.

“Why don’t I show you a few things I’ve designed in the past, and then I’ll take your measurements? ”

Show and tell and then her hands back on my body? I give her a blinding grin. “Like I said. Perfect.”