Page 47 of Unbonded (Pack’s Companion #3)

“Oh. It’s just that….” I suck in a breath, but then the words come out in a gush.

“My bonding ring from Lee. They came and took it off me in the grocery store. Debt collectors. I don’t know if he sold it or gave it to his new omega.

” When I glance up, something flashes through his eyes, darker and angrier than I’ve ever seen him.

“It wasn’t really about the ring,” I hasten to add, because the last thing I want is for him to think I’m still hung up on my ex.

“It was just having something taken like that, in public. They made it seem like I’d stolen it or something. ”

Corbus suddenly slides into the water with me, cupping my face so that all we have is eye contact. “I promise you, mijn liefje , no one can ever take this away from you. And if they try, they will not like what we do to jewel thieves in the diamond capital of the world.”

I smile at the thought of Corbus’ retribution, but there’s a deep line at the corner of his mouth and I run a careful finger over it. “You never said how things went with your mother.”

He goes still for a moment – taking a pause, I assume – and then the tension drains out of his body, leaving him looking weary. “They are done. She will have a bitter, lonely end, but that is her choice.”

My heart squeezes for his obvious pain. “You’re not going back?”

“Not for a long time.” He turns his head to kiss my finger, which is still lingering on his skin. “My home is here, with my pack.”

Dash announces he is well enough to return to rehearsals the next morning, but that plan is vetoed when he fails to pass his alphas’ sniff test. His heat is technically over, but the last remnants still cling to him, and no one is comfortable with him heading out into public smelling like a freshly claimed omega.

He agrees to wait another day, spending most of it on a pampering mission while the rest of us try to get back into our normal groove.

Lachlan has to go into Safe Haven, but the guys have home offices, and I’m using my old bedroom to work on my designs, when Bram sticks his head around the door.

“Want to come with me to check on your house?”

I nod, even though I’m not really keen to swap the sweet cocoon of my current residence for my sad little money pit. But as I told Corbus last night, the house is my problem, and I need to decide what to do now that Stanley King is out of the picture.

To my surprise, Bram is already one step ahead of me, and my new contractor is waiting for us on the steps of my townhouse.

Jen O’Reilly is a tall, muscular alpha with a quick smile and shrewd eyes, and if she can smell Dash’s heat on me, there’s no evidence of it as she shakes my hand.

She explains that she was part of the team who worked on Corbus’ remodel, and it’s pretty obvious she’s only taken on a small project in the burbs because of her relationship with Bram.

“No need for you to worry about anything, Ms. Valentine,” she assures me as we start up the stairs. “I can keep you posted by email if that works for you. Weekly reports, unless you want daily updates.”

“Weekly is fine,” I reply, since she has a copy of the blueprints we agreed with King, and they’re already covered with detailed annotations. “I’m not going to be hard to please. The goal is to get this to a state where I can sell it, not give me my dream home.”

Maybe this should be a poignant moment, but the house is my last tangible connection to Lee, and any nostalgia I might feel was destroyed long ago.

“I understand,” the contractor says, clearly reading my mood. “The place has a lot of potential, so it won’t be hard to get it ready for sale.” She turns a page in her folder and gives me a shrewd look. “As to fixtures, there’s a real mix of luxury and more practical pieces listed here.”

I give a dry laugh. “My ex and I had different views on the budget.” This elicits a scowl from Bram, and I shrug. “Whatever is quick and easy to source works for me.”

Jen nods, but when her pencil hovers over a bunch of question marks on her pad, Bram says, “Send all queries to me, Jen. You have the account information?”

“Yep. We’re good to go.” She closes her folder and hands me a set of keys to the new locks she’s installed. “Don’t worry. Ms. Valentine. We’ll make sure your investment is looked after.”

I nod, even though I’m a little anxious about covering the costs until I can get my design brand off the ground.

But Bram’s mind is clearly on other matters as we head back to the front of the house.

“Kate, I heard from Perry, my FBI contact. He didn’t have enough to hold King, so he organized a tail to follow him, but he’s gone underground. ”

I stop abruptly, my heart thudding against my ribs. “He’s missing?”

Bram grinds his jaw, frustration written all over his face.

“He’ll resurface, but until then, I need you to do a couple of things.

Try to avoid being alone, and if he contacts you in any way, let me know immediately.

The extra security here will keep him out, but I’m more worried about him approaching you on the street. ”

“I’ll use Hector,” I say quickly, because the thought of being baled up by King makes a knot twist in my belly. “And I don’t plan on coming back here after this.”

Bram nods. “If you’re not picky about the details, Jen will have it finished up and on the market in a couple of months.”

“I’m not.” The only thing I’ll really miss is my cedarwood closet, and it seems kind of silly to moan about that when I have the real thing walking around at home.

“There are too many ghosts here for me to miss this place. I just want to put it behind me. And I really don’t care what you get for it, just as long as it covers my debts. ”

Bram grunts, looking more than a little insulted. “I’ll get you a great price, don’t worry.”

I smile and cup his cheek. Dash was right – brain and muscles is a tantalizing combo. “Thanks, Bram. I really don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d manage,” he says, confidence now shining from his eyes. “But I’m glad I can help.”

After checking in with Dash – who’s chin-deep in a seaweed wrap – we head to Paragon.

I want to put a couple of hours in at the salon, while Bram has a conference call he seems eager to take.

When I ask him for a fifteen-minute slot in his calendar before we head home, he looks intrigued, but by the time I get to my computer, he’s booked a half-hour slot.

Someone has stocked my work area with a lot more than the basics I ordered, and I spend a very satisfying couple of hours immersed in fine fabrics and the kind of tools I’ve only ever dreamed of owning.

Ten minutes before my meeting with Bram, I grab a garment bag and my mobile alterations kit and take the executive elevator up to Bram’s office.

It’s on the top floor, a corner office that is a mix of modern and traditional.

It has an imposing desk flanked by contemporary walnut armchairs, brass light fixtures, and a streamlined sofa upholstered in the luxurious gray flannel of an Armani suit.

There are lighter touches, too, including a black and white picture on the wall of Bram and Corbus caught mid-joke, their heads tipped back as they give full rein to their laughter.

I’m like a moth to a flame, captivated by their sheer joy, and Bram slips out from behind his desk to join me.

“That was the day Corbus was given the keys to his house.”

I reach out to trace the wide curve of his mouth. “He looks so… free.”

“He was, in a way. Until then his official address was still his parents’ place back in Belgium.”

I think of the way he looked when he mentioned his mother last night – sad, confused, and worn down by a deep, enduring hurt. “Was it hard? The trip home, I mean.”

Bram considers the question for a moment. “He didn’t say a lot about his meeting with his mother, but she’s not a kind woman.”

I get the subtext. The countess is cruel to her clever, caring son. I guess that means you really can have everything and nothing at the same time.

“All the more reason for him to be proud of the man he’s become.” Bram gives a soft grunt of agreement, and I drag my gaze away from the picture, forcing myself to get down to business. “Okay. You’re probably wondering why I’m here. I just wanted to try something out on you.”

Bram’s gaze drops to the garment bag hanging over my arm and he takes a rapid step back. “I’m not good at modeling.”

“It’s not that, exactly.” I unzip the bag, his scent spiking as I reach in and pull out a tuxedo jacket. “I made this for you, based on one of your suits. It probably won’t be an exact fit, but I brought my kit with me for any tweaks.”

Bram still hasn’t bridged the distance between us, and now he rubs his jaw. “You made it for me,” he says slowly.

“Of course.” As the silence stretches between us, I give an awkward laugh. “Don’t take it personally. I’d dress the potted plant in the corner if it said it needed a new outfit.”

Bram is still staring at the jacket, and I realize he’s not sure what to do next. “Just take that one off and we can try it on here. Like I said, it’s a work in progress.”

He nods, but I can see the tension in his body as he walks over to his desk and removes his jacket, hanging it carefully on the back of his chair.

He’s wearing a plain white business shirt underneath, and I try not to critique it with my eyes as he slips his arms through the new jacket.

I button him up, smoothing down his lapels, and then take a step back to absorb the full picture.

I’m pleasantly surprised by how close I got on the fit, and I let him see the admiration in my eyes.

“Wow. You need a black-tie event. Stat.”

His brow wrinkles, but he disappears into the ensuite, and I chew on my nail while he studies himself. I know he looks amazing, but it’s what he thinks that counts, and I stew until he pokes his head around the door, his mouth slack with surprise. “You made me look good.”

“I told you.” I grin in relief, almost skipping over to join him.

“You are as attractive as any man I’ve met, just on a slightly larger scale.

” He tilts a look at me, and I bite my cheek, still smiling.

“Okay, a much larger scale, but that doesn’t mean you can’t look good.

You just have to choose fabrics and cuts that suit your shape, same as everyone else. ”

He grunts, but his gaze has returned to his bathroom mirror, like he can’t resist the lure of his new reflection. “I actually look… elegant.”

I hum as I squeeze his bicep. “Power and charisma never go out of fashion, Bram, and you have both in ample supply.”

A light flush stains his cheekbones as we return to his office and he slowly slips out of his jacket. He watches it like a Labrador tracking the treat jar as I zip it back up and I bite my cheek again. I’m not sure if an uber can technically be adorable, but Bram is giving it a pretty good shot.

“Thanks, Kate,” he says when I’ve hung the bag on the back of his door. “This means a lot to me.”

Fuzzy butterflies zip around my stomach. “I’m happy to talk to your regular tailor… What’s that face mean?”

I try not to react as he tells me he emailed his measurements to some guy online a decade ago. “Okay, well you can tell him I’ll handle that from now on. If it’s okay with you, we’ll work with a local tailor on the everyday items, and I’ll focus on your business and formal wear.”

He rubs his jaw again, then sinks into his chair. “Only if it’s not too much work for you.”

“Bram, it would be a literal pleasure to dress you.”

He looks up, his pupils expanding as he realizes I’ve perched on the edge of his desk. “You look like you have something else you want to discuss.”

I nod, trailing my eyes from the thick column of his throat down his too-tight shirt.

In terms of fit, his pants aren’t much better, but at least they have an excuse.

A very big , prominent excuse, that I’ve spent the last three days admiring.

“If I haven’t used up my full half-hour slot, I want to talk to you about the best way to get an uber knot to fit. ”