Page 53 of Unbonded (Pack’s Companion #3)

We left the party not long after our run-in with the LaGranges, so the next morning we’re up early, exchanging hasty kisses as we head off in all directions.

The company has booked a spa treatment for the dancers, Lachlan has a mandatory training session, and despite it being the weekend, Bram and Corbus have meetings and paperwork waiting in the office.

I catch a ride with Dash to Sweet Eternity, still smiling from his effusive kisses when I find a frowning Florence waiting for me in reception.

One glance at the newspaper in her hand and I know that we’re about to have a difficult conversation.

She slaps the paper on the desk, a picture of our pack staring back at me.

It must have been taken as we left the party, because Dash is wearing his jacket, and there’s a fierce gleam in my eyes.

“I wish you’d talked to me before you started promoting your business all over the society pages, Kate. ”

I nod, because I haven’t handled that part well, but then gesture towards her office. “I’m happy to discuss it further in private.”

She sighs, but leads me into her office, some of her anger melting into resignation as she looks at the ring on my finger. “It says you’re wearing a Janssen Jewel. As in, one of the million-dollar rare gems handpicked by Corbus Janssen himself.”

I sink onto her elegant visitor chair, staring numbly at the ring on my finger. “He didn’t tell me that part.”

Florence snorts, but turns away to start making tea. It’s a good sign, since she rarely shares her Earl Grey with anyone other than her most valuable clients. “So, you’re leaving?”

“Not necessarily. I’m starting my own brand, but it won’t be bonding dresses.

” I think I see a little more tension leaving her shoulders as she hands me a steaming cup.

“I want to make other things. Unexpected things. Clothing for people who don’t think fashion is for them.

And maybe fashion for people who think they’ve seen every style that’s out there and are looking for something new. ”

She sips her tea, studying me with a shrewd eye. “That won’t be easy to market.”

“I guess I’ll have to learn as I go along, but there’s always word of mouth.”

“And a spread in the society pages of the Times,” she adds wryly, tapping a finger on the newspaper. “There’s a quote here, from your business manager, Lachlan Cook. He says you’re the designer to keep an eye on. The city’s newest rising star.”

I cringe a little but can’t help admiring Lachlan’s business savvy.

I didn’t even know there was a reporter at the party, while he was busy handing out quotes and business cards.

“He’s part of my pack. He has a lot of faith in me.

” I stare down at the picture, thinking of the way they’ve all encouraged me over the last few weeks.

“They see me as someone worth investing in, Florence.”

She’s quiet for a moment, and when I glance up, there’s a wistful gleam in her eyes. “It’s obvious pack life suits you. You’re a lot more… self-possessed these days.”

I could tell her that’s because the days of being bullied by the Mrs. Olsens of the world are numbered, but she’s still a client of the store, and I’m not here to pick a fight with Florence. “I’ve just decided it’s time to try new things.”

She smiles at that, but Florence is a businesswoman at heart, and I’m not surprised when she pulls out a copy of my contract. “Then where does that leave us?”

“I’d still like to collaborate with you on special campaigns.”

“But I can’t rely on you for weekend bookings?”

I give her a gentle smile. “You insisted on making me a casual employee, Florence. You wanted the flexibility to adjust my hours based on demand.” And send me packing if my bonding status became too much of an issue with her clients.

“A poor decision on my part,” she says with a sigh. “I should have had more faith in you too, Kate. Your work is top-notch, and to be frank, you have a lot more patience than some of these bitches deserve.”

I smirk over the rim of my tea cup. “It’s nice to hear you say that, Florence.”

“Right.” She sets her own cup aside and makes a shooing motion with her hand. “Finish up what you’re doing today, and we’ll chat about what comes next. In the meantime, I have to wade through all the client emails asking for the address of your new store.”

I leave on that slightly sour note, but there’s a spring in my step as I get back to work.

The conversation went better than I’d hoped, and it’s refreshing to realize that options are opening up in front of me.

The only downside is the number of clients who poke their head into the work room.

It’s pretty clear they’re only really interested in Dash and Corbus, and since they’re the kind of people who looked right through me before the article in the Times, I’m not about to encourage their sudden interest in my life.

I eventually decide to take a coffee break, slipping out the back door so I don’t have to wade through more requests to see my ring - while also trying to wrangle an invitation to the next Paragon gala.

I try not to let the sour grapes get to me as I cut across the parking lot to the little coffee shop that’s always been out of my budget.

It’s less than a block away, and although it’s close to noon, there’s a nip in the air that makes me glad I grabbed Corbus’ scarf this morning.

I’m not sure if he knows I’ve started sneaking random pieces of his clothing, even smuggling them into my dresser to permeate my other clothes.

The crazy things a scent bond makes you do.

I smile at the thought, but it’s only as I’m standing in line that I feel the weight of Corbus’ ring on my finger.

Both Florence and Grace called it a Janssen Jewel, which means it’s probably not something you just wear into coffee shops.

Sliding it off my finger, I tuck it into my pocket for safekeeping.

As I step up to the counter to place my order, the server looks at me curiously.

“Hi. You work at Sweet Eternity, right?”

I smile, since it’s nice to have someone recognize me for something other than the society news. “Yes, I’m Kate. I’ve walked past here plenty of times and always wondered why it smells so good.”

“That’d be Mickey, our pastry chef.” She nods to the kitchen behind her, her cheeks going a pretty pink. “Everything he touches smells delicious.”

I smile - fairly confident I’m in the presence of a major crush - and place my order for a large macchiato. “And two of whatever pastries are Mickey’s specialty.”

I check my phone while she boxes up my order, and I’m just reaching for my coffee when a hand grips the back of my neck. “That’s where you are, honey. I thought we agreed to have lunch at my place.”

My pulse thunders in my ears, a bitter musky scent invading my nose. I don’t need to turn around to know who it is. “King.”

He laughs, pulling me in so tight I can feel the outline of a gun under his jacket. “I’ve been looking all over the place for you. Even Dash is getting tired of waiting for you to turn up.”

Ice trickles through my blood, almost stopping my heart. “What?”

“I picked him up a minute ago. He’s having lunch with us, remember?”

I’m too terrified to speak, but when King tries to draw me away from the counter, I fumble in my pocket. “I haven’t paid,” l lie.

“Well, hurry up, honey.” He leers at the server over my shoulder. “I’ve got a whole spread laid out for her. Got to spoil her to keep her, right?”

The server gives a weak nod, but as I hand over some cash, I tuck Corbus’ ring into her outstretched hand.

I have no idea what King wants, but I’m not giving him a chance to snatch a Janssen Jewel off my finger.

“Keep the change,” I tell the server through trembling lips, “and tell your chef he’s a paragon of the pastry world. ”

She gives me an uncertain smile, but King is already dragging me out the door, his fingers biting cruelly into my waist. My pulse thunders in my ears, and I stumble over my feet as he forces me around the corner and into the parking lot.

The sight of a black SUV waiting for us makes my entire body go rigid with panic.

“Don’t fucking try it,” King snarls, twisting my arm behind my back. “You run on me, and your pretty omega will be dancing on a pair of broken legs.”

I swallow a sob, visions of a bloody and battered Dash loosening my knees. “Don’t hurt him. Whatever you want, Dash isn’t part of it.”

“Still trying to tell your alpha what to do?” He shoves me towards the back door of the car, which pops open, revealing another familiar face.

It’s the shark-eyed alpha who commanded Lachlan on the sidewalk, and my heart sinks as I realize our run-in wasn’t just bad luck.

I have a moment to glance desperately around the parking lot, before his hand latches on my wrist and I’m hauled inside.

King leaps in behind me and the SUV takes off, gravel kicking up in its wake.

The windows are so darkly tinted, I doubt anyone could see me struggling, even if I wasn’t wedged between these bastards.

Their combined scents are so repulsive, my throat seizes, and black spots start swimming in front of my eyes.

“Don’t pass out, Omega,” the strange alpha says, a hint of an accent in his voice. Irish? Scottish? I can’t tell the difference, not that it matters, because he’s grabbed my chin, his musky breath washing over my face. “Just sit there like a good girl and we won’t have cause to hurt you.”

I try to lurch away from him, but King is a hard, repellant presence at my back. His hand is on my knee, his breath hot on my nape, and I have to swallow down a scream. “Where’s Dash?”

“Somewhere safe. As long as you do what you’re told, no one is going to hurt your fancy fella.” I nod, even though I want to scratch his eyes out. But his hand suddenly grabs my wrist in a crushing grip. “Where the fuck is her ring?”