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The kitchen?
He thinks I don’t approve of the kitchen?
As if the rest of the house isn’t ten times worse.
It doesn’t make sense, based on what I’ve seen from him so far. Yes, he’s aloof; even a bit callous—but he appears extremely put-together and into appearances. Living in a half-finished house like this must be killing him.
So why hasn’t he done anything about it?
I bite my lip, considering the pack alpha and his snarling expression. The scent of coffee is thick in the room—in the whole house, really—but, at the moment, it’s less smooth-freshly-brewed and more pungent-over-roasted.
Stress. Which means, no matter how unaffected and detached he seems, this really is hard for him.
Maybe he’s embarrassed? I can’t say I’d blame him. This place is his responsibility, and he obviously isn’t managing it in the same obsessive way he manages his businesses.
Clearly, he has the money to do anything he wants. I suspect this doesn’t really have anything to do with funding. After all, I’m no millionaire, but I didn’t have roach remains on my floor. Or sawdust. Or—are those Cocoa Puffs?
Oh dear.
Somehow, while the others were here, I managed to block out the reality of just how bad this place is. It’s such a shame. Underneath all of this grime and indecision, the house’s bones are beautiful.
Maybe the alpha is the same way, my Omega whispers.
She’s been so sassy lately, especially about Smith. This softer tone gives me enough pause to gather my nerve. Eyes scanning over the room, I search for anything I could say to put him at ease. When my focus falls on the pristine, unpainted cabinets, I get an idea.
“Light blue.”
His jaw muscle ticks, as if speaking to me in a level tone is strenuous. “Excuse me?”
“For the cabinets,” I murmur, moving to hold the skirt of my soft blue sundress off to the side, giving him a visual of what the cabinets would look like if they were the same color. “With this white quartz? And maybe gold handles.”
Smith just… stares.
Geez. Why is he so rude?
Is it possible the scent tests and my Omega are wrong? He feels relatively safe—when he isn’t barking or drowning me in alpha dominance. But how could I have a mate who’s so cold and demanding? And how can I make him like me?
Besides, didn’t Damon say they were all waiting for me? And that’s why this place is in shambles?
Instead of backing down, I wait politely. He eventually narrows his eyes and walks over, staring down at the portion of my dress that’s pinched between my fingers and then over at the Calcutta Gold counter.
“Approved.”
My Omega instantly seethes. I know this asshole did not just?—
HUSH, YOU.
I swallow the unladylike urge to guffaw, returning his earlier words to him. “Excuse me?”
“I approve,” he clips, sliding his hand into his suit jacket. He extracts a flat billfold and pulls a credit card out of it. Instead of handing it to me—and, you know, having to touch me—he sets it on the quartz counter and steps back with a curt nod.
For a long moment, I’m baffled. Then, I see that the carbon-fiber card isn’t emblazoned with his name. It’s the pack’s.
Pierson Pack.
“I’ll call and add your name to the account this morning. The card has no limit.” He clears his throat, pulling at his sleeve cuffs. “Use it for whatever you need.”
I look down at it, trying to understand. Does he mean… different clothes? Because I’m holding my skirt up? Surely he can’t mean…
