Page 58 of Knot Her Shot


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Do they even make credit cards that could pay for all the work this house needs? Should we be taking out a loan against our mortgage or?—

Oh.

They probably own it. And have enough money to pay for everything outright.

Smith must sense how foreign that concept is to me because he produces another card. Mallory Taylor.

“Miss Taylor does all of our property renovations at Pierson. She coordinates the contractors. Call her, and she’ll send over crews for anything you think the house needs. Give her the credit card info to pay for the materials, and the company will take care of labor costs.”

My head spins as I half-turn, taking in the enormity of the property and all the things it will need. A rude word climbs halfway up my throat before I stab it and swallow it down in a wad of dismay.

You have to prove yourself to this alpha somehow. Guess now’s your chance.

To call Smith’s tour “perfunctory” would be generous. He keeps his irritatingly handsome features set in a snarl the entire time, sloughing out one-word descriptions for each room we pass.

“Den.”

“Parlor.”

“Foyer.”

By the time we reach the second floor, I’ve tallied thirty-two things I need to attend to on the first level and ten are safety hazards. My sandals are pinching my toes, I’m slightly out of breath, and I almost tumbled right down the stairs when I slipped on one of the sanded, unfinished steps.

Turning on the landing, Smith casts me a scowl and opens his mouth before closing it again. He clears his throat—a gesture I’m learning to associate with him forcing himself not to bark at me.

I wonder whether he realizes that stopping himself doesn’t really help much. His waves of dominant force still wash over me, even when he makes himself choke down the command itself.

All he’s accomplishing is keeping me on edge. My Omega wants to obey as much as my pitiful heart wants to please, but neither of us have any clue what the order is.

“My room is at that end of the hall,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Cassian’s is the next door on the right, and Damon’s is here, at the top of the stairs.”

I follow his nods and then keep going, turning to the right stretch of the hallway and the double doors at the end that mirror the portal to his room. “What’s over here?”

He lets out a hard sigh. “The Omega Suite is at the end. The rest are guest rooms and a guest bathroom.”

The Omega Suite.

He moves in that direction and my heart somersaults. Will it have a nest? A bed big enough for Cassian or Damon to fit in it with me? Heck, I’d be thrilled with one that’s big enough for me, after sleeping on an extra-thin twin mattress for as long as I can remember.

But Smith stops in front of the last door on the left and knocks it open.

Inside, there’s an unfinished guest room, covered in a thin layer of dust. A new mattress, still in plastic, sits on a metal skeleton. There’s a dresser of some sort, though I can’t see it because of the tarp over it. Aside from the two square windows on either side, the room is utterly empty. Not a blanket or a pillow in sight.

“You’ll stay in here,” he says, looking around the room as if it’s the first time he’s really inspected it. “I have to get to the office now, but I’ll have the guys bring your things up as soon as they get home.”

My mouth drops open in shock. He isn’t even going to carry my boxes in for me? He’s leaving them outside?

Seeing my face, Smith frowns. “Of course, you’re welcome to unpack them yourself. Cassian left his keys for you. They’re on the kitchen island. I’ll have a set of house keys made for you at some point.”

At some point?

And he’s sticking me in here? A spare room that’s literally inches away from the suite he reserved for their chosen omega?

Everything inside of me sinks. I’ve been in this position before. Going home with a new family, hoping they’ll really invite me in… only to be given a cot in a corner or a sofa bed.

It isn’t so much the accommodations as what they say.

And this is the Pierson pack’s equivalent to a basement futon. It says, in a tone as clipped and cool as the alpha’s, “Don’t get comfortable.”

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