ALPHA SPEED DATING (BBW) (Rocky Mountain Shifters) (2 page)

“Then you can spare a night. Say, in two days?” Sonya asked, hope dancing in her grey eyes. “I can use the help.”

Mari sat forward. “Do you mean at the Den? Uh, I don’t know anything about shifter clubs other than you work there.”

“Hon, you’ll be awesome. It’s speed dating night. All you’d have to do is check guests in on arrival. Point and click. It’s all computerized. And there’s Fin and Tristen. You already know them. Sort of.”

“A brief introduction at your home last month. Really? That hardly qualifies me.”

“Hey, it pays well. And might lead to a job connection. There’s lots of impressive people who show up. All you have to do is schmooze, and you might find your next full-time job.”

Mari rolled her eyes. “I haven’t got many choices.”

“I’ll twist your arm if that will help.” Sonya smiled and curled her fingertips around Mari’s forearm, preparing to give her an authentic Indian burn. “Last chance. Say yes.”

“Yes! How can I repay you?”

Sonya released her arm. “Just show up. I’m going to get the official okay from Tristen. If you’re sure.”

“Definitely. I’m down for anything that pays the bills.” Mari snagged for her phone and opened up the browser. She typed in the term
Downtown Den
. She’d never actually been to the private shifter club where Sonya worked. Way too expensive with private limos, armed guards, and celebrities regularly on site. Reading the menu of sexy services offered, she felt her eyes widen. No, this had to be a mistake. Her friend worked at an exclusive club with an expensive restaurant and jazz bar.

Mari tapped Sonya’s shoulder. “Is this where you work?”

“Great, I’ll bring her by. See ya later.” Sonya nodded, then hung up. “It’s all set. You’re in. Tristen relayed his thanks. After hearing you were interested, he’s cancelling a girl he had lined up. See, this is going to work out wonderfully.”

Holding up her phone, Mari displayed the screen and repeated, “Is this the place?”

“The very one. Are you excited?”

“So much, I’m speechless,” Mari squeaked.
What did I just sign up to do?
She leaned back in her chair, gripping the armrests.

She’d seen high-voltage action covering stories around Denver these last couple of months for the
Times
. Crime scenes, factory layoffs, interviewing victims. So a little shifter sex clubbing was nothing to get hammered over.

The waiter walked up to the table. “You ladies ready for the bill?”

“I’d like two shots of Jack, please,” Mari said.

Sonya clapped. “Let’s celebrate. I haven’t had a shot of Jack in ages.”

Mari turned to the waiter. “Bring her the same thing.”

* * *

Conrad opened the door. There in the hallway his old man gave him a curt nod. “We’re at an impasse,” Roger Fisher said in a voice gravelly from one too many cigarettes.

“Come in.” Conrad opened the door wider. “Drink?”

“This isn’t a social visit.” His father followed him inside and shut the door. He didn’t bother to remove his trench coat. After walking down the hall, his father stopped in front of the entry table, before an unopened envelope addressed to Conrad. Neither of them remarked on the contents.

“It never is. I take it that you’re here because of Claudia. News travels fast.” He met his dad’s cold stare as he walked into the living room.

It had been decades since his father held a post as a hungry reporter. Roger had jetted upstairs to a penthouse office in his early thirties, taking over
Wolf News
after his own father stepped aside. Still, his dad had a no-bullshit manner about him in an industry ripe with hypocritical polish. “Your mum’s concerned that you’re without a mate.”

“My business is just that. Mine.”

“No, Conrad. As the future Earl of Essex, your life is very much not your own. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you can outrun our family.”

“What are you saying?” He stood in front of his father. Both of them seizing up the other. They’d learned long ago a pack could have but one alpha. Conrad refused to acquiesce to a beta position. In lieu of a showdown, he’d walked away from the Fisher clan. Apparently, not far enough.

“I expect your attendance at the upcoming ball. Your mum has made the necessary inquiries, and several young women have been selected. All you have to do is show up and pick one.”

“Afraid not. I’m busy.”

His father laughed. The sound held a sharp undercurrent. His dad’s irises glowed in anger. He picked up a photograph from a stack on the cocktail table. One of many taken in a recent trip through Brazil and the elder Fisher contemplated it as though carefully selecting his words. His father tossed it down, then peered upward. Their gazes clashed. “We’ve let you roam around the world to sow your oats. It’s time to come home and take your rightful place. We can do this the easy way. Or hard. That part is up to you.”

* * *

“I know the perfect place. One that specializes in shifter mating issues. One night, drinks, dinner, and you’ll be set.”

Conrad regarded his chum as he picked up the newspaper. Again. “Are you off your rocker?”

“Hardly. You’re the wolf in a jam,” Louis returned, beaming from ear to ear.

“I don’t need a girlfriend. I need a date. And a Taser.” For the next reporter dumb enough to question him on his side of this ever-widening scandal. Shite, this couldn’t get any more screwed up. And considering he was a member of the press, he was fucking furious other reporters weren’t cutting him a break. If anything, the feeding frenzy had gotten worse once they put the pieces together. He was the son of Roger Fisher, an English earl and the CEO of
Wolf News Enterprises
. Officially, Conrad went from predator to prey.

“Hell, man. If you’d had the Taser when you met Claudia, you’d have sidestepped the gossip columns in the first place.”

“But not my family. Or did you forget the reason I’m stuck here?” He opened up the paper where the headline detailing his breakup blazed.
Conrad Fisher dumps fiancée weeks before wedding.

Perfect payback to have the story of his personal life splashed across the front page of a newspaper owned by his family. The Fisher clan were busy at work tightening the screws into him. Not a moment wasted after they found out he was single. With no grandchild in sight, to say his parents were displeased didn’t cover the emotional upheaval of his mum, who in turn put a fire under his good ol’ dad. Conrad had one chance to outrun their plan to sabotage his life and career. He needed a course of action for the upcoming charity ball they hosted year after stinking year. His attendance was nonnegotiable as their only son. All hell broke loose the second Conrad refused. Two days ago, the shite hit the fan, and had spread as the lead story in the Denver
Times
this morning.

“Crap. Your family is devious in sticking it to you.” Louis, his oldest friend, slapped his back, then straightened.

“It’s part of their DNA structure,” he muttered.

“What happened to you?” Louis chuckled.

“I like to believe I was adopted or that they kidnapped me as a child. Besides, the issue with Claudia isn’t their fault. They were coming around about her. I dropped the fucking ball. Didn’t think it would be a nuclear explosion.”

“Fallout is never pretty with folks like yours.”

“It’s a regular bitch.”

“And so was your fiancée. Don’t blame anyone but yourself. You hooked up with Claudia when I repeatedly warned you against her ulterior motives. You made your bed. Now sleep in it. Cold and single.” Louis laughed his way across the room.

Conrad’s attention returned to the photograph of him taken in front of his apartment building, getting into his car, a microphone shoved in his face. Instinctively, he’d punched the reporter; not because of what the guy had asked, but because the man had invaded his space. His wolf shifter reflexes never reacted well to hostility and he’d clocked the reporter in the jaw. One more reason why he kept to himself, preferring solitary endeavors. His fiery temper was out of control at times, and his iron will was the only thing that kept his aggressive nature in check.

Now, with his back against the wall, he considered what the reporter had asked. Was the break up due to his cheating on Claudia? The temptation had not seriously crossed his mind during their two-year fling. With several camera bags strapped across his torso, grimy and tired most of the time, he gave little mind to women beyond a mindless shag.

He and Claudia met on a photo shoot down in Bimini. One damn thing led to another, and Claudia began wedding talk. She ordered a ring—charged to him—and set a date he chose to ignore. At first, he didn’t want to deal with the emotional headache of setting the facts straight. Then having a fiancée around, tending to the details of his life, seemed to work for her and him. He came back between magazine assignments, and they hooked up at whichever of his flats felt like a respite. Here in Denver, it was the outdoors and his old chums. He had his interests, and she had hers. He’d refused to think about his personal life until forced to consider the upcoming wedding date wasn’t in the stars. Not for him.

“Now is your time to revel in
I told you so
. Well, have at it, old man.” Conrad dug into his pocket for his pack of crushed Marlboros.

“I think I shall.” Louis spun on his heel, waving his arms as he made his way to the wet bar across the living room. “No one in his right mind gets engaged on his second date. You had blinders on, and no one blames you. Supermodels have a way of doing that, but everyone fully understood Claudia was a gold digger. Did I bring up that you were warned?”

“Louis, you’ve this tosser way of trying to make me out to be a dithering idiot. Can you press the wound harder?” Lighting a cigarette, Conrad inhaled the searing smoke, staring at the newsprint.

He held the cigarette between his lips as he folded the paper, then tossed it into the wastepaper basket next to his desk. He rose from his chair and wandered over to the glass wall overlooking the river and skyline. He pressed his forearm to the cool, smooth panel and let his gaze trace the flowing river, running silver in the sunset. Slices of pink water jetted along with the current while his racing thoughts swirled in a mindless direction.

Fuck, this hiatus was murder. He should be on the move as well, instead of holed up in this damn flat. Here in town, the
Denver
Times
reflected the long arm of his family and proof of their displeasure in his lone wolf stance. The paper stirred up trouble, leaking his whereabouts so reporters could easily find him in a larger-than-life SNAFU. Downstairs, the doorman kept the reporters from coming up and harassing him directly. The newspaper kept the story in spin by feeding the details to the local news stations. Then the rampage began in earnest after the Associated Press picked up the piece. L.A., New York, Boston, D.C., and finally across the pond to London and Paris. A few of his occasional stomping grounds were overrun. He’d gone from being invisible to fair game for the paparazzi or any jackass with a cell camera.

In Soho, back home where his art gallery was housed, crowds bustled inside just to see if he was around, according to the friends who had called to check on him. His manager emailed earlier:
Misery loves misery. Business is great. Stay put.

Conrad’s continuing refusal to join his ancestral wolf pack had his father seeing red. The old man had given him an ultimatum: fall in line by the end of the month, or else. In truth, it was a declaration that Conrad sell out and work for his family and their media conglomeration. Or be cut off. He didn’t need their financial assistance. Hadn’t in years. But that didn’t mean he was without an Achilles heel. And his father knew right where to strike.

Roger Fisher played his hand well along the East Coast where
Pulse
, the magazine featuring Conrad’s photojournalism pieces were published. His father deployed precise, targeted hits. As the victim,
Pulse
couldn’t ignore the almighty Fisher family in their ability to buckle advertisement revenue. That slaughter mentality was another reason why Conrad had purposely chosen to thwart his family’s omnipotence and work at a small-scale indie publication. Unfortunately, his editor’s phone call was no surprise.

Conrad turned around and faced his friend. “Hate sitting around here. Present company included.”

“Sod. Just for that I’m going to indulge in your aged liquor.” Louis was already stationed behind the bar with an open bottle of Scotch, liberally pouring two drinks. “I thought you were mending your fences.”

“Not planned until today. I’d rather be crucified, but martyrdom isn’t all it is cracked up to be when it involves innocent victims. Or so I’m learning.”

“I saw the invitation when I came in. Received mine. Are you actually attending this year?”

Conrad ground his cigarette butt in a pewter ashtray, clenching his jaw in distaste of the truth. “Been royally commanded. My father called again, and I could hear my mum in the background. They have the bit in their teeth and are running with it.”

“They want their youngest settled. Can’t blame a family for trying. Stop brooding. You’re a free man. Ride the tide and go see your family. You know how well the prodigal son homecoming is likely to play out in your favor.”

“This stinks of blackmail. You don’t honestly think I bought the paper to read about myself.” The copy had been hand-delivered to his flat by his loving sister. He opened the door, not expecting a pity party. Kat, in her usual lack of decorum, had tossed the paper into his face, turned, and left with a biting “arsehole” flung over her shoulder.

Louis crossed the space with a drink in each hand. “Don’t be so straitlaced. Bend a little, and you’ll be back in good graces.”

“I’m not that flexible.” Conrad scraped his hand down his face, not ready to admit he was pleased to be free again in the face of his family’s pretense it was open hunting season for one bachelor. Namely, him.

Why on earth did his family think it imperative that he find a mate and settle down? He wasn’t as old as Abraham. He took his drink, raised his glass in a silent cheer. His friend clinked his tumbler, and they both sipped the smooth liquor. Conrad ignored the heat growing in his empty belly and took another long pull from the glass. Dammit, he hadn’t been drunk in ages.