Page 24 of Puck Your Charity

I set my beer bottle down on the island. The glass clinks against the stone. Pulling the device out, I glance at the screen. A text message from the private investigator flashes on the display.

I tap the message open. "We have a location."

All three Alphas freeze. Their eyes snap to my face.

"The investigator found her." I scroll through the text, digesting the information. "She stays at a house in the suburbs. The property belongs to a Beta couple. The P.I. tracked the license plate on her compact car to the driveway."

Finn lets out a ragged breath. "Is she safe?"

"She has a roof over her head." I lock my phone and slide it back into my pocket. "But hiring a private investigator crosses a line. It screams stalker. It raises a giant red flag. If she finds out we hired a professional to hunt her down after she told us to leave her alone, she will never speak to us again."

Victor scowls. "We had to make sure she was safe. It's a necessary evil."

I watch the three of them spiral. They let their instincts drive the bus. Victor wants to use raw Alpha dominance to claim her. He thinks throwing his weight around solves the problem. He views her stubbornness as a challenge to crush. He wants to conquer her defenses.

Finn went the opposite route three days ago. He showed up with an apology and a broken heart. He offered himself on a silver platter, hoping guilt and sad eyes would override her anger. He wanted her to take pity on him.

Both approaches failed.

Olive presents a unique puzzle. I watched her stand in that hospital hallway. She crossed her arms and glared at Victor like he was a stain on her shoe. She protected a sick kid from a pack of Alphas without blinking. A woman who slathers menthol paste under her nose to fight off a presentation heat possesses a fierce, stubborn streak. She values her control. We stripped that control away from her. We burned her world to the ground.

A woman like that won't submit to a caveman routine. She won't fall for a pity party either. She views Alphas as a threat to her survival.

She needs my charm

I run a hand over my jaw, feeling the light scruff on my golden skin. Talking to women comes easy to me. I know how to read body language. I know how to smooth over rough edges and make people feel comfortable. I spent my entire adult life mastering the art of persuasion. I charm reporters during hostile press conferences. I charm sponsors into million-dollar deals. I charmed Omegas into my bed. I act as the shield for this pack, spinning our mistakes into gold.

Olive needs a logical argument wrapped in a charismatic package.

"You guys need to step back." I look around the kitchen, catching each of their eyes. "Both of your approaches spooked her. Victor pissed her off in the hospital. Finn overwhelmed her in the parking lot. You treat her like a bomb waiting to go off."

Victor glares at me. "What do you suggest, Lawrence? We sit around and wait for her to date some Beta in the suburbs?"

"I suggest you let me handle it." I offer a relaxed, easy smile. "She hates the macho Alpha routine. She hates losing her independence. So we offer her independence. We offer her a logical solution to her current housing crisis. We leave the mating instincts out of it."

Malcolm narrows his dark eyes. "You plan to sweet-talk her into moving in."

"I plan to present a flawless argument." I pick my beer back up. "I have the address of the suburban house. I'll stake out the neighborhood. I'll find a quiet moment to bump into her at a store or a coffee shop. No pressure. No demands. Just a friendly conversation."

Finn looks skeptical. "She blocked her nose with menthol paste. She won't let you get close."

"She blocked you." I point a finger at him. "You showed up vibrating with desperate need. You triggered her defensive walls. I'll show up like a regular guy buying a latte. I know how to disarm a stubborn woman."

Victor scoffs, crossing his arms. "You think a bright smile and a free coffee will erase the fact that we got her fired?"

"No." I shake my head. "But it will get her to listen. And once she listens, I can convince her that living in our guest wing beats sleeping in some cramped suburban house."

Malcolm nods. He sees the advantage. "Keep us updated. Don't push her."

"I never push." I flash my signature grin. "I let them come to me."

I sit behind the steering wheel of my sleek silver sports car. The tinted windows offer a perfect view of the quiet suburban street.

The private investigator nailed the location. The house looks depressing. Faded beige siding, an overgrown lawn, and a chaotic mess of plastic toys litter the front porch. The neighborhood screams cramped desperation. Olive must hate every single second of living in that tiny box.

I check the Rolex on my wrist. Two o'clock in the afternoon. The neighborhood feels like a ghost town. The kids sit in school. The parents are at work.

The front door of the house opens.