Page 48 of Knot Her Beta

“Thank you for the offer,” I say, and my voice sounds as if it belongs to someone else. “Jared and I will talk about it.”

Nathaniel rises. “Okay, you know where the blankets and pillows are. Join us for breakfast in the morning.”

Blake drains the last of his brandy and sets the glass down before he helps Dominic back to his feet. One by one, the room empties, until the latch clicks shut, leaving the two of us alone.

I don’t move for a long time, the mug of tea growing cold in my hands.

Jared waits patiently while I process.

When I speak, the words come out unsteady. “I want it.”

Jared’s arm comes around me, and he pulls me against his side. “But?”

“I’ve never taken a handout,” I say into his shoulder. “It feels like cheating.”

“It’s not a handout. It’s pack.” He kisses my hair. “And pack is there for each other.”

I wrap my arms around his waist. “I want it so bad.”

His hand slides up to cradle the back of my head, fingers threading through my short hair.

My grip tightens further, the fabric of his shirt stretching between my fists. “And it scares the hell out of me.”

Jared rests his chin on the top of my head, neither of us talking, because really, what’s there to discuss?

We’re going to become Wrights.

Chapter Thirteen

Grady

Dad slides the printed agenda across the breakfast table before my first sip of coffee. White linen, gold-rimmed china, the smell of butter and sourdough toast I haven’t touched yet. My knee throbs under the table, a dull ache that’s been building since I climbed the stairs last night.

“Bennett Media’s publishing assets for their lifestyle vertical,” he says, tapping a highlighted section. “Their digital subscriber base is three hundred thousand, and their average time on page is above the industry standard. You’ll want to focus on retention.”

I reach for the coffee, and the hot ceramic burns my palm. “I’ve been tracking their metrics.”

“Good. Caroline mentioned you two discussed the Portland-Bar Harbor gap further.”

“She knows more about it than I do.” The coffee leaves a bitter film behind, or maybe that’s just my mood. I haven’t slept well since arriving.

Mom appears in the doorway, her cream sweater traded for a charcoal blazer and her hair pulled back in a tight knot. “The car is waiting. You can review your notes on the way there.”

I push back from the table, my chair scraping across the marble. The cane catches the edge of the rug, and I steady myself on the edge of the table.

Dad’s eyes track the movement, then slide away. He’s never going to ask about the leg. Not outright. It’s as if my parents think that if they ignore my injury, it will fix itself and stop being an inconvenience in their carefully laid plans.

Bennett’s law offices are a twenty-minute drive from the house. Today’s meeting is to document the acquisition. Legal needs the asset structure on paper before any letter of intent can move forward.

When I brought up that I hadn’t agreed yet, my objections were brushed off. Every time I try to tell my father I’m not ready, it turns out the same. My protests disappear beneath his plans, my concerns waved aside as just needing to get into the swing of things.

Dad’s on the phone for most of the ride, which is fine, because it means he doesn’t spend the drive hammering home how important this is for both of our families.

I watch the back of the driver’s headrest and don’t think about Pinecrest, and how the days had never felt rushed. The people never felt obligated.

The car pulls up to the front door of a glass tower, and a doorman hurries forward to open our car door before I can grasp the handle. It takes a moment for me to convince my knee to bend so I can climb out, and I try to ignore my dad’s grumbles for taking so long to disembark.

Inside, the high ceiling of the lobby causes every sound to echo, my cane ringing on the marble. Bennett’s people are already waiting near the elevator, the two partners standing slightly apart from their junior associate, who holds a heavy binder that she keeps shifting from one arm to the other.