The Wolf’s Billionaire by Layla Silver
Chapter 1 - Ainsley
The drinks had green cactus-shaped swizzle sticks in them because of course they did. I don’t know what else I’d expected when I let Teagan pick where we’d meet.
The bar was a mishmash of kitsch and Wild West stereotypes, the walls of its Mission-style interior littered with rusty saws, horse bridles, globe-less lanterns, and a host of other paraphernalia I couldn’t begin to identify. The stools along the tall bar were an aged red, their uncomfortable molded-plastic seats cut and etched to resemble saddles.
I could not possibly have looked more out of place if I’d tried.
“I can’t believe you wore a suit.” Teagan rolled her eyes and plucked the sliver of strawberry off her swizzle stick with her teeth. “And ordered a mocktail.”
“I came right from the conference,” I shot back defensively.
I felt the back of my neck flush. My first instinct was to reach for the blazer I’d draped over the back of my stool. Its collar would hide the blush and spare me the humiliation of my complete overreaction to my sister’s condescension. On the other hand, wearing my jacket would only serve to make me stand out from the bar’s otherwise uniformly casually-dressed patrons even more. Frustrated and embarrassed, I clenched my hands around my glass and ordered myself not to fidget.
Still, I couldn’t quite shake the need to defend myself a little, so I added a bit petulantly, “And I have to go back, after.”
“You know you’re an adult now, right?” Teagan eyed me pityingly. “You can do more than work and read romance novels.”
“What, you mean roam around, like you do?” I glowered at her, then winced internally.
You never get to see her, I scolded myself. And you know Kaia wants her to come back home. Don’t make things ugly.
“How is it going, anyway?” I asked, brightening my tone and taking a little sip of my sunset-orange drink. It was sweet and tangy and I told myself that I didn’t miss the alcoholic bite it should have had at all. “You got a job as an illustrator you said, right?”
“I’m an online course designer, now,” she corrected, taking a much bigger swig of her drink—something beautiful but tequila-based and guaranteed to leave a hangover, I was sure. “It’s fun. Flexible hours, work from anywhere, you know.”
“That’s good. I’m glad.”
I didn’t have to force my tone this time. I sincerely was happy that she’d found a new job that suited her well. When she’d up and left town with her much-older boyfriend several years ago, I’d been sure it was a mistake. But here she was, the picture of health and contentment with her sun-bronzed cheeks, perfectly tousled hair, artistically worn leather jacket, and devil-may-care attitude still flawlessly intact.
“You’re still with the hotel, obviously,” she said before things could get awkward. “Nice that they sent you to this conference while I was still in the area so we could catch up.”
“They didn’t actually,” I said, perking up a little. I might not be as gorgeous or adventurous as my little sister, but I wasn’t without my talents. “I’m here on my own. You got the letter Kaia sent?”
“Yeah.” She stirred her drink, her tone noncommittal. “She’s really building a resort where The Slopes used to be?”
“Ground-breaking started last week,” I confirmed, pride at my friend’s accomplishments warming my heart. “She’s already signed me on to be Operations Manager when it’s up and running. That’s why I’m at this conference.”
I didn’t gush about the panels I’d sat in about cutting-edge hotel technology or the latest in creative HR methodologies. I’d learned long ago to hold my tongue on topics no one else cared about.
“Wow.” Teagan arched an eyebrow. “Nice.”
I nodded. “Don’t take this as pressure, but you know she’d kill me if I saw you and didn’t remind you in person that there’s a place for you in the pack if you want it.”
Teagan’s gaze shuttered. “Yeah, thanks.” She took another sip from her drink, then looked up, her expression daring me to judge her. “I actually just accepted a different offer.”
“Oh, yeah?” The edge of the bar dug into my forearms as I made myself sit still despite the urge to shift anxiously.
“Yeah, it’s a contract marriage thing,” she waved a hand breezily. “The guy needs a new wife to strengthen his position in his divorce. He’s hot and he’s got money and doesn’t care what I do on my own time. Should be just what I need.”
My jaw dropped and I could do nothing to stop it.
“Whatever you’re going to say,” Teagan snapped sharply, “don’t.”
Her biting tone made me flinch. The unhappy twist of her mouth and the way her eyes cut to the side told me she’d seen. I dropped my eyes to my drink, shame and irritation coursing through me.
I’d endured years of therapy and I still couldn’t control all my reactions. It was maddening. It also wasn’t Teagan’s fault.
Make this work, I ordered myself again. You’re the oldest—and the problem. Don’t drive her away again.
“You’ve, ah—” I cleared my throat and tried to sound curious rather than scolding or terrified on her behalf. “You’ve made sure it’s real, I assume? That it’s not a scam or something.”
“Of course.” Teagan’s exasperation was back. “It’s all legit and there’s a company running it. I’m not going to end up dead in a ditch somewhere or something.” Her tone softened and her hand snuck over to squeeze my arm. “You don’t have to worry about me, Ains.” She plucked her hand back and snorted loudly. “That idiot brother of ours on the other hand…”
“He’s not my problem anymore.” I shook my head and managed a smile I didn’t feel. “He’s got a business partner to keep him out of trouble now.”
“‘Cause that’ll work,” she sniffed.
I shrugged. I was apparently the only one of the three of us who hadn’t inherited a single wild gene. I did my best to be supportive of my siblings but I’d never really understood them the way they understood each other. By the same token, neither of them had ever understood me, either.
Then again, they’d been out during the worst of things. They’d always had friends’ homes to stay at, extracurriculars they’d enrolled in to eat up their time, and hidey-holes all over the mountain they’d escape to in wolf form when our house was too awful to be borne. I’d been the only one home to bear the brunt of my mother’s unhappiness. I’d never wished my misery on my siblings but, even now, more than a decade later, the divide my parents’ long, brutal divorce had carved between us still left me feeling as though I’d failed them somehow.
Teagan’s thoughts seemed to mirror my own because she scuffed a boot against the bar’s incongruously brass foot rail. “Have you heard from mom?”
“Not directly.” I swirled my drink and watched the colors spiral, my stomach too soured now to handle another sip. “I got the wedding announcement, though.”
“What is this, number four?” My sister’s voice was thick with disgust.
“Five,” I emended quietly. I traced the grain in the weathered wood of the bar top with a fingertip.
Five marriages, each more flamboyant than the last, and our mother still couldn’t make a relationship work. What was it that made it so impossible for her to find true love? Was it genetic? Was that why my siblings and I were all still single, too?
Teagan muttered something nasty under her breath. Then her phone went off. Snatching it up, she tapped open the text, then tossed the phone onto the bar and fumbled in her pocket.
“Sorry to cut this short, but I have to go. Some friends and I have been planning a trip to the caverns and that was my notice that they’re ready to go.”
My heart fell and I hated myself for it. Teagan was safe and happy and we’d set up this drinks date at the last minute. The fact that we didn’t see each other often was no reason to expect her to set aside the rest of her life to catch up with me. It wasn’t like I had anything interesting to tell her about my life anyway.
“Don’t worry about the tab,” I said, pushing her hand away from her pocket and stuffing my feelings down. “I’ve got it.”
“Are you sure?”
I nodded and arranged my face into a good imitation of a cheerful smile. “I’m going to be the Operations Manager of a fancy resort soon, remember? I can afford it.”
Her face scrunched up. “I am proud of you, Ains.” Impulsively, she leaned in and caught me in a hug. “I know you’ll do great.”
My throat went tight as I hugged her back, trying not to cling. “I hope things go well. With your… marriage.” Gods, the word felt bizarre to say in conjunction with my baby sister.
“I’ll send you a postcard,” Teagan promised. “And you can send me one from the gift shop in your new resort when it opens, all right?”
I thought of her postcard book as I’d last seen it, a mangy, beat-up notebook she always kept with her. Everywhere she went, she picked up a new postcard. She’d scribble the date and short notes on the back of each one in her hopelessly illegible writing and then stuff it in the notebook, affixing it with tape or gum or whatever else she had on hand.
My heart ached to think how few cards I’d contributed to her collection in recent years. Of course she didn’t want to come back home. Why would she when her only family there couldn’t be bothered to love on her and show they cared in such a simple way? I would do better, I determined fiercely. From now on, I would.
“One of each of the prettiest ones,” I promised, letting her go.
Teagan flashed me a smile and then she was gone.
***
That evening, I did my best to pay attention during the after-dinner session of the conference. Normally, a panel on guest engagement like the one I sat through would have been right up my alley. This time, however, concentrating was a challenge.
When it was over, I gritted my teeth and forced myself to attend the after-hours cocktail reception. I made my rounds of the room, my confident professional veneer pasted firmly in place as I networked with other hospitality professionals. Once again, I half-heartedly sipped at a mocktail, a fact that I was sure would have made Teagan despair.
When I finally made it back to my room, my eyes were gritty and burning with exhaustion and my body felt raw with the type of over-peopled burnout unique to introverts who have spent too long pretending to be extroverts without a break.
It was a relief to strip off my business clothes and tuck them into the drawer I had designated for dirty clothes. Moving to where my suitcase lay open on the room’s spare bed, I pulled out a nightgown and slipped it on. Running my fingers over the soft, satiny fabric, I sighed in pleasure. It was a vintage garment, baby-pink and trimmed with lace.
Teagan had accused me of acting like I didn't know I was an independent adult now, but small indulgences like this were proof that I did.
My conversation with my sister and the memories it had dredged up flooded back through me as I padded barefoot into the bathroom to wash my face.
I thought of my mother’s closet back when I was in junior high and the way I’d sneak into her room sometimes when she was at work. As guilty as I’d always felt for the transgression, the pull of her beautiful things was too strong to ignore. Tucking myself into her over-stuffed closet, I would reverently finger the fine satin of her nightgowns, the glamorous chiffon of her evening dresses, and the thick, plush terrycloth of her robes. They were soft, glamorous things—gifts from my father, all of them. And for that, she hated them.
It had been years before I’d grown up enough to understand how she could loathe and refuse to wear such lovely things so freely given. Years before I’d understood what she gave up and what she took on by marrying into our pack and birthing three children with a terrifying ability she did not share and could not control.
One day I’d come home from school and snuck into her room only to discover that her closet was suddenly half-vacant. Nearly all of the gorgeous things I’d so coveted were gone, leaving the mundane pants suits that she wore to work hanging in stark, haunting emptiness among an ocean of empty hangers.
I’d been devastated and confused but I was too terrified of her perpetually short temper and too aware of my own breaking of the rules to ask what had happened. Much later, deep in the morass of my parents’ divorce proceedings, I learned she’d sold the lot of them and used the cash to pay for a weekend getaway with one of her many secret boyfriends.
Dabbing makeup remover on a cotton ball, I wiped off my carefully crafted professional face, my heart aching. As a child, I’d dreamed that someday I’d find someone who loved me the way my father had loved my mother. Someone who would spoil me with fine clothes and the pretty, foolishly indulgent things that I loved. Someone who wouldn’t scoff at the blatant romanticism of wanting a real silver tea set or think I was high maintenance or a spendthrift for always keeping a handful of real roses in an antique jug on the table.
Tossing the cotton ball in the trash, I carefully applied cleanser to my skin then washed it away. Each step was part of a fastidiously constructed self-care routine designed to counterbalance the truth my adult heart had long since come to accept: no one was going to love me the way I’d dreamed of.
Drying my face, I picked up my hairbrush, determined to get in one hundred strokes before I fell asleep on my feet. My hair was shorter than Teagan’s and, although we both technically sported the same natural color, on her it somehow looked like the romantic chestnut locks a novel heroine might boast. On me, it invariably seemed like a dull, mousy brown no matter how much product I used or how diligently I cared for it.
Not that it mattered. I would never be a beauty. I’d inherited odd grayish eyes from a great-grandmother on my mother’s side instead of the uniquely striking hazel both my younger siblings got, and while I was what my grandmother generously called “decently proportioned,” I was utterly average and forgettable in every way.
Stop, I ordered myself. It doesn’t matter.You don’t need anyone. You buy yourself what you like and live the way you want and that’s enough.
Finishing the last stroke, I set the brush aside and flicked off the lights as I left the bathroom. Climbing into bed, I shut off the lamp on the nightstand, as well. Laying in the dark, I willed my thoughts to stop whirling. I needed to sleep. The last session of the conference was tomorrow morning and I needed to be on top of things for it.
But after… after, there would be time to kill. My plane didn’t leave until early the next morning, which meant I would have a rare evening off and to myself in a strange city.
You could go to the bar downstairs, I thought sleepily, my eyes finally falling shut. Wear the nice dress you brought and have a real drink. Flirt. Pretend to be absolutely anyone other than the sad disaster that you are.
“I will,” I mumbled to myself, shifting around to lie on my side, an unexpected sense of calm sweeping over me.
Just for one night, I thought, sliding into sleep. Just for one night, I’ll let myself be someone else.
