by Susan Arden
“Not. Roger Fisher put out a media hit on his own son. The Fishers own more media outlets than there are Starbucks franchises. I’m talking Wolf News. Ring a bell?”
Sonya stared, unblinking. “The question is, who hasn’t? I can’t believe you actually tangled with that clan.”
“I was hoping to make a name for myself. I sure did. Around the country…really around the globe, and now I’m on some blacklist of reporters, thanks to the freaking Fishers. I’m more than fired—I’m a pariah. I learned my lesson the hard way. During a family feud, run for cover. I for one want no part in the Fisher bickering. What I do want is a costume and a job until I can find a way to undo this mess. Trust me, I’ll find a way to get my career back if it’s the last thing I do.”
“Things have a way of working out. When the dust settles.” Sonya turned in a complete circle in the aisle. “There’s got to be something here to suit your G-rated expectations.”
Her best friend stood right next to her, shuffling through a sea of costumes, hanger after hanger. It was just like Sonya to refuse to give up. A true-blue scrapper. Sonya’s coyote shifter nature shining through. Nothing seemed to get her down. Mari settled back on her heels, feeling less than stellar about her ridiculous costume requirements. She should consider herself damn lucky to have this employment opportunity, grab the first costume, and get back to scouting want ads and working her contacts. Jesus, Sonya was here, chatting and smiling. The bruises were gone from her friend’s face, but Mari couldn’t forget that this last month had been a bumpy road to recovery for her childhood pal.
“I’m getting my second wind.” Mari’s fingers flew over teeny outfits suited to the tall, thin set. Most of the costumes resembled napkins with sleeves. She pulled out a black lacy dress, unable to make out what in the world it was besides floor-length. “This looks interesting.”
“If you were coming as a doily from a funeral parlor.” Sonya shoved a fake serpent headdress in her face. “I vote for this one. Walk like an Egyptian.”
Mari stared at the bobbing cobra about to smack her in the face. “Umm, might give people the wrong impression of me.”
“You’re right. On second thought, it’s way too tacky. With Sherry gone, we’re all scrambling at the Den. This monthly meeting is too popular to cancel. Tristen didn’t think it prudent, considering the unrest between human and shifters in Denver lately,” Sonya whispered.
Mari’s reporter ears pricked up. “Really. So the humans…do they order the whole kit and caboodle of services?”
“Without giving names. Yes. You know we don’t discuss who comes and what they do,” Sonya relayed for the one hundredth time.
They were the only customers inside the store, and the man behind the register didn’t place as human. If anything, he was a skin-walking vampire from his appearance and scent.
Mari shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Tracking with you on that.”
It was true. Things were heating up, and more and more disappearances were going on in large cities. Shifters, vampires, and the rash of spellcasters last month. Humans didn’t consistently abide by the lenient laws in place governing human-to-shifter encounters. Given the authorities were lax in enforcement, more often than not, shifters took matters into their own hands. Sonya was one of the few shifters Mari knew who had survived a brutal attack.
“We’ve got to find you something.” Sonya murmured.
“Hey, I didn’t mean to sound…ungrateful. I’m just stressed. I can’t believe it is almost show time. You know, I’m head over heels excited at the idea of us working together. It will be like high school.”
Replacing the costume, Sonya laughed. “Ah, not quite. We’ll be overrun with lots of cagey shifters checking in. Downstairs is our domain to oversee. Mind you, not the out of control scene from the second floor, but we’ll get our share of excitement. The restaurant and bar are pure refinement, but at these singles’ events, the testosterone levels spike if a female flirts too close to the edge between alphas.”
“Does that happen often?” Mari struggled to control the surprise in her voice. She’d gotten an earful from Sonya patiently assuring her the Downtown Den was legit ever since she’d agreed to help out. Each time she envisioned walking into the club, her stomach tightened with a shimmy of apprehension.
“Not usually. Sherry has all the clients twisted around her pinky. Lucky for us, the ground rules are set for speed dating. This first time, we need to set the tone as the new sheriffs in town. And not to worry. Tristen and Fin will be there.” Sonya said.
“Our posse.” Mari bumped Sonya’s outstretched fist. “We’ll manage.”
“Absolutely. The ground floor is pretty sedate insofar as action and flesh go. Not a peep is shared from upstairs. When I promised your brother to watch out for you, I didn’t lie.”
“I’m not my overprotective brother. Come clean with the whole enchilada. Twelfth hour, and I’m about to sign on where shifter sex services are offered on a menu. Don’t you get an eyeful of naked flesh sometimes? You can tell me.”
“Never on the first floor. And you won’t have access upstairs as hospitality staff. The only thing you might have to do is escort someone to the elevator or stairs. A host or hostess takes them upstairs. Only managers can go up if there’s a problem. Sweets, you are grounded, so to speak. And remember, if you see a celebrity, mum’s the word.”
“That makes one hundred and one times you’ve stated that exact piece of info. Does that mean it happens and your lips are sealed?” Definitely, Mari had a sense of a story. If only the Den wasn’t so hush-hush on who came and went.
Sonya stared at her for a long flabbergasted moment. “No. But we do get our share of well-known personalities. Speed dating is always a big turnout. Rarely is the work at the Den super difficult.” A shadow flitted across her friend’s pert features, making Mari’s heart squeeze. It had been a month since Sonya’s rescue from being kidnapped.
“From what I can tell, you’ve got your hands full. You’re doing a fab job. I won’t let you down.” She peered at her friend, searching for signs Sonya was indeed doing fab. Recovered. The thought left Mari feeling ridiculous to be worried about what anyone would think of her as the newest staff member.
“Turn that frown upside down.” Sonya playfully pinched her cheek. “Let’s just find you something to wear, and then you’ll be golden.”
“It seems like forever since I went out.” God, she longed for a night with a man. Maybe not at a private shifter club, but somewhere. Somehow. Good conversation, laughs, and flirting. She sighed.
“Who knows, you might come away with a job and a date. Single men, cocktails, and, I promise, the time will fly by. Some of the characters who show up are so damn funny. You’ll laugh your ass off.”
“If only,” Mari muttered, eyeing her bottom in the mirror. She sucked in a lungful of air at her friend’s lively attitude. “Well, your sense of humor is going strong.”
“Always. And that’s the point. Can’t let anyone steal your inner goddess. Yours or mine.”
“I’ll try.” Mari shifted her gaze around the shop, hoping to spot something. Anything that would give her that edge of confidence in a room full of off-the-chart shifters. “Do you think the men’s section might have something?”
“Hold everything,” Sonya burst out with a supersonic squeal before she took hold of Mari’s arm. “Do me this one favor. Please, just try it on.”
They both stood gawking at what appeared to be a vintage gown peeking out from a rack within the dressing room. “It looks too good to be true,” Mari said.
“Definitely. This is the one!” Sonya pulled her forward.
Mari walked over to the royal blue gown. The material was softer than silk and gave the impression of an expensive creation. She bet as soon as she lifted it off the rack, it would be a size-two sensation or dismally chintzy in full view. “I can’t. You look and tell me if it’s resembles something from Hooterville.”
The dress h
ung just inside the doorway of the dressing room, sandwiched between other costumes. Period pieces different from those out in the shop.
“Buck up. Let’s go.” Sonya hoisted the gown off the rack.
“Hold on, I didn’t get a chance to see it.” Mari watched Sonya walk off, carrying the gown over her outstretched arm. Her friend’s petite body packed more power than most men once an idea saturated her coyote shifter brain.
Sonya marched into a dressing room. “Mari. In here. Stat.”
“This isn’t emergency surgery,” Mari muttered, trailing behind.
“I beg to differ. It is on your ego.” Sonya stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest.
The sight of the gown made Mari’s skin burst with chill bumps. “It’s jaw-dropping.”
“And on you, it will be stunning,” Sonya added. “Just look at the embroidery. I’ve never seen anything like it. Have you?”
“Never.” Mari bent over the gown, admiring the elaborate stitching on the bodice that accentuated the neckline. She ran her fingers over the dress, speechless over striking the medieval style. The material was a combination of velvet on top and silk skirting below.
“You ladies need any help?” the shopkeeper asked, leaning in the doorway. “Oh, you’ve found the Tudor piece. Custom made.”
He was tall, with an unusual sheen radiating off his skin. Slicked-back dark hair, and obsidian eyes.
Sonya elbowed her. “Told you. This is far better than going dressed up in Ariel attire.”
The owner guffawed. “I’d say. This is a restored creation, originally worn in England. I inherited half a dozen trunks filled with similar gowns. This is the first one I’ve introduced to customers. The cleaning takes gobs of time. And the repairs, oh, ladies, my fingers are still sore.”
Her mouth hung open. Coming out her bewitched state, Mari whispered, “It’s absolutely gorgeous.” She cautiously handled the material, this time as though she were touching the fragile wing of a butterfly. “Luxuriously soft.”
“Don’t worry. You won’t tear it. These dresses were made to withstand the sands of time. The corset is made from real whalebone,” the man stated matter-of-factly.
Together she and Sonya asked in unison. “It comes with a corset?”
“The whole nine yards. Corset, chemise, shoes, gloves, and wrap. Can you imagine the royal jewels that went with this gown? Worth a king’s castle.”
“Are you implying this is a dress from a royal courtier?”
“Implying nothing. It is. See the inside neckline if you want to know whose closet you’re borrowing from. You look like the type of woman who could get away with wearing this gown. I’ll retrieve the undergarments.”
“Thank you,” Mari exhaled. She imagined he was talking about her healthy dose of waist, hips, and thighs. “Yeah, I suppose it’s more appropriate than the rabbit-fur cave-girl look.”
He straightened, his expression turning serious. “This type of dress requires stature. A woman sure of herself. And one who has the body to match. No stick figures need apply when it comes to this neckline. You’ve amazing coloring. Eyes and skin. Give it a go.”
The skin over her cheeks warmed. “Can’t make any promises.”
“Hey, this is exactly what we’ve been after. Looks like it was made just for you,” Sonya uttered.
“I’ve been in business a long time. I know my stuff.” He turned and moved away from the doorway. There was swishing at the end of the hall, and then he came back with three hangers. Sure enough, lacy underclothes and a matching satin wrap and silk bag were installed on another hook in the dressing room. He opened and removed a pair of unbelievable stack-heeled shoes with silver-colored laces done to match the embroidery of the dress, and set them on the floor. Kneeling at her feet, he cocked his head. “I think these will fit you. You’ve small feet.”
“At least I was blessed with tiny feet.”
He stood and gazed back at her. “You’re perfect for this gown.”
“See. Tell her. Are you the owner?” Sonya asked.
“Sure am. Farmington.” He held out his hand. “Pleasure.”
Without hesitating, Mari took hold of his firm handshake. “You’re turning out to be an amazing savior.” She smiled at the mysterious owner and almost giggled at the thought of wearing royal garb. Besides chasing stories, Mari enjoyed toying with history. The BBC history channel was her favorite cable destination.
“Just when we’d almost lost hope.” Sonya began unlacing the corset. “This whole place gives the adage ‘save the best for last’ a whole new meaning.”
After putting on layer upon layer of clothing, Mari stood outside the dressing room, bending this way and that to see how the dress appeared from different angles. “Is it my imagination, or is this a go?”
“Green light and don’t stop.” Sonya clapped.
With the corset on she could hardly breathe. Her breasts were pushed upward into straining mounds framed by the neckline. She feared her boobs would haphazardly pop out if she so much as sneezed. She cinched her waist between her hands, staring at her reflection, still unaccustomed to seeing her assets displayed. “Maybe I should try the wrap.”
“Wrap on, wrap off,” Sonya muttered. “Better get used to it. Got to let those curves come out and play sometime.”
Mari couldn’t help the blush igniting over her checks. “Sonya!”
“Nothing to be ashamed of. You’re lucky you’ve got a nice serving of cleavage. I wish I had some.”
Mari did her last once-over of the computer program and how to access with the guest directory. She spun around at the sound of deep voices behind her. Two men entered the bar area where the speed dating was set to take place. She recognized the blond gentleman as Tristen Morrison. The serious enforcer, who was currently the acting head of the Den while the owners were away. Sonya had given her the low down on him. His partner flanked him. Fin Zimmer. She recognized him from a yoga class she’d taken last week.
They were nonsense wolf shifters, and their presence had the hair on the back of her neck rising in alert. She wiped a hand across her forehead, removing the sudden appearance of perspiration from the rise in temperature within the room. Or her nerves. They stopped in front of the bar and spoke in hushed tones with the bartender. Maybe they were only there to check out the place in lieu of grilling her. Golly, where was Sonya? She’d expected the introduction to come in the form of sitting down in an office. This on the fly had her fumbling. She turned her attention back to the name tags and began to scribble from the list of guests.
“Excuse me.” A man’s low voice came from behind her. She swung around to face the enforcer. Although he smiled this time, his gaze was no less intense. “Mari?” Tristen asked, holding out his hand.
“Yes. Good evening.” She capped the marker before she reached for his hand. He drew her forward in what came across as a searching perusal of her face. His nostrils flared. She imagined hers did as well. She tried not to be obvious, but she was curious about him and his position.
As a beta wolf, it would be natural for him to seek to uncover as much information about her, and scent identification was nothing new in meeting a fellow wolf. He pumped her hand before stepping back. Soothing tingles raced up her arm as though she were being welcomed into a private pack.
“We’ve met before. At Sonya’s.” Fin smiled at her. Warm and friendly, and he laughed. “And yoga. By the pond. Am I right?” His scent was as appealing now as when he’d demonstrated poses, bending next to her mat. Besides working at the Den, Fin held community yoga classes. All the women in the class tried to follow his vinyasa routine without ogling. He seemed so grounded, more tonight than before when she’d seen him last.
“You’ve got an excellent memory, and your class was amazing. I should have introduced myself, but you were overrun by others in the class. I plan on returning.”
“Great. Sunday. No pressure. Come when you can. More often than not, the class is composed of drop-ins. W
e take things nice and easy.”
She almost fell into Fin’s arms. His open manner, dreadlocked hair, and tanned body were irresistible to one worn-out unemployed reporter. “That makes me want to show up all the more.”
“If you need anything, holler,” Fin said.
Tristen nodded. “Thanks for pitching in. We’re all here to help. The area looks great.”
“Yes. Sonya filled me in. The setup crew needed little direction from me. I couldn’t have done all this in a couple of hours without them.” Mari motioned to the tables set in rows, allowing the gentlemen to get up and move as was the custom once the speed dating routine began.
“Well, if you run into trouble, wave and we’ll know you need us to intercede. Don’t try to handle anyone or anything that proves difficult. It’s why we’re here. Right over there, to be exact.” Fin pointed to the bar.
“I promise, I’ll let you know.” Mari straightened her shoulders, resuming her last task. She couldn’t imagine much trouble tonight. The whole setup of the Downtown Den was upscale, from the marble flooring to the mahogany paneled walls. The Art Deco architectural features inside the bar lent plenty of romantic ambiance to go with the pale silver and pink colors of the evening.
Everything appeared elegant, and the food being served had her stomach rumbling. The Den set out to serve real food that shifters enjoyed while having to deal with the pressure of date talk. Lime chili chicken, pulled pork, Alpine three-cheese mac bake, maple-glazed plantains, raw kale blueberry pecan salad, cornbread, and a smooth-as-sin rum punch. She eyed the specially prepared strawberry pie with a walnut and coconut crust to die for.
Henry, the bartender, whistled as he set out punch glasses when the chef walked in carrying several bags of a dark roast. Mari noticed and couldn’t help but comment upon with enthusiasm. The chef stopped and asked if she needed any help. She smiled and shook her head. A tap on her shoulder and she found Henry placing a demitasse of espresso next to the tablet she was using. “Something to start the evening off right.”
