The Werewolf Wears Prada (Entangled Covet) (San Francisco Wolf Pack) (5 page)

Without waiting for an answer, Hayden swept out the doors and charged around the corner. Anita Cross, fellow packmate and Lydia’s secretary, emerged from the elevator, and then backpedaled at the sight of him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Dean, I wasn’t expecting you here.”

“Which means you’ve invaded my privacy before,” he said, standing in front of her, arms folded over his chest. “How many times?”

Her gray eyes went wide. “Never, s—sir,” she stuttered. “I mean, never before now, sir.”

He could smell her fear. It was bitter, tingling his nose. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m so sorry, sir, but the council is in the middle of a meeting and Lydia needed the newest report on the rogue attack. Gabriel had it sent to you, since you’re, well, you know who you are, or who you’ll be next month.” Damn, she was stumbling all over herself. “He didn’t want an electronic trail, so it was sent paper only, and Lydia couldn’t find her copy. She sent me to retrieve it for the council. I was going to replace it on your desk as soon as the meeting was over.”

Hayden couldn’t stop the growl rumbling through his chest. “The council is meeting now? With Lydia?” It was all he could force out through the haze of anger rolling over him. “Where? The boardroom?”

Anita shook her head. “Her office.”

The fury rose in him, hot and vicious, nearly triggering the urge to shift into wolf form. He swallowed down the heady impulse. Barely. “I’ll take the report to the meeting myself. Do yourself a favor. Disappear from the building for the next twenty minutes, and never step foot on my floor again.”

Anita nodded into a bow, and then ran to the elevators. If he even sensed her in the building before his anger died off, he was liable to combust and take his aggression out on her. Although he was pissed off as hell that she’d even
think
about sneaking into the future Alpha’s office and stealing something off his desk, she didn’t deserve the brunt of his hatred.

She was simply following Lydia’s orders.

How dare Lydia schedule a meeting with the council without him present! Hayden wasn’t a genius, but he knew the reason she scheduled it now. He never came in this early. She’d planned to get close to the council, prove she could handle the Alpha’s business, and squeeze him out completely.

To hell with that.

Focused on nothing but Lydia and the rogue report, Hayden burst into his office, jerked open his top drawer, and sifted through the papers until he found the one she’d wanted. He slammed the door closed and mumbled something to Melina about keeping herself busy—out of his office—until he came back.

Chapter Six

“What the hell, Lydia?” Hayden burst through the doors of Lydia’s office and threw the report across the table. “How dare you call this meeting without me!”

“Hayden, great to see you,” Lydia said, her face an apathetic mask. “Take a seat.”

She was a beacon of poise and elegance—always had been. Raven-black hair cut to fall around her chin, beady black eyes with glasses perched on the edge of her nose. She sat at the head of an oblong table,
damn her,
with the three council members seated around the curves.

The council members had been some of the Alpha’s most trusted friends. Before his passing, he’d appointed them himself. Reagan, the shortest and squattiest, had also been a loyal friend to Lydia’s mother. White, the oldest on the council, had worked for Hayden’s grandfather and was extremely faithful to the Dean family. The final member, “Mad Dog” Maddox, had joined the San Francisco Wolf Pack late in life, and had befriended Angus Dean almost immediately. Since the pack saved him from a life on the streets, he was loyal to them as a whole, rather than any one leader—that reason alone was probably why Angus had chosen him for the third council seat.

Hayden’s fate, and that of the ruler of the pack, rested in their hands.

“I’m the pack’s future Alpha. Any meeting having to do with pack business should include me.” Hayden paused, trying to strangle Lydia with his stare. Why couldn’t looks kill? Just this once. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

She stared back, returning fire with a challenging gleam in her eye.

“Hayden, join us.” White spread his arms to the opposite end of the table, where Hayden would be seated across from Lydia. “We were going to call the meeting later, when you’d be available to attend, but Lydia informed us of another attack this morning. We thought it best to discuss it now, while the coals burned hot.”

They burned hotter in hell, where he wouldn’t mind sending the snake on the opposite end of the table.

He leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs, propping his ankle up on the opposite knee. “Who reported the attack?”

“A non-shifter discovered the turned wolf bleeding behind a Dumpster in Haight-Ashbury,” Reagan answered, templing his fingers as he leaned over the table. “The woman called the police first, but we intercepted the call and sent in the guards to clean up the mess before officers arrived.”

“The wolf is in critical condition at Howlands,” Lydia continued, “though he’s not expected to make it. A silver rod is lodged in his chest, inches from his heart”

Shifting was the easiest way for a werewolf to heal—transitioning from wolf back to human form usually cured all wounds. But with a silver rod lodged in the wolf’s chest, changing back to human form was risky. The rod could remain stuck, and could damage major organs during the process. And while Howlands was a private facility built to house and care for critically injured werewolves with abnormal wounds, there wasn’t much they’d be able to do for that wolf.

“Were there any witnesses?” Hayden asked, looking to minimize damages.

“Not that we know of,” Mad Dog said, his voice booming through the office. “We’re listening to scanners for breadcrumbs that’ll lead us to witnesses or the wolf responsible.”

Seemed as if they’d covered every issue. Without his involvement.

The council members should’ve tried harder to let him know what was going on, but he couldn’t shrug off the burden weighing his shoulders. If he’d been here earlier, if he’d gotten into the habit of coming in early every day, Lydia wouldn’t have been able to move the meeting without him knowing about it.

If he took it more seriously—all of it, every damn thing—maybe they’d take
him
more seriously…

“How do we know the rogue wolves are the ones responsible?” he probed. “Have they contacted us yet to—“

“We’ve already covered all of this.” Lydia closed the laptop in front of her and sighed exasperatedly. “The leader of the rogue pack, a Were who identifies himself as Archer, called Howlands about an hour ago. They’ve claimed the attack as theirs and accepted responsibility.”

“If you’ve already covered all this, why’d you need to send someone snooping through my office to nab the report?” Hayden flicked it further down the table.

“The operator at Howlands called to report that they’d received a message from Archer, but we didn’t know what was said until now. They didn’t want to discuss it over the phone line.” Reagan scooped up the report and scanned quickly. “Well, now I know why they had a messenger deliver it by hand.”

“Why’s that?” Lydia pressed.

Reagan slid the paper to the snake running the show.

Lydia read, and then met Hayden’s gaze. There was something hidden behind her onyx eyes…

“What’s it say?” He slammed his fist over the table. “Out with it!”

“The rogues won’t stand by and watch you—a turned wolf—rule over the wolf pack. They’ll kill one turned werewolf or non-shifter associated with our pack every day until a new Alpha is voted in. If the newly-chosen Alpha is a born wolf, they’ll disappear from the San Francisco Bay Area and never return.”

Hayden’s stomach ached as if he’d been sucker punched. He willed his expression to remain unreadable, and his blood pressure to drop to normal levels. But inside, a war raged, boiling his blood and stealing his breath.

Angus had been a true Alpha, born with wolf blood in his veins. Rather than go on some crazy power trip against turned wolves, he embraced them. He’d found Hayden attacked and left for dead on the street. Instead of turning away, he’d saved Hayden and adopted him as his only son.

If only others could be as kind-hearted and understanding.

Hayden stood, pushing back his chair. “If my father were here, he’d say we should never bow to threats made by rogue wolves. We must protect the ones who cannot protect themselves. My father would call out the entire army of guards and hunt down the rogues, starting with the area of Haight-Ashbury. If we send out a team now, we might still be able to pick up their scent.” He went palms down on the table. “But he’s not here. And we won’t have a designated Alpha to make these calls until the end of the month. Don’t think for one second the timing is coincidental, either. The rogue wolves know that without an Alpha, the council has to vote on pack movement. They’re trying to take advantage of a split vote so they have more time to instill fear and cause chaos to rumble through the pack.”

The council went quiet except for the tap-tap-tapping of Lydia’s fingers as they rolled over the table.

“What is the council’s stance on this issue?” Hayden forced down the fury rising in his throat. “Do we send out more guards and continue on the path we’re on, or do you move to vote in a new Alpha?”

The vote was split down the middle. White and Mad Dog voted to induct a new Alpha, while Reagan and Lydia chose to wait.

As inherent heir to the wolf pack throne, Hayden didn’t get a vote.

One thing became crystal clear as he took the elevator back to the fifteenth floor: the council didn’t need him to hold meetings, and they didn’t care to hear his voice in the boardroom. To top it off, thanks to the rogues’ threats, Hayden’s presence as a leader meant more deaths for their packmates.

He’d become more of a liability than an asset.

And it didn’t take a business degree to understand what happened to liabilities.

Chapter Seven

Melina was absolutely, positively blown away by Hayden’s private workspace.

Not that she’d ever tell him that.

After eyeballing a few things on Hayden’s desk, she left his office. She strolled around the floor, checking things out, and didn’t feel bad about it. Not one bit.

Hayden had pretty much ordered her to stay put. He’d have to learn she didn’t take commands well. And she never would, least of all from him.

Besides, now was the perfect opportunity to dig up some dirt on her hunky subject. She already knew the basics about him. He was breathtakingly good looking, and frequently used it to his advantage. He was also filthy rich, drove a hot car, and had a reputation for being extremely…
generous
…in the sack.

Gooseflesh blanketed her arms, chilling her to the core, even though the air was warm and comfortable. She
hated
the fact that her body had such a traitorous reaction to the mere
thought
of Hayden Dean. She really couldn’t stand him and his cocky attitude, and the way he acted like he was God’s gift to…well,
everything
.

“Focus,” she said aloud to herself as she wandered over the fifteenth floor, “and keep your eye on the prize.” Thoughts of Hayden invaded her brain. “He is
not
the prize.”

The prize was her dream job, and she couldn’t forget it.

She took mental notes of everything as she ambled through his personal space.

Although the room had the definite feel of a bachelor pad, with shining hardwood floors, plush rugs, leather couches, fully-stocked bar, and floor-to-ceiling windows—man, the view of the sunset must’ve been stunning—there were parts of the office that were uncharacteristically elegant. Classic and regal, even.

Guess that’s what “old money” did for people.

Before writing her column, “A Month in a Celeb’s Shoes,” Melina penned the tiny, nearly unnoticed column titled, “Moguls Among Us.” It was the reason she’d interviewed Hayden last year in Starbucks. Although the article was surface level, detailing how millionaires spent their day-to-day lives, Melina had researched Hayden’s father and the businesses in his portfolio. She’d discovered Angus Dean owned some of the most influential businesses in the city. If he didn’t own it, his construction company had built or remodeled the building. Either way, Hayden’s father had his hand in every part of San Francisco’s business structure.

Hayden had monstrous shoes to fill.

He put on a front, as if nothing bothered him, but every now and again he’d say something that made Melina think otherwise. In the elevator, he’d started to open up. He’d started to talk about stepping into his father’s role and how it was easier said than done.

There was depth to him, she realized. And his bachelor pad spoke volumes to that.

After brushing her hands over the piano—it was glossy and clean, as if he rarely played it—and sifting through his stash of alcohol—scotch and vodka, mostly—Melina studied the paintings on the walls. A few frames down, she lost herself in the unexpected blend of colors and brush strokes. She didn’t know art very well, but she knew the collection was contemporary and very expensive.

One piece of art in particular caught her eye, stirring something in her chest.

She stopped, and felt compelled to step closer.

The painting depicted a gigantic gray wolf, standing in the middle of a dark forest. Its coat was full and fluffy with tinges of black streaking through it. Its snout was thick and formidable, and its lips were curled in anger. The ridge on its back was arched, as though ready to attack, but the gleam in its eye was soft.
Pleading
, even.

Everything about the wolf was menacing—one she wouldn’t want to come across in the forest—though Melina got the bizarre feeling that the wolf was only dangerous if it was protecting its own.

How she knew that, she couldn’t explain. She just
did
.

Her stomach tumbled as she reached out and brushed her hand over the wolf’s coat. Ridges of the dried oil on the canvas scraped against her fingers. Disappointment, followed quickly by embarrassment, speared through her when she realized it was a painting and nothing more.

Ridiculous.

She felt dizzy. Had she been holding her breath? Instead of moving on to another picture, she sat on the ground and got comfortable, crossing her legs. If she fainted, she’d be closer to the floor, too.

She stared at the painting, at the wolf. Her heartbeat hammered against her ribs. He seemed to be looking back at her, though that was a stupid thought, wasn’t it? He gave off an air of dominance, firm and unyielding, but still, she ached to feel the softness of his fur.

It was magnificent.

“What are you doing on the floor?” a deep voice said from beside her.

Hayden.

“Admiring the painting.” Jumping to her feet, Melina dusted off her backside and then pointed at the picture. “Who’s the artist?”

His dark eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” Because she wanted to do a Google search for him and ask if he had any other paintings of the animal for purchase. She probably wouldn’t be able to afford it, though. Unless she gave up her monthly shoe allowance. Shrugging, Melina tried to play it cool. “I like this one. It’s not like the others you have up. He’s…cute and cuddly.”

“Cute and
…cuddly
?”

She nodded and clamped her mouth shut, though she wanted to say so much more.

“I think cold and reckless might be more fitting,” he bit out.

“What are you talking about?” She glanced back at the wolf. He wasn’t cold at all. She could almost feel the warmth radiating from him. And when had the wolf become a “he” rather than an “it?” “That wolf is
not
cold. He’s majestic and regal. You can tell he’s the leader of the pack.”

Hayden grumbled beside her, though she couldn’t take her gaze off the painting.

“I bet he’d lead effortlessly,” she added. “The other wolves would fall in line and bow down.”

“Yeah, you’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

Hayden left her side, and stormed into his office. The sound of drawers slamming closed caught her attention. She followed him, and stopped in the doorway when he jerked open a drawer so hard, it fell to the floor.

“The council is so full of shit,” he mumbled.

What council was he talking about? And what did they have to do with the painting?

“My father painted the wolf, a really long time ago.” He dumped the contents of the drawer into a backpack leaning against the side of his desk. Then with a heavy sigh, he planted his hands on the desk and lifted his eyes to hers. “Things have changed—everything has changed since then.”

“Your father painted that? Really? He was very talented. I had no idea.” She longed to touch it again. “Was it painted from life, do you think?”

“Could you not show so much interest in the damned wolf? It’s not a good idea to ask so many questions, and it’s not making this”—he gestured between them—“any easier.”

Was he talking about the article?

He slung the backpack over his shoulder and charged past her toward the elevators. He moved like a force to be reckoned with, his hands clenched into fists, his boots thundering against the hardwood.

He was strung tight, his jaw clenched, his eyes blazing with fury. Why had he gestured between them? Was it really the article that had him so upset? Was it the meeting he’d just had? A knot in Melina’s stomach warned it might’ve been about something more.

“Hayden?” Nervous energy shot through her veins. “Make
what
any easier?’

He dropped his bag, and turned back. And then he came at her with the same strength in his stride. She didn’t feel fear—far from it. She felt stalked, in the sexiest way. He exuded sexuality and control, a dizzying combination. She shuffled back, resting against the doorframe. He stood in the doorway across from her, his dark eyes burning like coals.

Something about the way he glared reminded her of the wolf in the painting. His eyes were almost the same shape, color, and depth.

She was silly to think it, but the thought wouldn’t leave her.

He sighed, and then clenched his jaw tight. “Would it kill you to not be so—damn it, so…”

“So…what?”

“
Intense
.” His nose twitched. He rubbed it, grimacing. “Can’t you go anywhere without wearing that perfume? You make every single room smell like you after you leave.”

“I don’t wear perfume.” She pulled a strand of hair to her nose and sniffed. “It must be my shampoo. Is it bad?”

“Far from it.” He groaned as if a giant burden rested on his shoulders, and his eyes churned with need. “It makes me want to eat you up.”

A wave of desire rolled over her. She shuddered beneath the weight of his stare, hyperaware that his chest heaved as if he’d lost his breath. She was having trouble finding air, too. He stepped closer, eliminating the space between them. They couldn’t be any closer without meeting hip-to-hip. Wobbly on her legs, Melina leaned against the doorframe, looked up at him, and held her breath.

Time froze.

“Don’t move, Melina,” he said, and wrapped his strong hands around her neck.

She jumped from his touch, and the fire it ignited in her middle.

“Did you feel that?” he asked, his lips nearly brushing hers.

She nodded, trembling, reaching up on tiptoe to capture his mouth.

He sucked in a short breath as if he felt the spark too. He dragged her mouth to his in a seductive rush, ripping the air from her lungs and the floor from beneath her feet. It was a kiss of pleasure and shock, and as his lips parted, her stomach fell. She whimpered as she melted into him. He consumed the little mewing sounds, feasted on her mouth, and hauled her against him.

She couldn’t detach from him, couldn’t catch her breath, and didn’t want to. Not ever again.

With a moan, Hayden removed his mouth from hers. His eyes were unreadable, his jaw tight. “You look like innocence,” he said, breathing hard, “but you taste like the sweetest sin.”

She stared, swaying against the wall and then into him.

He searched her face, his head tilting, his mouth hovering over hers. “Your heart is racing a mile a minute.”

“You can hear it?”

“Every beat. Every promise.” He shook his head as if trying to wake himself from some kind of spell. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll write the article as fast as you can and forget you ever met me.”

Melina’s ego wilted.

Forget him? Like that could happen. Now that she’d kissed him, her mouth had been spoiled for any other. “Why would you wish something like that?”

She didn’t know what else to say.

“I don’t know. It doesn’t even matter.”

Doesn’t even matter?

He scrubbed his hands through his hair. “I should make an appointment with a stylist. You said that was first, right?”

“Right.” Reality thundered down around her. “Stylist. Of course.”

How could one little—
smoking hot
—kiss make her forget the reason she was
hired
to be here in the first place? Her assignment had been clear-cut. Clean up his image. Write a killer article. Simple.

She would’ve slept with him if he’d asked her, she thought with chagrin. But if news got out that she had while on the job, that’d only cement his playboy status rather than improve it. And what kind of journalist would she be then? A slutty one, that’s for sure. A sketchy employee no one would trust. Goodbye
Eclipse
.

Regardless, she couldn’t help but want him.

More than she’d ever wanted anyone.

Ever.

“I’ve got a magic worker who’ll do wonders for you,” she said as her heart cracked in her chest. “Clear your schedule tomorrow afternoon.”

He nodded, his gaze honing on her lips. “Make the call.”

She couldn’t have misread their connection. Couldn’t have. But if he felt the same thing she did, how could he push her away so easily?

Holding her head high and feigning confidence she didn’t feel, Melina turned away from him and marched to the elevators. She tightened her bag over her shoulder as the heat of his gaze warmed her back.

Was he watching her walk away? If he were, wouldn’t that mean he didn’t really want her to leave?

Don’t look. Don’t look back.

Curiosity niggled at the back of her mind.

Slowly, she glanced over one shoulder.

Hayden stood in the center of the doorway where she’d left him, but now, a stunned expression marred his features. His mouth dropped open. His hands clenched to fists at his sides.
Hunger
burned in his gorgeous eyes. He looked as if he wanted to eat her up.

Melina smiled coyly, as if it hadn’t been a big deal to walk away. But the moment she disappeared into the elevator and the doors hissed shut, she blew out a shaky breath.

“You may say one thing, Mr. Dean,” she said, resting against the elevator rails, “but your eyes say something completely different.”

Why did he date women left and right, as if he didn’t care for any one in particular, but stand her up the night of the Silverlights? Why did he taste like an intoxicating mix of heat and promise, yet his words were clipped and cold?

She was determined to figure out
why.