Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71314 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71314 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
I think he’s chuckling to himself and shaking his head as he walks away. For a minute there, I thought maybe there was a crackle of chemistry between us. He’s devastatingly handsome. And he is smart. There’s just something about him, even in his tidy suits… it’s a kind of animal intensity that makes me feel drawn to him. Or maybe it’s just the way his biceps are clearly visible under his suit jacket.
It’s just a stupid crush, I tell myself. He’s not interested in me. Men like Gray have everybody from the tea lady to newsreaders lusting after them. He’s spoiled for choice, and I’m just the mousy, bookish little heiress with the weird fixation on imaginary creatures.
When men are rich, women chase them. When women are rich, most men feel inadequate. Except for the obviously predatory ones and I’m smart enough to stay clear of guys who want to date for financial reasons. That means I don’t date anyone.
Blushing, and entirely embarrassed, I get all my stuff together and make my exit. Most people head for the elevators and go up to their offices. I take the stairs at the side that most people wouldn’t even notice, and I go down to the basement.
It’s better this way.
Though yes, my mom was the paper’s editor before me, and yes, my name on the building carries weight, I haven’t kept up the vibes expected of a Hart. I should be wearing a power suit of some kind. Shoulder pads, maybe. My mom always wore shoulder pads, long after they went out of any kind of fashion. She toned them down, but she kept the style.
I have a memory of her smiling, her hair blowing in her face as we hot-air ballooned over the Mojave. My parents were always taking me on the most adventurous vacations. When I was small, I used to think they were invincible. Actually, I thought we were all invincible. Life has taught me otherwise.
If I came in here, dressed up, made up, looking like a force of intellectual nature, I’d feel like I was a little kid in my mom’s shoes. She was the heiress to the Hart fortune before me, and she did so much good in the world. My father was always by her side, protecting her, looking after her, making sure she ate. Making sure we both ate, actually. Since I lost them, I’ve been okay, but not really good.
I tell myself that the basement is better than any other location in the building. I could have the big top floor office if I wanted, but that’s for the boss, and I’m not one for running things. I like the freedom to make my own choices, and you can’t do that when you’re in a giant fishbowl. Gray can keep his office. I have my den.
I push down the first flight of stairs, then through another door that leads to my area specifically. The big office at the top of the building has nothing on the spaciousness I’ve got underground. There is so much room for activities.
I have boxes and boxes of files stacked all around the room. A lot of them come from other people who were looking into stories about werewolves and who gave up, or were shamed into doing so. I am well aware that trying to prove the existence of wolf-shifting people puts me in the same camp as people looking for Bigfoot or wanting to have sex with Moth Man. Both respectable points of view as far as I’m concerned. Just because something is weird doesn’t mean it is wrong.
My shoulder twinges under the weight of the boxes I’m carrying down to join their kin. I’m not really supposed to lift heavy weights. No more than fifty pounds, the physiotherapist says. I’ve been doing my exercises religiously for years, but the injury that weakened my shoulder never seems to heal internally. She used to think I was lying when I told her I was doing my rehab exercises. Maybe she still does. Ultrasounds reveal I have deep tissue damage that just doesn’t want to heal.
This might make it worse for a few days, but it’s worth it. I am assembling a true mountain of evidence to prove that there really are wolf shifters in this world. They’re not legends, they’re not stories made up by drunk people, they’re not part of some made-up mythology. They’re as real as every other unavoidable thing in this world, like microwaves and taxes.
It sounds crazy, but when you really look into it, there is plenty of evidence to suggest that there really are wolf shifters, which has all kinds of implications. An entire society of people who are also animals, who must entertain the instincts and impulses of beasts while still somehow fitting into human society—or not.