Page 49 of Knot Her Beta

They’re here to put the deal on paper, or close enough to paper that it starts feeling real, and my stomach twists into a knot.

We shake hands down the line before we board the elevator and ride it up to the fifth floor. There, we follow them into a conference room reserved for this purpose.

As we sit, the board filters into the room, four men and one woman. More handshakes go around.

Caroline’s father, tall and silver-haired, stands at the head of a conference table laid with binders and tablets. “Grady’s insight on the Portland-Bar Harbor corridor was exactly what we needed. The editorial team’s been working from a Boston-centric model for too long.”

I open my mouth to correct him. It was Caroline’s insight, not mine.

But Caroline’s hand on my arm stops me as she slips into the chair on my left. “It was a good insight, and the data backs it up.”

I turn to her, and she raises one shoulder in a silent statement that she doesn’t need the credit, so long as the gap finally gets addressed.

Today, she wears a navy dress, her pearls swapped out for a thin gold chain.

He beams at me. “Then we’ll address it in the integration.”

The morning blurs into the afternoon.

More handshakes. More names I’m supposed to remember. My cane taps across marble, then carpet, then marble again. My knee stiffens by increments, the metal pins a dull pressure beneath the skin.

By three o’clock, I’m leaning on the cane hard enough for my palm to ache, and the day is far from over.

Dinner that night is at the Bennetts’ place.

I eat whatever gets put in front of me and answer questions, and at some point, Caroline’s mother leans in to ask about Pinecrest with the warm curiosity of someone asking about a hobby I used to have.

“It’s a small harbor town,” I say. “With little shops around the docks that sell fresh bread and pastries, books, and trinkets. That sort of thing. In the summer, they have a Saturday Market, where you can buy local honey and dig through old paperbacks.”

Warmth spreads through me. “And Misty Pines is only a short twenty-minute boat ride from the mainland.”

“Oh?” she asks with polite interest. “And that’s where your little author friend settled?”

I twitch with irritation. Aurora Storm was a bestselling author when Chloe decided to retire the pen name in favor of writing passion projects.

“Yes.” The warmth brought on by speaking of Pinecrest vanishes. “She settled there with her mates.”

“Oh my.” She leans in closer. “How many does she have?”

“Four,” I grit out. “They’re all very nice and unique men.”

She fans herself. “I can’t even imagine. Mr. Bennet is enough of a handful.” She sends her husband a less-than-favorable look. “But I suppose Omegas don’t really have a choice in such things.”

Anger replaces the irritation, but Caroline jumps in before I can snap back. “Mom, that’s hardly polite dinner conversation.”

“Come now.” She flaps her hand. “We’re practically family. That allows a little relaxing of the reins.”

“How was lunch with the tennis club?” Caroline asks, skillfully steering the conversation away from my bestie’s love life.

As her mother launches into some gripe about the service, I glance at my phone, which sits screen-side down beside my water glass.

Since they’re three hours behind, everyone will still be at work, wrapping up for the day. What will Emily be making for dinner tonight? Certainly, a meal more filling than the wild greens in front of me. What adventures will Quinn be divulging to Leif? What drama on the water taxi will Jared bring home? What new monstrosities will Chloe’s pregnancy cravings demand?

I haven’t had a chance to call any of them since I arrived. My family keeps me going nonstop, and by the time they let me head up to bed after cocktails that go late into the night, I barely have the energy to crawl into bed, only to wake up and start it all over again.

I haven’t even had a chance to check for messages today.

I don’t check them now, because I already miss them, and missing them means this hollow feeling inside has a name.