Page 6 of Craving Red

No silver-haired wolf. No sultry smirk. Just a very quiet, very empty corporate suite.

Disappointment crashes over me, extinguishing the fiery anticipation that had been building since I left our apartment. I exhale, my shoulders dropping as I step into the room and push the door shut behind me.

That’s when I see it, taped to the inside of the door, a single sheet of paper.

Oh, Little Red.

Did you really think you could catch me this easily? I’m the Big Bad Wolf, not a sitting duck.

“Ugh,” I groan out loud.

My fingers curl, crushing the paper into a tight ball before I even read the next sentence, a sound of pure exasperation tearing out of me. Of course she would lure me all the way here to laugh at my hope. That absolute menace. She knows exactly how to wind me up.

I stomp over to my desk and unceremoniously slump into my chair. Releasing a deep breath, I place the crumpled paper onto the wood and press out the creases to decipher her handwriting.

You’re beautiful when you’re frustrated. Have I told you that lately? I adore that competitive streak of yours and it’s how I know you’ll track me to the ends of the earth.

For your next clue, you’re going to need a little help from the queen who keeps two kings.

I glare at the paper, my irritation spiking into a fresh wave of outrage. A queen? My fingers hover over the laptop, every instinct screaming at me to open a tab and solve this like a research project. I tap my nails against the MacBook, ruling out options. Is Josephine expecting me to solve a riddle about monarchy? Or does she mean a chess piece? Do I have to drive to the park where the old men play chess? No, she wouldn’t do that. A deck of cards? A drag queen?

“I swear to God, Jo, when I find you, I’m locking you in handcuffs and throwing the key out the window,” I mutter.

I lean in my chair, glaring at the ceiling as if it might surrender the answer.

Queen.

Jo’s voice echoes in my head, dripping with that unbearable, playful smugness she pulls out whenever she manages to disarm me. “You used to be the undisputed Ice Queen, Alex,” she’d whispered into my ear. “But you melted, sweetheart.”

A reluctant chuckle escapes my throat, the sharp bite of my frustration melting into sheer disbelief. I am no longer the queen, but another has claimed the title—the family’s former spoiled princess, my younger sister, along with her two golden-retriever kings: Ryan and Jake.

When Mia first introduced Ryan into her relationship with Jake, I had mentally drafted the fallout strategy. I’d always viewed Jake as a bit bland—a stabilizing anchor for Mia’s chaotic energy—and assumed a third variable would fracture them. But Jake had surprised me by enthusiastically embracing the dynamic, and since Ryan’s arrival, Mia had flourished. They are balanced, grounded, and sickeningly happy. The only downside is that a single glass of Pinot Noir is now enough to make my sister share highly graphic, multi-partner logistical details that I, as her older sister, desperately never need to hear.

If anyone knows where Jo is hiding, it has to be her. My future wife possesses absolutely no boundaries when it comes to enlisting Mia in her elaborate schemes.

“Alright, Wolf,” I whisper to the office, folding the paper and slipping it into my jacket pocket. “Let’s see where you take me next.”

I pull my phone and hit my sister’s contact name, tapping my heel impatiently against the floor. It rings twice before Mia’s voice chimes through the speaker, vibrating with glee.

“Alex! Happy anniversary!”

“Mia,” I say, my voice dropping into a calm register. “Where is my fiancée?”

A delighted giggle answers me. “Wow, straight to business. No ‘Hi Mia, how are you?’ or ‘Thanks, Mia, for helping the love of my life plan the most romantic day ever?’”

“Mia, I am standing in an empty office, and my blood pressure is steadily climbing. Spill. Where is Jo?”

“Okay, first of all, rude,” Mia says, her tone entirely too composed. “Second of all, you’re on speakerphone.”

“Hey, Alex!” a deep, cheerful voice calls out.

“Happy anniversary, Al!” a second voice chimes in.

I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose, a fresh wave of murderous intent washing over me.

“I am going to end all three of you,” I murmur. “Slowly…”

“Oh, stop being dramatic,” Mia waves me off, unfazed by my threats. “You are so lucky, Alex. Do you know how much effort Jo put into this? The puzzle, the notes, the cinematic drama of it all! She is the perfect woman.”