ALPHA SPEED DATING (BBW) (Rocky Mountain Shifters) Read Free

having a fiancée around, tending to the details of his life, seemed to work for her and him. He came back between magazine assignments, and they hooked up at whichever of his flats felt like a respite. Here in Denver, it was the outdoors and his old chums. He had his interests, and she had hers. He’d refused to think about his personal life until forced to consider the upcoming wedding date wasn’t in the stars. Not for him.
    “Now is your time to revel in I told you so . Well, have at it, old man.” Conrad dug into his pocket for his pack of crushed Marlboros.
    “I think I shall.” Louis spun on his heel, waving his arms as he made his way to the wet bar across the living room. “No one in his right mind gets engaged on his second date. You had blinders on, and no one blames you. Supermodels have a way of doing that, but everyone fully understood Claudia was a gold digger. Did I bring up that you were warned?”
    “Louis, you’ve this tosser way of trying to make me out to be a dithering idiot. Can you press the wound harder?” Lighting a cigarette, Conrad inhaled the searing smoke, staring at the newsprint.
    He held the cigarette between his lips as he folded the paper, then tossed it into the wastepaper basket next to his desk. He rose from his chair and wandered over to the glass wall overlooking the river and skyline. He pressed his forearm to the cool, smooth panel and let his gaze trace the flowing river, running silver in the sunset. Slices of pink water jetted along with the current while his racing thoughts swirled in a mindless direction.
    Fuck, this hiatus was murder. He should be on the move as well, instead of holed up in this damn flat. Here in town, the Denver Times reflected the long arm of his family and proof of their displeasure in his lone wolf stance. The paper stirred up trouble, leaking his whereabouts so reporters could easily find him in a larger-than-life SNAFU. Downstairs, the doorman kept the reporters from coming up and harassing him directly. The newspaper kept the story in spin by feeding the details to the local news stations. Then the rampage began in earnest after the Associated Press picked up the piece. L.A., New York, Boston, D.C., and finally across the pond to London and Paris. A few of his occasional stomping grounds were overrun. He’d gone from being invisible to fair game for the paparazzi or any jackass with a cell camera.
    In Soho, back home where his art gallery was housed, crowds bustled inside just to see if he was around, according to the friends who had called to check on him. His manager emailed earlier: Misery loves misery. Business is great. Stay put.
    Conrad’s continuing refusal to join his ancestral wolf pack had his father seeing red. The old man had given him an ultimatum: fall in line by the end of the month, or else. In truth, it was a declaration that Conrad sell out and work for his family and their media conglomeration. Or be cut off. He didn’t need their financial assistance. Hadn’t in years. But that didn’t mean he was without an Achilles heel. And his father knew right where to strike.
    Roger Fisher played his hand well along the East Coast where Pulse , the magazine featuring Conrad’s photojournalism pieces were published. His father deployed precise, targeted hits. As the victim, Pulse couldn’t ignore the almighty Fisher family in their ability to buckle advertisement revenue. That slaughter mentality was another reason why Conrad had purposely chosen to thwart his family’s omnipotence and work at a small-scale indie publication. Unfortunately, his editor’s phone call was no surprise.
    Conrad turned around and faced his friend. “Hate sitting around here. Present company included.”
    “Sod. Just for that I’m going to indulge in your aged liquor.” Louis was already stationed behind the bar with an open bottle of Scotch, liberally pouring two drinks. “I thought you were mending your fences.”
    “Not planned until today.