Page 5 of Alpha Ruined
Her boss nods, seemingly satisfied. “Damn right you will.”
Bree knows better than to argue with him, despite how ridiculous his request may be.
He doesn’t need to worry about her. No one does.
It’s not like anything will happen while she’s there.
CHAPTER 2
BREE
Carol Hanson’shome is gorgeous.
Bree supposes at one time it could have been called hers as well, but it never exactly felt like ahome,just a fancy house purchased with a generous life insurance policy.
The stone walkway leads up to white double doors bordered by cream French windows. Potted bright flowers line either side of Bree, with bumblebees swirling around the petals cheerfully. There are no clouds in the sky today, so the sunset makes the red brick colonial house a photographer’s dream.
Despite how impressive the residence is, there’s nothing but dread in her chest as she rings the doorbell.
She waits one minute. Then two.
But Carol is almost always home, and unless she’s decided to spend an extra evening with her book club, she’s simply taking her time answering the door.
Bree doesn’t want to be here. She’s twenty-six years old and doesn’t need to tell her mother where she’ll be for the next week.
But she supposes a good daughter would.
The door finally swings open, and Bree is greeted by a striking woman with high cheekbones and dyed blonde hair. Even as a child, Bree was struck by her mother’s beauty, hoping to one day look like her. Despite the obvious hair color difference, she inherited her mother’s grey eyes, upturned nose, and full lips.
Carol’s smile is wide, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Hi, honey,” she says, and before Bree can protest, she’s pulling her into a hug. Bree immediately recognizes her mother’s perfume, sharp red roses and a strong powdery note.
It was her father’s favorite, and her mother has never stopped wearing it.
With one last awkward squeeze, Carol steps aside as Bree walks through the doorway of her childhood home.
Not much has changed since she moved out six years ago. The armoire still stands to the left, full of glass and crystal knick-knacks that Carol has collected throughout the years, while the staircase is to the right of her, large and sprawling up to the second floor.
She’s sure if she checked the kitchen the bowl of plastic fruit would still be in the middle of the white marble island, and the countertops and double sink would be polished. She’s sure the wine fridge is still full of fancy bottles, and the pantry is stocked to the brim with perfectly organized snacks.
“That’s a cute sweater,” her mother remarks, reaching out to touch the fabric of the sleeve. “Is it new?”
“Mmhmm.” She doesn’t want to talk about sweaters with her mother. She doesn’t really want to talk about anything. The only reason for her being here is to let Carol know she’ll be out of town for a week.
“You know, you should start wearing some cute sundresses. I was shopping the other day and almost bought you one. It’s light blue—you would like it.”
“I thought you said I should always wear sweaters.”
Carol blinks.
Bree doesn’t mean to snap. It’s a kind gesture from her mother after hearing so many years of “you should cover those up, we have guests coming over.”
“I never said that,” Carol says, defensive. “Notalways.”
Bree blows out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “Okay, well, maybe I’ll look into it. Sundresses are cute,” she adds awkwardly.
“Do you want anything to drink?” Carol is already heading down the hallway and towards the kitchen. “I have sugar-free lemonade. It’s delicious, Bree, you’d really like it.Nosugar. At all. I could send you home with some.”
“Mom, you don’t need to do that?—”