The Tracker's Secret: Sunderverse (Mate Tracker Book 2) by Ingrid Seymour (the gingerbread man read aloud .txt) 📗

I turned to face him, meeting Rosalina’s eyes with a quick wince as I did.

He stood framed by the door, tall and broad, his hair and beard perfectly styled, and the scent of fresh soap drifting from him. He wore a pair of dark jeans, black biker boots, a gray T-shirt, and a bomber jacket. His silver eyes twinkled with the overhead lights, and my heart did that weird, irregular drumming it always did when he unexpectedly appeared and I hadn’t braced myself to face his mouth-watering hotness.

Red licked her lips at the sight. I did, too.

Coming back to my senses, I took a couple of steps away from him, afraid he might be able to capture a new scent coming from me. He frowned as I retreated, cocking his head to one side. His nostrils widened, and I feared there would be no hiding this from him, but he dismissed my attitude as I put on an annoyed expression.

Disappointment washed over me. It was stupid. Logically, I didn’t want him to know what I was, but my heart had always been a dumbass when it came to Jacob Knight.

“Sorry,” he said, “I won’t interrupt your workday for long, I simply had a question about our landlord.”

Jake’s PI agency sat next door to ours. Only ten days ago, though it felt like a lifetime, he had shown up out of the blue after being away for one and a half years. Shamelessly, he had rented the vacant office space right on our street and had managed to drag me into an ordeal of screwed-up proportions.

Now, all I could hope for was that, since he had no more use for me, he’d decided to vacate the premises. A girl could only hope.

“Ask away,” Rosalina said.

“There are a few things that need his attention before I can officially open for business, do you know another way to contact him besides his email address? He hasn’t answered any of the messages I’ve sent him.”

Nope, he hadn’t decided to leave. Instead, he was making himself comfortable and was on the verge of opening for business. He had been doing repairs to the space. Maybe he had finished getting things the way he wanted them.

Slowly, I backed away toward my office. “I think Rosalina has his phone number, don’t you?”

She nodded, then picked up her cell phone and started scrolling through the contacts.

“I've got to get ready for a client. He’ll be here any minute.” I hooked a finger toward my office, then quickly disappeared through the open door. Once inside, I heaved a sigh of relief. It didn’t seem as if he’d detected anything different about me, but I couldn’t be sure it would remain that way. Maybe the mage’s spell hadn’t completely worn out, and as soon as it did, Jake would know.

The skin around my fingers began to itch. I scratched it absentmindedly, and when I realized what I was doing, I stopped and shook myself. Taking three deep breaths, I calmed myself. The annoying itching passed. Man, if I didn’t know better, I would say that my werewolfness came with mange.

Stupid, shifting urges!

Eager for a distraction to keep my mind off my traitorous body, I sat behind my desk and set the new customer folder in front of me. I had work to do.

ROLLING MY SHOULDERS, I took a couple of pens from a holder and placed them next to Aaron Blackridge’s folder. Quickly, I checked myself in the small mirror I kept in my desk drawer and made sure I didn’t look wolfish. Somehow I doubted that “deranged, uncontrollable shifter chick” was the kind of look that would put customers at ease.

A moment later, Rosalina appeared at the door and announced our client.

“Mr. Blackridge is here,” she said in her pleasant, businesslike tone.

I stood and shook his hand as he walked in. He was an African-American man of around twenty-five. His dark hair was arranged in locs that fell to his shoulders. He was dressed all in black except for a pair of entirely red, high top sneakers. One diamond earring pierced his right ear, and a gold chain with a heavy pendant in the shape of a treble clef hung from his neck. He offered me a warm smile that immediately made me like him.

“Good morning, Ms. Sunder,” he said in a friendly voice.

“Good morning, Mr. Blackridge. You can call me Toni. Please sit down.” I gestured toward the chair in front of my desk.

“In that case, call me Aaron.” He took a seat, and I followed suit.

“I am so glad you could see me this morning.”

“You come highly recommended by my friend. I have never seen Celina happier. She and Vincent are perfect for each other.”

“It makes me happy to hear that. I hope I can do the same for you.”

“I hope so, too.”

I picked up one of the pens and clicked it. “Let’s get started.”

Over the next few minutes, I filled out his intake form and went over the contract with him. He didn’t seem worried at all about our terms or the deposit, which was a breath of fresh air. The less affluent clients we’d worked with so far had refused to pay for our services unless they saw results. Clients like Celina and Aaron, however, splurged on far less important things all the time. Paying up-front for romantic happiness had to be easy when Starbucks trips on a private jet were the standard.

Still, I couldn’t help but feel like a greedy person. Others needed to find happiness with the right partner, too, and it wasn’t fair for them to suffer through loneliness or the wrong person because they couldn’t afford someone like me. Rosalina and I had bills to pay and clothes to wear and meals to eat, so I tried not to beat myself up about it. Maybe, when things got easier and we built up our savings and paid off our business loan, we could do a little pro bono