VANESSA
By the fourth property tour of the day, even I was starting to lose my enthusiasm. The realtor—a perky blonde wolf named Meredith with a smile that never quite reached her eyes—kept rambling about "potential" and "vision" as we walked through yet another dusty, neglected office space.
"Just imagine what this could be with the right renovations," she gushed, gesturing toward water-stained ceiling tiles and scuffed flooring.
"I'm trying," I muttered, checking my watch for the third time in five minutes.
Alpha Liam Thorne was now officially an hour late. The charming, calculating wolf who'd approached me at the bar after the Council meeting had insisted on joining today's property tour. "A major financial partner should have input on the foundation's headquarters," he'd said with that disarming smile that probably got him whatever he wanted most of the time.
Well, it wasn't working on me. Not when he couldn't even be bothered to show up on time.
