Her Werewolf Lover: Michael and Samantha (The Macconwood Pack Tales #15)

Chapter 7

T hat evening, Michael sat at the desk inside his home office and went over his schedule for the next few weeks, sending his assistant the instructions he’d need to cancel and reschedule any meetings or important business calls.

His mind flitted over his meeting that afternoon, and he growled deep inside his chest.

Samantha was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen. Full of lush curves and a plethora of color. His Sunshine was so bright and full of life.

Oh, she’d been put through it. He could tell. But what was better than a phoenix rising from the ashes? His Sunshine was just like that. She was stronger than she thought, and he couldn’t wait to see her take flight .

His phone rang and seeing her number scroll across the screen hit him right in the gut.

“Hello?” he asked, answering it right away.

There weren’t many things he found irresistible in life, but this redheaded female was one of them.

“Michael?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” he replied.

“This is Samantha. Samantha Haleigh Jones. We met this afternoon,” she said, as if he could have forgotten.

He grinned and inhaled, wishing he could smell her French vanilla ice cream scented skin right now.

“What can I do for you, Sunshine?”

“I wasn’t sure when you were coming back, but it dawned on me you might need the original floor plans for the house? I have them scanned and can email them to you, only I wasn’t sure where to send them,” she said, her voice huskier than it’d been earlier in the day, and he wondered if she was feeling tired.

“That’s great. I would very much like to see those floor plans. Here, I’ll give you my email address,” Michael said and rattled off his old Gmail account.

“Perfect. So, um, when are you thinking you can start? I have a few meetings this week, but almost all of them can be done remotely, so I am here to help.”

She was charming. Utterly charming .

“I’ll be there tomorrow with a crew,” he told her, impressed by her spirit and determination.

“Great. The sooner we start, the sooner I won’t be afraid Nosferatu is going to jump out behind one of these velvet curtains every time I walk into a room,” she joked.

“Ha ha. So, uh, you didn’t see the house before you moved in?”

“Only photos of the outside. Very clever of my ex. I’ll give him that.”

“Very deceptive, you mean. He should be the one paying for this whole renovation.”

“No thanks. That would mean having to speak to him, and I would rather not.”

“I hear you on that. By the way, I have a contact who deals in second-hand furniture. He might want to take some of those pieces you don’t want off your hands. Believe it or not, people collect that kind of stuff,” Michael said.

“That would be great, thanks. He can have everything, really. I don’t want any of it,” she said, and Michael could believe that.

The web browser still open on Michael’s computer pinged, and he heard a similar noise coming from Samantha’s side of the phone.

“Texting the number now,” he murmured, sharing the contact .

“Thanks, I’ll email him right away. Oh, shit,” she whispered.

“What is it?” Michael asked.

But he already knew. His eyes widened in surprise as he registered the photo he was looking at. It was her.

His Sunshine.

And her image was plastered across his screen in all her glory with strategically placed black bars barely covering her nudity flashing across his screen.

“That sonovabitch. You’re seeing this, right? I heard your computer. It just hit all the damn tabloids. Goddamnit, Gary!”

“Sam—”

“ That photo was taken by an artist, not a lover. It was for a charity calendar! And he’s leaked it for everyone to see,” she said, sounding equal parts shocked and angry.

Michael could feel her anger as palpable as his own. And his was tremendous. Fuck her ex for being such a sleaze.

The headline on his internet feed was from Hollywood Hotline News . It said Proof the Former Plus Sized June Girl Had Extramarital Affairs in bold letters.

But that wasn’t what Michael was searching for, there, he found it. The name of the so-called journalist.

Michael growled.

The bastard was going to be lucky to be alive tomorrow. As of right now, Michael was busy using his connections and money to get that article shut down.

Being rich had its perks. Getting that fucking hack reporter to print an immediate retraction was one of them. He already had his best guys on it.

He’d roused David Marquez, his executive assistant, from his bed to see to this. It was fine. The man made plenty of money and his loyalty was unmatched.

“Samantha, look, I am so sorry. Now, I don’t want you to worry about this,” he said.

“Goddamn it. He just can’t leave me alone, can he?” she whispered, and the sound of her sorrow had him growling louder.

“Do you have a dog?”

“What? Um, yeah, sorry,” Michael replied and cleared his throat.

“Look, Sam, are you okay?”

“What? Yeah. I, uh, didn’t take you for a Hollywood Hotline kind of guy,” she said and tried to laugh, but it came out sad instead .

“Sorry, my daughter is very, very interested in celebrity gossip magazines. She uses my computer all the time. And really, I can’t imagine how you feel. It must be pretty awful having your deepest darkest secrets revealed to the press. Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” he said and felt like kicking himself for that stupid comment.

Michael braced himself for her outrage. Instead, she surprised him by laughing. Not a fake polite chuckle, but a deep, throaty laugh.

“No, it’s alright really. I guess, well, I was taken by surprise. And I wouldn’t call them my deepest darkest secrets. This is just an example of how bad it is when you take something out of context. The photo was for a charity magazine to raise funds for cancer research. That was one of the negatives,” she explained.

“Who’s the photographer?”

“Oh, um, his name is Parker Fiore,” she said.

Michael wrote the name down. It sounded familiar, and he wondered where he might have heard it before. Didn’t matter. His guys would find out who he was, and they’d have him write a statement about the photo.

“It was awful having our divorce become such a public conversation piece. But so much of me has been public over the years, I guess I’m immune,” she continued .

“I doubt that very much,” he said softly.

“No really, I’m fine. Besides, it’s an old story. You know the old bimbo dumped for a newer, younger model. But hey, if they’re talking about me, they’re giving some other poor slob a break, so it’s really alright, I guess.”

“I don’t know you well enough yet to determine if you really are okay, but I want you to know you don’t have to pretend with me. I am here if you want to talk.”

“Oh, um, thanks. Sorry, I was calling about your schedule. I didn’t have any idea this would happen. Um, yeah, so I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said.

Damn, she was cute when she got nervous.

“Goodnight, Samantha. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Michael waited for her to hang up before he dialed his assistant. Emails were fine and good, but nothing motivated like a good old fashioned phone call.

“I want a rundown now,” Michael said without preamble.

“I am on it, Boss. We tracked down Fiore, and the journalist,” David replied, and the sound of him clacking away at his keyboard soothed Michael’s angry Wolf.

“No quarter, David. No shortcuts. Buy the fucking tabloid if you have to. ”

Then he hung up and not a moment too soon.

“Dad, I’m going to bed!” Maya called from the hall.

“Okay, Princess. I’m coming,” he said, and moved to the hallway to hug his daughter goodnight.

Maybe he would go to sleep too. He was eager for morning. For tomorrow. For her.