“Then your motivation for joining us would be…”
He huffed out a breath. “Looking for a change, I guess. A challenge. Life’s gotten a bit too easy. My friends are moving on to new and better things, and I’m still here, just the same old me.”
Her smile dimmed for a moment, and he cursed inwardly, suspecting he’d blown his chances.
“I appreciate the honest answer.” He waited for the but. “That’s exactly the kind of attitude we like our muses to have. That this is another job—a vocation if you will. With skills to be learned and mastered. It’s hard work, and you’re well compensated for it.” She leaned in and murmured, “It doesn’t hurt that many of our clientele are easy on the eye.”
Harper laughed, “No, I can’t imagine it does. Alright, you’ve got my interest piqued. What next?”
“Take some time to think it over. At least a day or two—there’s no rush. Then, if you’re still interested, contact me. My details are here, on my card.” She held it out, and he took it. “You can also contact me through our website or the agency’s direct line if you want to vet my credentials. Safety first. It’s one of our mottos.”
“Sounds… secure.”
She smiled as she packed her tablet and phone away.
“It was good to meet you, Harper. I hope to hear from you soon.”
She got up and went to the counter to pay, leaving Harper to sit there and contemplate her words, spinning her card around and around in his fingers. Zac wasn’t going to believe this.
Chapter Two
“Uninspired, boring, prosaic. A design with all the hallmarks of a tired civil servant and not an architect who should be at the prime of his career.” Beckett tossed the newspaper onto the desk between them. “Well, fuck. Scott Collins has his claws out for us this time.”
“For me, you mean.” William put his head in his hands as the scathing words played over in his mind. “Let’s face it, Beckett—he’s not wrong. I’ve lost my creativity, my enthusiasm, my talent. I’m washed up, and I’m not even thirty yet.”
His friend snorted, leaning back in his chair. “Are you finished, or do you need to mope a bit longer?”
“You think that’s what I’m doing? Moping? I’m single-handedly driving this partnership into the ground. Can’t you see that?”
“One bad project does not a disaster make.”
Beckett was far more forgiving to William than he was to himself.
“Except it’s not one bad project, is it? It’s every project. Architectural design used to excite me; now it’s like pulling teeth. I only finished the Samson project because you took creative control. It’s not fair to expect you to babysit my projects while managing your own. Maybe it’s time for us to part ways.”
Beckett raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so that’s how you’re going to handle this, is it? Running away from your problems? Very mature.”
William all but growled in frustration. “Well, what do you suggest?”
“What I’ve been suggesting all along: get back on the dating scene, find yourself a life outside of work.”
“We’ve talked about that. I—I am not ready to go down that road again.”
“It’s been years, William. If not now, when?”
“Never sounds good to me. I do well alone.”
Beckett tapped the newspaper. “Not that well, clearly.”
“Dating isn’t going to fix my problems.”
“Neither is walking away from what we’ve built together.”
“Then what am I supposed to do?”
“Well, if you’re not willing to try the normal route, then how about the professional?”
William had a sneaking suspicion he knew exactly what Beckett was hinting at, but he was going to make him spell it out.
“Meaning?”
“You’re not the first alpha to feel this way, and you certainly won’t be the last. If you don’t want the complications of a relationship, but you want the creative benefits that a relationship gives you, then there’s only one solution. A muse.”
William groaned. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”
“Hey, there’s no shame in it. Not if you do it properly, go through one of the reputable agencies. They vet the clients, they vet the muses, there’s a standard non-disclosure contract signed by all parties, and they match you with the kind of person you need.”
“It’s a terrible idea.”
“What’s the alternative? A few more reviews like this are going to sink your career, William. And you’ve only gotten started.”
Beckett was right. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. If he didn’t do something soon, he was going to be crushed under the weight of his own apathy.
“Have you ever had one?” he asked Beckett.
“A muse? No, never needed one. And not because I’m just that good. Before Zac, before Darcy, I loved dating. It was rare that I didn’t have a special someone in my life. But if I was the solitary, recalcitrant type, I’d probably have taken the easier route now and then and gotten myself a muse. It doesn’t have to be a big deal, William. No one has to know. They come complete with a cover story for how you know each other, how you met, and why you’re hanging out. There doesn’t need to be a neon sign above your head telling everyone about it.”
“Well, that’s a relief. Who looks good under neon light?”
Beckett grinned at him. “That’s the spirit. Now, remember Jerry Ledger? He always gets a muse when he’s got a big project brewing.”
“Isn’t he married? With kids?”
“To a beautiful beta woman who makes him very happy but doesn’t satisfy that need for creative inspiration. Once or twice a year, he outsources. Both of them are happy with the arrangement.”
“So they say.”
Beckett made a sound of frustration. “Can you try not to put a negative spin on everything? I’m doing my best to help here.”
William held his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. Okay, let’s say I agree to do this. Where the hell do I start?”
“You need to pick one of the muse agencies. A good one. I’m warning you now, I’ve heard they’re costly.”
William waved that off. “Not a concern if they can provide what I need and be discreet about it. Who does Jerry use?”
“Ignition. Though I’ve heard they’re a little lax on their screening processes. If you’re looking for discretion, Inspire Inc. has the best reputation for that, according to a mutual friend of ours.”
“Who?” William was mystified as to how Beckett was aware of what all these alphas got up to in their free time.
Beckett leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Max Davelin.”
“Seriously?”
“For that multibillion-dollar Knightstone Project.”
“But his spouse is an omega, isn’t he? We met him at the gala last month. Simon something…”
“Simon Becker, of the Becker diamonds. A power match rather than a love match, I guess. Not much inspiration to be found inside or outside the bed sheets, or so the rumors go. Max needed a little… help… on the q.t.”