Damon's Point of View
"—and then I told her that the dress was completely wrong for the event, I mean, who wears beige to a spring gala? It's like she wasn't even trying—"
I took a sip of coffee, trying to hide my grimace. Not at the coffee—Leo made decent coffee. At the voice across from me that hadn't stopped talking since we sat down.
Wendy Taylor.
I'd known her for years. Our packs had been allies since before I was born, and our families were friendly. She was fine in small doses. Chatty, energetic, harmless.
But this—sitting across from her in a private room while she rambled about dresses and gossip and absolutely nothing of substance—was torture.
"Are you listening, Damon?"
"Hmm?" I looked up from my coffee.
She pouted slightly, a calculated expression that probably worked
