Amusing You - Claire Cullen Page 0,1
typical muse work week. On Monday, the alpha and their muse have dinner. On Wednesday, they spend the evening together doing salsa dancing. On Friday morning, they meet to swim laps at the local gym and grab a coffee after.”
Harper frowned at the neatly color-coded timetable. “That’s it?”
“What were you expecting?”
“I guess I thought it would be more… involved.”
Her lips quirked upward in a smile. “Oh, it can be. For our model couple, we’ve averaged out everything. Some alphas need more time and more… tactility, shall we say. They tend to opt for activities that would afford more casual contact.”
“I’m guessing you’re not talking about sex.”
She laughed softly. “Everyone always assumes, but no. Like the salsa dancing, there are activities that are considered more… intimate, and those can be very beneficial for alphas. Something as simple as sitting on a couch together watching a movie would satisfy that need for scent, physical, and social contact. Hit all the right notes, in the right proportions, and inspiration follows.”
“That doesn’t sound like a lot of effort.”
“Oh, believe me, it’s more than you think. This is not a two-way relationship: when you’re with your patron, you have to leave your own life to one side and let them be your total focus. It can be draining, emotionally and physically. That’s why we have such high standards, and why we vet all parties thoroughly. I’m here today to extend an invitation for you to be vetted for inclusion in our program.”
Huh. He was both pleased by that, and a little embarrassed that he’d assumed if they were headhunting him, he’d already been accepted.
“I thought most people applied to be represented by you. I didn’t realize your agency came looking.”
“We accept very few applicants who come to us. It’s usually for all the wrong reasons.”
“Like the money,” Harper suggested.
“That, and they’re often searching for Mr. Right. They see us as a way to weed out undesirable partners and potentially be matched with a very eligible bachelor.”
Harper snorted softly. “No such thing as Mr. Right. Believe me, I’ve looked long enough.”
In his experience, alphas liked to hang about for a while, may even come back a time or two more, but they didn’t stick around. Not for him.
“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