The Wolfe's Debutante

The Wolfe's Debutante Wolfe Brothers Book 4 Cora North Copyright © 2023 Cora North All rights reservedThe characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.ISBN-13: 9798375100128ISBN-10: 1477123456Cover design by: Art PainterLibrary of Congress Control Number: 2018675309Printed in the United States of America Contents Title Page Copyright 1-Eleanor 2-Eleanor 3-Eleanor 4-Grayson 5-Grayson 6-Eleanor 7-Eleanor 8-Eleanor 9-Eleanor 10-Grayson 11-Grayson 12-Eleanor 13- Eleanor 14-Eleanor 15-Eleanor 16-Eleanor 17-Eleanor 18-Grayson 19-Grayson 20-Eleanor 21-Grayson 22-Grayson 23-Eleanor 24-Eleanor 25-Grayson 26-Eleanor 27-Grayson 28-Eleanor 29-Grayson 30-Eleanor 31-Grayson 32-Eleanor 33-Grayson 34-Eleanor 35-Grayson 36-Eleanor 37-Eleanor 38-Grayson 39-Eleanor 40-Eleanor 41-Grayson 42-Epilogue Afterword Taming the Boss About The Author 1-Eleanor Standing between me and sweet escape, other than my sanity and my entire well-ordered life, is the climb down from this second-story window in the designer gown I’m wearing. It’s not that different from the one I wore at my debutante ball, a rite of passage for society girls like me. Except instead of white, this dress is red. And, instead of a perfectly polite and naïve seventeen year-old girl with a heart full of secret dreams, I’m a jaded woman of twenty-three and bride-to-be preparing to flee my engagement party. Could I go back down to the party and say ‘I’m sorry but the engagement is off?’ Yes but climbing out a window seems less terrifying than admitting what a total farce my relationship was in front of nearly everyone I know. There’s a twisted sense of satisfaction in the sound of tearing silk as my evening gown becomes a minidress. The evening breeze stirs my hair as I poke my head out the window. The country club’s lawn is deserted and the darkened golf course stretches on for several acres. It’s not far to a sturdy-looking branch of this butternut tree. Now or never, Norrie. With a deep breath, I reach for freedom… and nearly go splat in the rose bushes below. “Eeeeeee!” Luckily, the occasional bicep curl saves me from a broken neck since Tarzan isn’t here to swoop in and do the honors. Clinging to the branch below the one I was originally aiming for, I do a quick assessment. Am I injured? No. Did I scare the bejesus out of the poor squirrel who’s chittering loudly at me now? Probably. (Do squirrels attack people?) Are those rose bushes going to hurt like hell when I land in them? Yep. “Sorry. Lovely home you have here,” I tell the squirrel. I hope that he’ll count us as friends soon. I can hear music filtering through the lower level windows. The party’s still in full swing. No one’s missed me or suspected my flight yet. I need to get moving. That’s a problem though because my minor dislike of heights has suddenly become a full-blown phobia. And, oops. There go my heels. How far down is it? Maybe eight feet? “I’ll bet you could make that jump easily.” The squirrel hops closer, its tail twitching. “I used to think you guys were just rats with bushy tails.” He glares at me with beady little eyes. “No offense.” Okay. Just gotta let go of this branch and barrel roll maybe? I’m not a stunt woman. Also, thorns. Chin up. You can do it, Norrie. “No, I really don’t think I can,” I whimper to the cheerful little voice inside my head I labeled Mom years ago. Too late, I realize I should not have thought of my mother. She wouldn’t understand this hare-brained move from me. Meanwhile, my father will be furious. I’ve always strived to be the perfect daughter, the poised and elegant girl who does everything right. Oh no. This will cause a scandal, won’t it? I should go back inside. I’ll simply go through with this party, marry Fox in six months and be grateful not to die an ignominious death of being impaled by rose bushes. Don’t cry. Don’t freak out. You’re a Fairfield. You can do this. With grace and decorum. You can… marry a man you detest, smile while doing it and be miserable until the end of your days. “I can’t do that,” I tell the squirrel on the verge of tears. “Isn’t there a lovely, larger tree you know of where I could live? Maybe a tree house? How did my life get this messed up? And, since when do I talk to squirrels?” A piercing wolf whistle interrupts my emotional breakdown. “Nice legs. Has the squirrel answered you yet?” My fear and distress are momentarily forgotten at the sound of that voice - Grayson Wolfe. “Go away, Wolfe.” The squirrel chitters angrily in agreement with me. “My friend says to go away, too.” Of course, he doesn’t do that. He strolls right up to my butternut tree’s trunk, too dapper for anyone’s peace of mind in his tux, and leans against it, grinning like Christmas came early. Why is this man blessed with such devilish good looks and such a charming smile? “Not going anywhere until you explain this one to me, Fairfield. Is this a new hazing ritual for brides-to-be? You’re past your sorority days by now, right?” “As if I would ever have done half the bone-headed things you probably did,” I grumble. (It is a little hard to feel superior hanging from this branch though.) My arms are starting to shake and my hands are already tender from the rough bark. I’m about at the end of my stay here. And, I’d really prefer it if Grayson Wolfe doesn’t watch me break my ankle. He’s strong, Norrie. He could carry you someplace to get help if you do. Yes, he could. But I don’t want his help. “Please, go inside and forget you saw me. Or go