Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Chapter Eight
One week.
It had been one whole week since I’d publicly combusted in the arms of my stepbrother at the most exclusive supernatural event of the season, and what had he done since then?
Nothing.
Not a text. Not a call. Not even an interoffice memo with his usual condescending comments about my quarterly reports.
He hadn’t even come home.
Which meant I’d spent the past seven days tossing and turning in my bed, alternating between tears, caffeine, and pretending I didn’t exist just to survive the emotional minefield known as being ignored by the world’s most infuriating alpha.
“Maybe he’s finally realized that making me have a public orgasm was inappropriate stepbrother behavior,” I muttered, staring at my laptop screen without actually seeing any of the words on it.
“Or maybe,” Ada said carefully from her desk across the office, “he’s just processing?”
“Processing what? It was a compatibility test. That’s literally what we do here.”
She didn’t answer. Probably because I’d forbidden her from saying anything that might make me cry again, and unfortunately, logic had that effect lately.
I tried to focus on work, but everything reminded me of him. The scent dampeners we used for anonymous testing made me think of the ball. Client requests for alpha-specific compatibility protocols made my chest feel like someone was using it for kickboxing practice. Even the stupid flowers Ada kept on her desk were a painful reminder of passion vines glowing red in response to whatever had happened between us.
Whatever I’d apparently imagined was happening between us.
Like, seriously.
How could a 98.7% compatibility score lead to a week of absolute silence?
“These new applications look good,” I said, scrolling through profiles that read like a supernatural classified section. “Did you send those priority profiles to Mr. Block of Ice like I asked?”
“Yep! Sent them to Mr. Block of Ice just like you said.” Ada pushed her purple-rimmed glasses up her nose. “But I still stand by my words. Captain Permafrost is better.”
“Call him whatever you want, just not to his face.”
“I would never!”
I wished I could say I believed that. I really did. But with Ada, one really never knew.
My phone buzzed with another text from my mother asking when I was bringing my “prince” home for dinner. I’d been avoiding family meals specifically to dodge those conversations, which meant I’d also been avoiding the possibility of running into Nicolo at home.
Pathetic? Absolutely.
Necessary for my sanity? Also absolutely.
“I’m going to grab coffee,” I announced, needing air and movement and anything that didn’t involve sitting still with my thoughts.
“Can you get me one of those lavender honey lattes that smell like fairy gardens?” Ada asked, twirling a pen between her fingers so fast it became a blur. “The ones that make vampires sneeze? I have a date with that cute Viver from accounting tonight and I want to make sure he’s not secretly evil-evil.”
“Sure thing. Testing potential dates for vampirism. Totally normal Tuesday activity.”
The walk to the coffee shop gave me twenty minutes of blessed distraction, but the moment I returned to my office, and I caught a familiar whiff, a scent...
Nicolo.
He was here, finally, and hope flared in my chest at the thought.
Was he finally ready to talk about what happened—
“You’re back,” Ada cried out when she spotted me.
Oh yes, I so was, and...and so was he, and everything was going to be okay again.
I set Ada’s latte on her desk, trying to project calm competence. “Nicolo’s here, isn’t he?”
“How did you—never mind.” Ada looked at me anxiously. “He’s at Conference B, and he wants to talk to you.”
“Okay.”
I was about to walk past her when my assistant grabbed my arm. “Please be careful.”
I couldn’t help smiling, but this only made Ada look even more anxious.
“I’m serious. He doesn’t look his usual self.”
“What does he usually like?”
“Hard?”
“And now?”
“Harder?”
Right.
I smoothed down my skirt and walked to the conference room, my heart performing some kind of tribal war dance in my chest.
Nicolo was standing by the windows when I entered, his back to me, hands clasped behind him in a pose that screamed authority and control.
“You wanted to see me?”
He turned slowly, and I finally understood what Ada meant.
Indeed, he was harder now.
His eyes and the way he stared at me.
Everything about his gaze was so unforgivingly hard and cold that it made my stomach clench with dread.
“N-Nicolo?”
He studied my face for a moment, and I forced myself to meet his gaze without flinching. Whatever this was about, I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me crumble.
“I’ve completed my evaluation of your agency,” he said finally.
That...was what he wanted to talk about?
Seriously?
“The testing protocols are sound. The compatibility algorithms show promise. The client satisfaction rates are acceptable.”
That was wonderful news, really.
But I was too busy feeling scared and nauseous to say it.
Why did he feel so...hard?
“I’m prepared to give my full approval for the Concord Agency to operate independently.”