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2.3% Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha / Chapter 3: Work Woes

Bab 3: Work Woes

Memories of the night before keep intruding when I'm supposed to be portraying myself as cold, distant, and unaffected.

Like now, when Scott's leading a team meeting and singling me out with snotty little comments, as if my work is what's bringing the department down.

As he drones on about how unprofessional our reports are, my mind drifts back to my steamy encounter with the stranger. My biggest regret? Not taking him up on that hotel offer.

Or giving him my phone number.

No, stupid me was all, I don't give my number to strangers.

What am I, a child?

Then again, he could be a serial killer. So there's that.

Mind-blowing sex doesn't mean someone's an amazing person. Though, mediocre sex also doesn't guarantee results, apparently.

"…Ms. d'Armand, is this too boring for you?" Scott's voice cuts through more fun thoughts, and I blink in his direction.

"Too boring? Not at all. I was just contemplating the intricacies of our latest anti-magic protocols. Fascinating stuff." As much as I'd love to stuff my words full of the sarcasm I feel, I manage to keep my tone bland and boring.

Professional.

It's a workplace, after all. I'm the dumbass who dated my boss.

Maybe I should get a new job.

Scott's scowl deepens, etching lines across his forehead. The room falls silent, save for a few hushed whispers. The rumors have already flown; everyone saw us arrive separately this morning.

They've been gossiping all morning, that tiny little clue developing into a raging bonfire of half-truths and speculation.

"Well, since you find it so captivating, perhaps you'd like to share your progress on the Fernsby case?"

Ah, yes. The Fernsby case. A high-profile client with more money than sense and a paranoia streak a mile wide.

Exactly the kind of consumer I love.

They want to know everything, and they always want the best of the best.

"Certainly." I stand, smoothing my skirt and ignoring the prickling sensation of eyes on me. "As you're all aware, Mr. Fernsby requested a complete overhaul of his estate's security system. We've completed the initial assessment and identified several weak points in the current setup."

I tap my tablet, bringing up a holographic display of the Fernsby mansion. Red markers highlight vulnerable areas.

"The main issue lies in the outdated ward stones. They're still using first-generation repulsion spells, which any halfway decent warlock could crack in their sleep, not to mention vampires. They could sneeze those spells apart."

A snicker ripples through the room. Even Scott's lips twitch, though he quickly schools his expression back to stern disapproval.

"We've proposed replacing them with our latest Aegis-class ward stones. They're equipped with adaptive shielding that learns and evolves to counter new magical threats."

I zoom in on the perimeter, showcasing the proposed upgrades.

"Additionally, we're recommending the installation of our new Specter-series surveillance orbs. They can detect even the faintest traces of magical residue, making them perfect for catching any would-be intruders trying to mask their presence."

Scott nods, his earlier irritation seemingly forgotten. "And the timeline for implementation?"

"Barring any unforeseen complications, we should have everything up and running within three weeks. I've already drafted a proposal for Mr. Fernsby's approval, including a detailed breakdown of costs and benefits."

"Good." Scott's gaze lingers on me a moment too long. "I trust you'll keep me updated on any developments."

"Of course." I take my seat, pointedly avoiding eye contact with my coworkers.

The meeting drones on, but my mind wanders again. This time, it's not to steamy bathroom encounters, but to the mess that is my personal life. How did I end up here? Engaged to my boss, now ex-fiancé, trying to maintain a professional facade while the entire office speculates about our relationship status.

It's exhausting, and it hasn't even been 24 hours.

When Scott finally wraps up the meeting, I'm the first one out the door. I need air, space, anything to escape the suffocating atmosphere of whispers and sidelong glances.

I make it halfway down the hall before a hand catches my elbow. I don't need to turn to know who it is.

"Nicole, wait."

I spin to face Scott, plastering on my best 'I'm a consummate professional' smile. "Yes? Did you need something else for the Fernsby case?"

His eyes dart around the hallway, checking for eavesdroppers. "Can we talk? Privately?"

Every fiber of my being screams 'no,' but I hear myself say, "Fine. Your office or mine?"

"Mine." Of course. Can't risk anyone overhearing in my lowly cubicle.

I follow him into his office, the door clicking shut behind us with a finality that sets my teeth on edge. Scott leans against his desk, arms crossed, looking every bit the picture of contrition.

"Look, about yesterday—"

I hold up a hand. "Save it. I'm not interested in your excuses. All I want to know is when you're coming to get your shit."

"It wasn't what it looked like, I swear."

A humorless laugh escapes me. "Really? Because it looked an awful lot like you in bed with another woman. Please, enlighten me on how I misinterpreted that situation."

Scott runs a hand through his hair, mussing it in that way that used to make my heart skip. Now it just makes me want to muss it further. With my fist.

"She's a consultant. For a special project. We just met last week."

"Oh? And does this 'special project' require you to be naked?"

He winces. "It's complicated. There are things I can't explain, not without compromising—"

"Your integrity? Too late for that." I cross my arms, mirroring his stance. "Look, I don't care about your excuses or your 'special projects.' What I care about is maintaining a professional working relationship. Can you do that?"

Scott's shoulders slump. "Nicole, I swear. If you would just let me explain. Yes, it was a lapse of judgment."

"I'd say being dick-deep is more than a lapse of judgment, Scott. Is that all you wanted to say?" I ask, already reaching for the door handle.

"Nicole, I—" He stops, seeming to think better of whatever he was about to say. Running his hands through his hair, he blows out a frustrated breath.

"Look. Everything's new, and we have a lot to work through. I said a few terrible things. I made a mistake. But Nicole, our relationship is solid. I don't want to lose you. I'll do anything to prove that to you."

My lip curls in disdain. I thought I loved him, thought our future together was rock-solid. Maybe not full of passion, but I liked that. I wanted a simple life, and a simple love.

But all those warm feelings I felt toward him are gone now. Disappeared in a single moment.

All I can see is his ass pumping. All I can hear are his moans. Things I never should hear when I open the door to my home.

To my sanctuary.

I've never even had a roommate. Scott was allowed into my sacred peace, and he shattered it. Destroyed our relationship, all to get his dick wet.

Is it my fault? We had sex once a week, usually on Saturdays, to end a stressful week of work.

Was that not enough?

No. That's stupid. The real problem is that we never should have been together.

His pheromones never affected me. He's never once put me at a fever-pitch of desire.

A single stranger did in about two seconds, and he never managed it once in two years.

Scott and I are incompatible.

"Just let me know when you're coming by for your shit. I already brought you a bag of clothes to last you the week."


Bab 4: Barracudas

The rest of the day is as much of a shitshow as the morning.

Every damn place I go, the conversation ceases, leaving only awkward silence. Yeah. I get it. My love life is top gossip material right now.

As angry as I am with Scott, I have no intention of airing my dirty laundry.

Who wants to advertise that they were a fool engaged to a cheater? Ugh.

I spend way too much time avoiding Scott, which only serves to drive resentment deeper. Dating in the workplace is stupid, and now I have to worry about every interaction between us.

Not to mention dating your boss.

Double stupid.

I must have thrown my brain in the dumpster when I gave in to his persistent overtures.

A sharp snap jolts me from my brooding. I blink, focusing on the hand waving in front of my face.

"Earth to Nicole. You in there?"

Shit. How long has he been talking? I plaster on a smile, hoping it doesn't look as fake as it feels. "Sorry, Mike. Got lost in thought for a second. What were you saying?"

Mike leans against my cubicle wall, his brow furrowed. "You okay? You've been spacing out all day."

"I'm fine." The words taste like dirt in my mouth. "Just partied a little too hard last night." Which is very true. A little too true. And now my brain wants to go down the rabbit hole of powerful hands and firm abs and—Oh my God. Not here, brain! I'm at work!

He nods, but I can see the doubt in his eyes as they flicker toward Scott's office. "If you say so. Anyway, I was asking if you'd heard about the new liaison project?"

My eyebrows shoot up. "Liaison project? What liaison project?"

Mike's eyes widen. "You haven't heard? I thought for sure Scott would've told you."

The mention of Scott's name sends a fresh wave of anger through me. I grit my teeth, forcing my voice to remain neutral. This is a clear fishing expedition, but the information is desirable enough that I take the bait. "Scott and I aren't exactly on speaking terms right now."

"Oh." Mike clears his throat. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

Liar. I wave off his apology. "It's fine. Tell me about this project."

He hesitates for a moment, then shrugs. "Well, from what I've heard, we're going to be working with another department on some big case. Something a little bigger than our usual consulting."

My curiosity piques, momentarily pushing aside thoughts of barracuda gossipers. "Which department?"

"That's the thing," Mike leans in, lowering his voice. "Nobody knows. It's all very hush-hush. Some people say it's over the serial vampire murders."

I scoff. "The Supernatural Enforcement Division would never stoop to consulting with us."

Our company is the best of the best. That comes with a price tag. SED Officers aren't fond of that.

"Do we know anything about the case?"

Mike shakes his head. "Not much. Just that it's big enough to warrant interdepartmental cooperation."

I lean back in my chair with a frown. For something of this level to happen, it would need to be in the works for a while—or something huge happened behind the scenes to necessitate urgency.

"When did you hear about this?" I ask, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. It isn't his fault that I'm in the dark, after all.

Presumably, none of us should even know about it.

But if Mike knows and I don't—I know exactly who to blame.

"Just this morning. Scott called a meeting with some of the team leads." Mike's expression turns sympathetic. "I'm sure he was planning to tell you..."

Fucking bingo.

A sharp laugh escapes me before I can cut it off. "Right. Of course he was."

Mike winces. "Look, Nicole, I don't know what's going on between you two, but—"

"Nothing's going on," I snap, then immediately regret it. It's not Mike's fault my personal life is imploding. I take a deep breath, forcing my voice to soften. "Sorry. I appreciate you filling me in."

Maybe he isn't a barracuda gossip after all.

He nods, clearly eager to escape the awkward situation. "No problem. I should get back to work. Let me know if you need anything, okay?"

I watch him retreat, twirling a pen in my hands. A liaison project with the Supernatural Enforcement Division, but Scott didn't see the need to invite me to the meeting? I'm one of our top anti-magic security specialists, for fuck's sake.

There's no way I'm going to let him fuck over my career when he's the asshole in our little soap opera.

I pull up my work email, scanning for any mention of the project. Nothing. Not even a vague hint.

Frustration bubbles up inside me. I should be excited about this. A chance to work on something big, to prove myself beyond the shadow of my relationship with Scott.

Instead, I'm being left in the dark.

My gaze drifts to Scott's office. The blinds are drawn, but I can see the faint outline of him moving around inside. Part of me wants to storm in there and demand answers. But the larger, more rational part knows that's a terrible idea.

I can't let our personal drama affect my work. I've worked too damn hard to get where I am.

And whoever he was before yesterday doesn't matter.

Now, he's my boss. Nothing more.

I have zero reason to expect anything from that jerk.

My computer chimes with a new email notification. For a moment, I hope it's about the project. But it's just a reminder about the upcoming office potluck. I delete it with more force than necessary.

I shove my frustrations aside and focus on the projects demanding my attention. The Fernsby quote needs a follow-up, especially if Scott's going to hang it over my head. I wouldn't put it past him to claim my productivity's down and write me up for a poor attitude.

His hot-and-cold routine is already old, and the day's barely started.

I check my inbox, expecting Fernsby's usual prompt response.

Empty.

Odd. They're never this tardy.

I scribble a note to call them tomorrow. Can't let this one slip through the cracks. It's too lucrative to lose over a missed email.

My fingers fly over the keyboard, churning out responses to a backlog of messages. Delete. Archive. Flag for later. The rhythm of work soothes my frayed nerves, pushing thoughts of Scott and mystery projects to the back of my mind.

A shrill beep cuts through my concentration. A notification lights up my phone screen, warning me about an upcoming appointment.

It's 1:55 PM. The appointment is slotted for 2:00.

Is it that late already? Triple shit on a sundae. I worked right through lunch, and my stomach—now aware of what it's missing—twists and growls in my belly, frustrated with its neglect.

"Dammit," I groan, rubbing my temples. "This is how it starts. Skip lunch once, and suddenly you're that person who lives off coffee and vending machine crackers." The vending machines here aren't terrible, but my hips don't need any extra padding from the empty calories.

"Sounds like you've got it bad."

The deep, husky voice sends a jolt through me. I whirl around, nearly toppling out of my chair.


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