Pack Deception: Part One, page 8
"Mason..." Mav starts.
"No, Maverick, if we're going to start a relationship with her, it will be done the right way. In good faith. What happens down the road when she finds out you deliberately paraded your exes around to trick her into being with you? You think that'll go over well?" Goddess, that would be a nightmare. Shame washes through me at Mason's words, but he continues. "Look, I don't know why she can't feel we're her mates, but maybe she will. With time and the right way. Because I can tell you one thing for sure, I won't stand by and let you treat her like less than she deserves." Like he's just dropped a mic, Mason shakes his head at us and walks away. Mav looks distraught watching him go, and I feel like the world's biggest asshole as his words linger in the now tense atmosphere.
"He's right," Brooke whispers, leaning her head down and resting her forehead against the cool marble.
"Of course he's right. We'll just have to keep doing what we're doing," Mav says and walks away, too. Only he doesn't follow Mason, he walks the opposite way, back to the gym.
I hope Summer starts to feel our mate bond soon, otherwise I fear it may just tear those two apart.
Ten
Summer
"Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit." I stumble in my haste to put my foot in my small kitten heel while hustling around the apartment to grab the rest of my work things. The manuscript is still on the small coffee table in front of the couch where I left it. Right before I started in on the tequila again.
Just as I was finishing the last of my edits, their emotions started filtering through again. Nothing so distracting at first. It started out with Jade’s boredom, and Connor and Brody's adrenaline. I imagined they were working out together. But, at some point, they must have felt me feeling them, and the torment started again. Every strong emotion they could conjure hit me through the rest of the evening. Rage. Disgust. Grief. That gave me pause. Even though they hurt me first, it still didn't sit right that I was causing them pain, too. If I was even the cause of their grief. It could be anything I suppose. But the emotion that really gave me pause was the lust they were throwing at me.
I tried not to imagine what they were doing that would invoke a lustful reaction, but my mind wouldn't listen to my head. First, I thought they were fooling around with each other. But it was hard to conjure that image since they were all so alpha that none of them had ever been willing to relinquish control in the bedroom long enough to be together that way. Then I thought maybe they were watching porn long enough to feel turned on to torment me. When those thoughts started feeling too benign, my brain switched to maybe they found a new omega. Then the horror really set in. Not horror that maybe they've moved on. But because there could be an omega entering into the same situation right now that I was in two years ago. Lost and looking for a pack, only to be drugged and basically forced into a bond. It was at that point in the evening, when I had just finished editing and the bond became too much, that I started drinking.
Halfway through the bottle, it was easy to not feel them anymore. I wasn't feeling much of anything at that point, though. I'd passed out at some point and just woke up to my alarm blaring. When I glanced at the time on the alarm, I noticed it had been going off for twenty minutes before it woke me up from my drunken slumber. I was already cutting it close on time, but I had to shower away the smell of booze leaking from my pores. So now here I am, frantically racing around my apartment to, if I'm lucky, make it to work only five minutes late.
Manuscript, phone, and keys shoved into my purse, I'm out the door only fifteen minutes after the alarm woke me up. With my head pounding, I can’t help but think at the rate I'm going, by the time these three months are up and I'm able to take the bond suppressant again, I'll have to attend AA meetings.
Out on the sidewalk, I'm doing a fast walk slash slow run the entire way to Pen2Paper Press, weaving in and out of everyone else leisurely walking to work. The wind is whipping my wet hair this way and that. It slaps against my face every few steps, and I huff, pushing it back aggressively each time. My fingers get tangled at one point, and I'm dreading looking in a mirror when I get to work. I'm such a mess.
Building in sight, I slow to a walk, air coming in fast and short as I try to regulate my breathing. I walk through the revolving door closest to me and through the foyer to the nearest bathroom. The sight that greets me when I glance in the mirror is horrifying. I root around in my purse for a hair tie. I can't find it, so I dump the entire contents onto the small shelf space above the sink and search every gum wrapper, tampon, and piece of lint for a hair tie or rubber band. I look between the pages of Dillan's semi-crumpled manuscript for a hair tie I may have accidentally used as a bookmark. Goddess, I would take a piece of string to tie my hair up right now. Finding nothing, a frustrated sob rushes to the surface, but I choke it down, feeling the lump get stuck painfully in my throat.
Instead, I try finger brushing my hair into submission. I've just finished half of it when the bathroom door opens, and the scent of lavender and mint invade the space. I sigh, the scent instantly calming me. Not completely but enough so I no longer feel like curling in a ball and weeping over my sorry life. A stunning brunette steps up to the sink beside me and, to my horror, it's Brooklyn Whitlock. Agent to Dillan Doherty and the head alpha of Pack Whitlock, who I have been running into a lot the past week or so. Of course she would show up now, when I'm such a hot mess. She's probably here for a meeting with Jerrick. He'll be continuing negotiations for the rights to Dillan's next book today.
"Rough morning?" she asks in a voice that is equal parts husky and alluring. I glance over to nod at her pathetically and get caught in her stunning gray gaze. I've seen her several times before, so I don't know why her eyes look even more enchanting today, contrasting to the dark brunette, almost black color of her hair. She's taller than me by several inches and has a lean, athletic build that I'm immediately drawn to and envious of. I've never been confident in my overly curvy omega body, but especially not when I'm standing in front of someone like Brooklyn, who looks like she knows exactly how beautiful she is. The lavender pant suit she is wearing is flowy in a way that was obviously planned and looks incredible. Lavender suit to match her lavender scent–fitting. In contrast, my suit fits my body all wrong. The button up is tight on my chest and loose around my waist and hips. My pants are stretched tight against my hips and ass, the fabric on its last stitch, and baggy everywhere else.
While I'm distracted comparing our bodies and drooling over her, Brooklyn digs in her own purse and pulls out a compact brush, handing it to me in question. I groan in relief.
"Oh my Goddess. Thank you. You are a lifesaver." I grab the brush from her, ignoring the thrill that shoots through me as my fingers graze hers and start brushing it out. My hair has a natural wave to it, though, and with each swipe of the brush, it gets somehow frizzier. Less tangled, but more unruly. A husky chuckle comes from beside me, and then a hair tie appears in front of my face. I give her an impish grin and mutter another thanks. When I go to throw it up in a messy bun, she stops me.
"Do you mind?" she asks, looking a little unsure but pointing to my hair. I know I'm already late, and I should probably say no so I'm not even more so, but I can't. Something about Brooklyn makes me want to please her. So I nod again, and she grins at me. I feel my cheeks flush at the satisfactory smile that lights up her face.
Since she's already a good four inches taller than me, I don't have to bend over as she runs her fingers through my hair and starts french braiding it with deft fingers. As she goes, her fingernails scrape against my scalp, and I can't help the purr that escapes me in response. She stops her braiding at that and stiffens momentarily. A second later, I get a whiff of her arousal that has my knees shaking and my core tightening. An omega’s perfume is very in your face, but because of our heightened senses, any arousal is noticeable if you’re in the right setting. I probably couldn’t have been able to tell at the bar with so many people and scents, but in this enclosed space with just Brooklyn and me, it’s obvious. I stay absolutely still. As much as I can, I try to ignore the perfume leaking out of me in response and, bless her, she does as well. It's a little awkward as we both ignore our baser instincts, but she goes back to braiding my hair after clearing her throat. I hand her back the hair tie when she gets to the end, and she wraps it around a few times.
I turn back around on shaky feet, stare up, and murmur a thank you. She reaches out and pulls a few pieces from the braid to frame my face, twisting them on her finger as she does. Brooklyn stares at me for a moment when she's finished, fingers still lingering around my face. "Beautiful," she murmurs, and I can physically feel my heart rate pick up and heat rise to my cheeks. She thinks I'm beautiful? I'm nothing compared to her. Still, I'm blushing furiously, and she takes the opportunity to cup my cheek with her hand. Her palm is soft and warm against my face. I close my eyes and lean into the touch.
A small purr starts to build in her chest at my response to her. Before I can make a fool of myself, the bathroom door opens, and I jump a mile in the air. While I startle at the beta woman that walks in, Brooklyn gives me an indulgent smile and steps away with a calm, assured demeanor. I bring my hands to my cheeks to try to will away the permanent blush. They feel hot to the touch, causing an embarrassed moan to escape.
Brooklyn's husky chuckle just makes them burn hotter. "Come on, cherub. I think we have a meeting to attend."
"Oh Goddess." I'm going to be so late now. I reach out to grab my purse and realize its entire contents are still spilled across the marble shelf. I quickly grab everything and shove it back in my purse. When I turn to leave, Brooklyn is standing there waiting for me. She grabs my hand in hers and starts to pull me out of the bathroom. Her shoes are taller than mine and with a skinnier heel so they make a loud clicking noise across the foyer until we make it to elevators. I stare at her in shock when we step into the elevator, the doors close behind us, and she still doesn't let go of my hand. Instead, she starts rubbing circles on the back of my hand with her thumb. A gesture that should not be so intimate but is.
"Umm..." I stutter, trying to find any words to say. Maybe, what are you doing? Or perhaps, I'm bonded already. That'd have her releasing my hand in no time. But I can't seem to form the words. Part of me loves it. I miss physical contact. As an omega, I need it, and I hadn't released how truly lonely I've been since moving here until now. Goddess, this may be wrong, but I want it. The affection. Even if they're never more than innocent.
I'm not sure why Brooklyn is giving it to me, maybe she can sense that I'm drowning without it and is giving me this kindness because she can. Whatever her reason, for this moment, in this elevator, I'll pretend I can have her. I even watch the numbers for each floor light up as we pass it, counting down each precious second her hand is tucked against mine as we reach the fourth floor. The elevator doors ping, I drop my hand from hers, and to my dismay, she lets me. Pulling away takes a significant effort, leaving me feeling cold as we step onto the floor for Pen2Paper Press. We make it halfway down the hall and to my desk when Jerrick meets us halfway.
"Where have you been?" he hisses. "You're late, and we have a meeting." He looks more annoyed than angry, and my heart drops into my stomach at the reprimand. Not only from my boss but from an alpha. I feel like whining, and Goddess, my heat really must be close. I'm not usually this sensitive to things.
"Actually, Mr. Price. I met your assistant on the way in the building and stopped her for a chat." Brooklyn steps up closer to my side, her arm almost brushing mine, but the close proximity makes me feel a little better.
"Oh," Jerrick straightens immediately when he realizes who I walked in with and extends his hand toward her, "Miss Whitlock. I'm sorry, I didn't see you there. What about?" Brooklyn takes his hand, and they shake twice before she lets go. Cordial, but curt.
My heart seizes as I wait for a believable lie to come to me. I needn't worry though, she's on that, too. "About Dillan's manuscript she read. I saw the notes she made on a copy, and we started talking. Sorry for holding up your assistant," she drones, not looking the least bit apologetic but acting with professionalism that is hard to argue with.
"You finished it?" He turns back to me expectantly, eyebrows raised in mild surprise.
"Yes, sir."
"Well, go put it on my desk, I'll review it later, and then join us in the conference room. Dillan is there already," he says and then holds out an arm for Brooklyn to lead the way to the same conference room we were in last time. At the mention of Dillan, she walks briskly in that direction. I hustle to do as I was told, drop off my purse on my desk outside his office, set the manuscript on his, and then snag my pen and notebook on the way to the conference room.
I sneak into the room as quietly as I can since they've already started talking. Brooklyn is glancing down at her phone when I come in, but Dillan puts his hand on her forearm to get her attention when he sees me, and the contact makes me stiffen. I don't like an attractive man being so close to my alpha.
My alpha?
What the fuck am I thinking? She isn't my anything. I have three alphas. Not that I want them, but I'm still already packed up. I can't want her, personal feelings and stolen moments in elevators aside. But try telling that to my scrunched up face or stiff body. Brooklyn looks up at the contact and smiles briefly at me before she notices my body language, and her smile becomes a look of concern.
Unwillingly, my eyes dart briefly to Dillan's hand still touching her arm, and he drops it at the same time Brooklyn pulls away.
"Summer, if you could please take notes," Jerrick says, subtly asking me to sit down. I move my stiff limbs, walk robotically to my chair in the corner, and try to force my face into a pleasant smile. I can feel Brooklyn's eyes on me, but I ignore her.
I'm almost ready to beg for my heat. I'd rather go through a week of pain right now by enduring an alpha-less heat than have to suffer through these preheat hormones. They're making me crazy.
Someone asks Brooklyn a question that she answers professionally and in that husky tone of hers that makes me want to climb into her lap and rub all over her. Every head in the room is turned to look at her, and I get it. I really do. She's authoritative, confident, and knowledgeable. It's an overpowering cocktail of attributes, and it makes it impossible to ignore her. Beauty and brains. Goddess, give me strength to get through this meeting.
Eleven
Brooklyn
I walk away from Summer and toward the conference room as calm and collected as I can manage. At least that prick Jerrick Price is walking with me and not hovering over Summer, breathing down her neck for no reason. I wanted to tackle him for the way he hissed at my mate when we walked off the elevator. The nerve of him. It's not even ten past eight. I think a little leeway can be expected since I know for a fact she hasn't been late before based on the information our guard tailing her has been able to glean from the building's front desk security personnel.
I suppose I am biased, though. She's got me so messed up. Seeing her standing in front of that bathroom mirror on the verge of a mental breakdown and looking for all the world like she'd been electrocuted, hair frizzy and sticking up in several places, had me ready to punch the next person who I saw just to have someone to blame for her dilemma.
It felt incredible to be able to help my beautiful, frazzled mate, though. Even if it was just to lend a hair tie to. Her gratitude was a balm to my rising frustration. I don't know where it came from when I asked to braid her hair, I just knew I couldn't go another second without touching her. Even if all I could do was give her a scalp massage and help her bad hair day, it was everything. When she started to purr for me, I think I deserve a medal for the restraint I showed. The arousal that clouded the bathroom was inevitable, but at least I didn't bend her over the sink and feast on her the way my alpha desperately wanted me to. Especially with how she looks today, work suit hugging her delicious curves in the most enticing, mouth-watering way. The second she finally registers, or acknowledges, she is our mate, I'm going to worship every inch of her body so there isn't ever a doubt of how much waiting is wrecking me.
We make it to the conference room, and just like Mr. Price said, Dillan is sitting there waiting. He stands and comes to greet me when he sees us walk in. Sorry, I mouth to him as soon as he leans in to give me a brief, side hug. He shakes his head and smiles, letting me know he isn't mad that I made him wait and wasn't there to walk in with him. Dillan freezes when he steps back, subtly sniffing me, and then his eyebrows pop up in surprise.
"What?" I ask, sniffing my shoulder and armpit to make sure I didn't forget the deodorant this morning. Oh, Goddess. What if I stink, and Summer got a good whiff of me? Before I can panic about my potential body odor, Dillan answers my question.
"You smell like omega," he grins, "did you get a little frisky with an omega on the way into work? Is that why you left me hanging?" He's laughing at me. I scowl back.
I wish.
"Wait. You don't smell like Tatem." He's met her twice when we've done drinks after meetings and Tatem joined us.
"Yeah. We broke up," I tell him matter-of-factly, not feeling an ounce of pain.
"Oh, sorry. When did this happen?" He walks around the conference table to sit back in his seat, and I follow and take the seat next to his.
"After our last meeting here, actually." I hedge. Dillan isn't an idiot. He can put two and two together.
"Right after?" he asks, surprised, but doing the math. I nod. A buzzing from my purse sounds, and I pull out my phone to see a text from Tillie, one of my more frustrating clients. For someone who has only independently published and hasn't had a best seller yet, she is already overwhelmingly self-important. She doesn't have any of the humility and grace that Dillan has. I'd drop her if I didn't think her current manuscript is going to do so well. She's a talented writer, no doubt, but a nightmare to work with. Late night texts demanding answers or calls back, rude demeanor, and turned down offers notwithstanding, her personality is not my cup of tea. "Right after you met that pretty omega assistant?" Dillan continues slowly, ignorant to my intrusive train of thought.
