Fur and Honor (Steel Bonds)

Chapter 2

6 Months Later

“Here you go, Mr. Cavanaugh. The lift to your right will take you directly to the executive suite.”

Miles tried not to fumble the badge the receptionist passed him along with his ID. He clutched both in one hand as he edged out of the way for the next person in line to step up. Once sure of his balance, he replaced his wallet in his pocket and draped the lanyard with his employee badge over his neck, eyeing it for a moment before dropping it to his chest.

He’d be eating lean until his first paycheck came in, but at least his new threads let him blend in with the other office workers streaming into the building that morning. At first, he’d assumed the job offer was a joke. Even after filling out reams of paperwork in this very building the day before, he’d half expected the receptionist to tell him there had been a mistake, to go home. But the badge was real, and the security officer next to the private lift offered Miles a polite nod of acknowledgement before he stepped inside.

He sagged against the side of the carriage as the floor counter ticked upward. He’d never been in a building this tall before, and this was one of the tallest in New Angouleme, constructed with techniques and materials still available before the Last War. His ears popped as the lift slowed, and the doors opened.

A woman about his mother’s age waited for him. Her eyes flicked once to his legs, but her warm smile never wavered. “Mr. Cavanaugh, welcome. I’m Mary Grant, Lord Delacour’s executive assistant. I’m to give you the lay of the land this morning before his lordship arrives.”

His physical therapist had encouraged him to use the crutches for another few weeks, and the cane had been a compromise. He shifted it in order to shake the hand she extended. “Thank you. Please, call me Miles.”

Adjusting her stride to his slower gait was the only accommodation Mrs. Grant extended him during her whirlwind tour of the luxurious office suites, during which she rattled off a constant stream of information about who worked where and held which responsibilities. How much of this was Miles supposed to retain? Just as he was about to really panic, Mrs. Grant stopped at a pair of desks and pointed to the one bare of personal effects. “I made sure to have them put your desk next to mine so that I can be a resource anytime you need me. Please, have a seat. How do you take your coffee? Or do you prefer tea in the morning?”

He froze as he reached for the chair. “Uh. Shouldn’t I be getting your coffee?”

“Dearie, I’ve been begging his lordship to hire a personal assistant for years. With the amount of work you’re taking off my plate, the least I can do is make you coffee your first morning.”

“All right,” Miles said, dropping fully into his seat. “I drink my coffee black. Thank you.”

She patted his shoulder and strode off. Not in the direction of the elevator, to visit the coffee shop off the lobby as Miles expected, but toward the fancy kitchen space they’d visited on the tour. Huh. He’d assumed the perks of the executive floor were limited to the executives. More questions to add to the already long list he had for Mrs. Grant when she returned. He propped his cane against the side of the desk and tugged open drawers in search of paper and pen. He needed to start taking notes, fast, if he had any hope of absorbing everything necessary for his new position.

When he sat back up, clutching a fresh notebook, a man stood before his desk. Miles jerked in his chair, startled by his sudden appearance. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you…” When the man’s identity registered, he hastily stood, gripping the desk for balance. Fuck, was he supposed to bow? Any instructions from HR yesterday vanished under the weight of Lord Henry Delacour’s piercing stare. “Hi. I mean, good morning. Your lordship?”

Neither official photographs nor tabloid shots did the man justice. Miles had worked around strong men since his teens, but they had nothing on the obvious power coiled within the werewolf nobleman’s unassuming gray suit. Instead of aging him, Lord Delacour’s silver-white hair gave him a timeless air. Standing this close, Miles was shocked to realize he stood a few inches taller. But what he lacked in height, Lord Delacour more than made up for in sheer presence. Miles couldn’t blame the sudden weakness in his legs on the morning’s commute.

“Miles Cavanaugh,” Lord Delacour said, tilting his head to study his new employee.

Miles wanted to shiver at how the man rolled the name across his tongue as if tasting it. Holy shit, he knew Miles’s name. He gave himself a mental smack. Of course, the man knew his name. Miles had been hired to work for him.

The clip of heels on the shiny tile floor heralded Mrs. Grant’s return, which broke the awkward silence between Miles and his new employer. She beamed at them as she handed Miles a mug. “Good morning, Henry. I see you’ve met Miles.”

“I have.” Lord Delacour accepted the parcel of paperwork Mrs. Grant retrieved from her desk. “Were you able to reschedule the meeting with Bradford?”

“Yes, he’s available for lunch today. This week’s revised schedule is on your desk. I set aside an hour this morning for you to sit with Miles and review your needs.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Lord Delacour didn’t look up from flipping through the files. “I’m sure you have tasks you’re eager to delegate, so I’ll leave him in your capable hands.” He turned away, cutting off any argument from Mrs. Grant, and treaded between their desks to his office door.

His gaze flicked once more to Miles as he passed. Flat disinterest replaced his previous intensity. As if he’d needed only this brief encounter to judge Miles and already found him lacking. Probably his werewolf senses picked up the years of grimy dock work under Miles’s new clothing, which now seemed rumpled and ill-fitting against Lord Delacour’s sharply tailored attire. Fuck. Miles definitely should have bowed. Now the man didn’t even want Miles in his office. How had he ever imagined he’d last more than a day in this fancy building when he belonged on the other side of town?

An exasperated sigh stalled his rising panic. “Stubborn fool.”

Miles dropped back into his desk chair and stared at Mrs. Grant. “I’m sorry, did you just call Lord Delacour a fool? Hold on, you also used his given name with him.”

She claimed her own seat and chuckled as she separated a stack of mail. “I’ve known that boy since he used to hide under my desk to play while his father and aunt took meetings. But his lordship isn’t one to enforce protocol, so I’m sure you’ll be afforded the same privilege soon enough. Though his contemporaries call him Hal.”

“Not sure I’m going to last that long.” Miles finally drank the coffee he clutched. Then he took a longer sip, almost swooning over the rich deliciousness. That was the best fucking coffee he’d ever tasted. He’d better appreciate this cup, since he probably wouldn’t get a second.

“Honey, he doesn’t want to meet with you because he hates the idea of someone whose entire job is to cater to his needs. But I’m counting the days to my retirement, and no one in their right mind will replace me with my current workload. He’s right that I have a list for you already.” Mrs. Grant tapped a folder atop her desk. “And anyway, you could have thrown that coffee in his lordship’s face and you’d still have a position here.”

He choked on his next drink at Mrs. Grant’s offhand comment, then choked again on an expletive-laden question. Miles might be a dock rat, but he had manners in front of a lady. Finally, he managed, “I’m sorry?”

Mrs. Grant raised her eyebrows. “They didn’t tell you?”

“Who didn’t tell me what?” Panic threatened again.

“Why you were offered this job.”

“Ma’am, I’m just happy to have a job. I’m even luckier that Delacour Shipping covered my medical costs.” Though she hadn’t commented on the limp or cane, Mrs. Grant might not know his full story. Miles rubbed at his right thigh, trying to ease the ache that grew as his tension tightened the damaged muscles. “There was an accident, at the docks. Got my legs pretty messed up, enough that I can’t do the job I’ve had since I was fifteen. I was surprised as, uh, heck when my union rep contacted me last week about this new opportunity with the company.”

Surprised, but he hadn’t questioned it. Not when the financial assistance that kept his rent paid and food in his belly while he finished physical therapy had been set to dry up at the end of the month. Sure, Mom would have taken him back in without hesitation, but managing her fifth-floor walkup would make him wish that pallet killed him even more than working with his physical therapist did.

“Yes, I’m aware of your accident,” Mrs. Grant said. “You saved a man, correct? Pushed him out of the way.”

“Yeah.” Miles wrapped both hands around the coffee mug, seeking warmth against the chill that always accompanied thoughts of that day. “Not my best moment. Wasn’t fast enough to get myself out of the way, too.”

He expected the same pity from Mrs. Grant as he received from Mom’s friends, their murmurs about how it was such a shame he’d lost his future at such a young age. The men of the lower side worked the docks, or ran haulage, or did construction. Barely thirty-five, and now he couldn’t even manage the length of a city block unassisted.

Instead, Mrs. Grant gestured behind her shoulder with her thumb. “That’s the man you saved.”

“You’re shitting me.” He winced. “Pardon my language, ma’am.”

A few vague images, grown hazy with time, lingered from that day between hitting the ground and waking up after surgery, his mom wringing her hands and crying next to his hospital bed. Waking up at all had been the biggest shock. Not when the last thing he remembered involved a figure hovering over him, a shining man who beckoned Miles with promises of comfort and safety in his intense eyes. Later, when he learned the extent of the damage done to his legs and how it was a miracle he now walked at all, he assumed the whole thing had been a pain-fueled hallucination.

Wrong again. Turned out his shining man was real. The silver-haired nobleman who sat in the office behind him.

This time, he kept the curse internal. The silver-hair werewolf nobleman behind him. Miles had fucked up his body and future for a person who hadn’t needed saving. This new job wasn’t because he’d been injured working for the company. It was because he’d risked himself for the man who was the company.

Mrs. Grant chuckled, perhaps assuming embarrassment caused his silence. “Keep things professional around others, but you’ll soon learn my language can also strip paint, young man. Now, finish your coffee and give me a moment to sort these invoices, then we can review the tasks I need you to take on for his lordship.”

From high school dropout dock rat to personal assistant to the richest man in the city. This was real, too. And regardless of Mrs. Grant’s assumptions about his job security, he couldn’t afford to screw this up.

“Happy to review the list while I wait, ma’am.”