Chapter Nine
Booker
If there was steam coming out of his ears, then who could blame him?
Who?
First Taylin remained AWOL after going off with Hollis doing who knew what and now Frey was doing this, ‘I’ve plans and it’s in the calendar’ routine. Who the fuck looked in someone else’s calendar? He knew having to take on the responsibility of knowing what someone else was doing was going to blow up in his face. And here he was, being proven right.
The problem with being right was that whatever put the light of fear in Frey’s eyes meant Booker now carried a huge fucking knot of anxiety in his gut. It persisted as Frey left, darting out the door, reeking of fear.
Booker’s bear was as stompy as him as he stalked out of his office. “If anyone is looking for me, tell them I’ll be back in an hour. And postpone the meeting with Sawyer,” he added as an afterthought as he passed his secretary’s desk, not once looking at her. He didn’t have time to get into a conversation, not when Frey was rushing off.
Seeing Frey head for the stairs, Booker frowned, doing something he’d kick his own ass for later. He followed.
What had Frey acting out of sorts… frightened?
Booker had somehow, since they’d come home from the trip, become more attuned to Frey’s moods. He had picked up that morning that something was bothering the fox. Despite his groaning desk full of work, he headed after Frey, keeping his distance. Regardless of his size, Booker could, when he needed to, blend with his surroundings.
He caught Frey driving away and contemplated for two seconds what he should do before he got in his car. The driving need to make sure he was okay had refused to release its vice-like grip around his heart.
It was fucked up.
A tiny fox fucked him up!
How had that happened?
He cried. He’d fucking cried…
Booker was defenseless against tears, they did something funny to him. They had to be to blame for what he was doing! They had to be.
Rain bounced off the windscreen and it was hard to tell if Frey had noticed Booker’s car or not, with so little traffic on the roads. He stayed back as much as the traffic lights allowed .
Minutes later, Frey pulled into a car lot. Booker circled around the block before coming back to find Frey’s car empty. Booker pulled over into a space just far enough down the street not to stand out.
He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out his phone and put in the address.
He stared at the information on the screen, then back at the building, rubbing at an eyebrow and feeling an ache develop at his temples.
Why did Frey need to see a doctor?
Was he ill?
Was that what the fear was about?
He had no answers, and the questions didn’t quit. Who would Frey confide in?
He quickly opened his WhatsApp.
Alphaholes
Booker: Dad is Popi around?
Silas: You could just ring the house bozo.
Booker cursed at not even considering that. It showed how messed up he was.
Dad: Your popi isn’t home, he’s at the office. I’ll message him and tell him to come to your office.
“Fuck,” he exclaimed, typing back quickly.
Booker: I’m not in the office.
Laken: Why the fuck not? We have a meeting in less than an hour, or had you forgotten? This is important Booker!
Booker: Hold on to your fucking hair. I’ll be there, I just needed to pop out and do something.
He hoped like hell no one asked him what, especially Dad. Booker hated lying, and the truth wasn’t an option when they’d all judge him and make assumptions as to his reasoning. Assumptions he wasn’t ready to talk about or face.
Laken: You better be, one brother dipping out of work is more than enough .
Booker shut the group chat, not wanting to think about Taylin or Hollis, not when his ire at them paled against his worry about what brought Frey to this place.
He sat for another ten minutes, debating about what he should do.
Go in and find out what’s wrong. His bear's thoughts on the matter were simple.
Booker knew it would never be that simple. If I do that, he’s gonna get upset with us.
We need to know he’s alright, he insisted.
How do you figure we do that and not piss him off? Tell me, I’m all ears.
That’s your side of things. Unless you want me to go in?
Did his bear sound hopeful?
Jeez, you’ll frighten the fuck out of him.
He’ll love us. His bear was adamant about that.
He’s never met you.
You are me. I am you. What's the difference?
There’s a big hairy ass difference.
His bear growled at him. Your ass is as hairy as mine.
In your dreams.
He sniggered at himself and shook his head, glad that his brothers couldn’t see him sat in his car, having an internal debate about whose damn ass was hairier. Maybe the pressure of everything was finally getting to him?
Go with that. In fact, better yet, let's go in there and let Frey judge whose bottom is hairier.
And I’m out! He shut out his bear and started the car, pulling back into the traffic, trying his best to ignore the feeling in the pit of his stomach that his bear was right, and they should go in and find out exactly what was going on. Or better yet, do something utterly ridiculous to make Frey laugh and ask him to judge whose ass was hairier, his or his bears. Would that distract him from the fact he’d gone all stalkerish?
As fucking if!
Back at the office, Pam eyed him in such a way he sucked in a breath before he apologized. “Sorry for earlier, had to slip out for something urgent.” It wasn’t a lie, and that reality got Booker rushing on. “Was Sawyer understanding?”
Pam continued to eye him, this time with a look of speculation, while nodding. “Yes, I’ve had to move some appointments around. Sawyer can only do tomorrow morning at nine am when you had the conference call planned with Cross Leathers and switching to Brand Alliance. So I’ve had to move that to five-thirty in the evening. It was the only available time Malcom could fit you in.”
Malcom had worked with Booker for the last decade, and they had a solid working relationship. He hated that he might have inconvenienced the other man. “Good. Thank you.”
Booker slipped back into his office and groaned at the sight of his desk. He muttered about flighty foxes as he set about trying to find some order to the things he should have done while running off to follow Frey.
His phone rang, and he absently reached for it. “Hello, Booker Starling.”
“What’s going on?” Dad asked without preamble .
He paused before replying, working on regrouping. “Nothing… I’m not sure what you’re getting at?”
What had he given away in the group chat? He ran frantically through what he’d said.
“You skipped out of the office right before a planned meeting. So I’ll ask again, what gives, Booker?”
He groaned. “Who snitched on me?”
“Popi came to see you and was concerned when Pam advised you’d hightailed it out of the office after Frey.”
“I didn’t hightail it after Frey,” he blustered, flushing bright red despite the empty office.
“Is that so? Then can you explain where you were going?” Dad didn’t sound convinced, and Booker didn’t blame him.
His sigh was full of frustration as he slumped back in his seat and stared unseeingly at his office. “Frey’s acting like he’s frightened, and I followed him because… because…”
“You were worried,” Dad supplied.
“Okay, yeah. It’s not a crime to be worried when one of your employees looks terrified about something,” he defended, glad no one could see him.
“Terrified… that’s a strong word? Are you sure that’s what you’re picking up?” Dad’s genuine concern helped settle Booker.
If he displayed the same level of concern, that had to mean Booker’s meant nothing more than a boss worried about an employee? Did it?
“It’s what fits, Dad. I can’t explain it any more than that. He went to a doctor’s office.” He licked his drying lips, about to voice a fear of his own. “Do you think he’s sick? ”
Booker gave some thought to how Frey had smelled. Nothing came to mind that suggested there was anything amiss. Frey’s fragrance was his usual chocolate and spice.
“Does he smell different?” Dad asked, as if he’d plucked Booker’s thought from his head.
“No.”
“What about… his heat scent?”
The denial was instant, and Booker had to stop himself. They’d only been working together for a few weeks and omegas had a heat on average once every two months. He searched his memories of the times he’d worked with Frey in the past. “I can’t recall having been around him when he might have been preparing to go into a heat.”
Was that odd?
Now he was thinking about it, he’d scented other PAs' change in scent, even Hollis’s while they were away.
“Not even once?”
Dad’s question gave him a weird sense of missing something… but what, Booker couldn’t fathom. “Nope.”
“Probably just wrong timing.”
Was it?