THREE
DEVON
Sam’s first week at work is great.
He’s fast, efficient, attentive, and he barely needs any help or guidance from me.
Which is great because I can focus on my own work undisturbed without him needing me all the damn time.
It’s perfect.
The only problem is I spend half my time staring holes at the walls of my office.
By the end of week two, I’m considering tearing them down myself.
Who the fuck needs walls anyway?
I certainly don’t. All they do is block my view of my sweet-as-fuck personal assistant who’s right on the other side of them.
Not just sweet.
The thought has my lips curving into a smile as the elevator climbs the floors.
Oh, he’s wonderfully sweet alright—with his dark-red curls, rosy cheeks, and warm, brown eyes; with his shy looks, and gentle smiles that make my fingers tingle with the need to touch him.
But it’s those glimpses of his teasing sass that drive me crazy with anticipation every time I know I’ll see him or talk to him. Because the mere idea of him being comfortable enough around me to be himself makes something purr with pleasure in my chest.
He’s already there when I reach my office, brow scrunched in concentration in front of his computer screen.
He’s always here before me in the mornings, and today isn’t any different.
I get closer, and my body tightens in preparation, waiting for the moment he’ll—
Dark eyes framed by russet lashes flick up, drawing me in, pulling me even closer until his desk is the only thing separating us.
He’s wearing a gray turtleneck today over his suit pants instead of a shirt, and fuck if he doesn’t look fucking beautiful.
Which only gets worse when he smiles up at me, and his freckles shimmer.
I bet they’d feel so warm if I kissed them.
“Good morning, sir.”
Polite, gentle, appropriate. As always.
Too bad I know there’s more under all that. So much more.
“Good morning.” My chest fills with satisfaction when I see him stand, already rounding his desk to follow me inside my office. “How are you today, Sam?” I ask him when I’ve shut us inside, giving in and breathing him in like a drug I can’t resist.
Fuck, I would give anything to nuzzle his nape, drown in his scent.
“I’m good, Devon,” he says, and I stare after him as he prepares my coffee. Like he does every day. “And you?”
“Fine.” Tired as hell, but I don’t give a shit about it now. “I’m fine, too. How’s Eli?”
And there it is—that goddamn beaming smile that makes his entire face light up every time I ask him about his little one. The one that speaks of pure happiness.
“He’s great. Finally getting more hours of uninterrupted sleep, which means I’m also getting more hours of uninterrupted sleep. Definitely not complaining,” he finishes with a chuckle.
I grin as I sit down.
I fucking love the little details he throws in, here and there, of their everyday life.
Thankfully, he never mentions his mate. The mere idea of having to listen to Sam talking about another alpha—one who gets to touch him, and kiss him, and have him every evening when he goes home—makes acid churn in my gut.
Fuck, this is ridiculous. I have no damn claim on Sam. There is absolutely no reason for me to be thinking like this, feeling like this.
Like I’d tear the throat out of anyone who so much as looks at him a certain way.
My instincts need to get a fucking grip.
A low growl of frustration slips out, one I manage to turn into a cough when Sam glances at me over his shoulder in question.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes, all good. Just swallowed wrong. You were saying you’re getting more sleep?”
“Mhm,” he hums, the tell-tale sound of a spoon stirring sugar in a cup filling the room. “It’s a nice feeling—not being dead on my feet all the time.”
Yes. It’s a nice feeling. Too bad I don’t remember what that’s like since between work and the fucking restlessness I feel that never goes away, I don’t even know when the last time I got a good night’s sleep was. The Daniel fiasco was just the tip of the iceberg.
“Here you go.”
I blink at the soft words, my gaze falling to the milky perfection that is the coffee he always makes for me, and—
“What is this?”
Amusement dances in his eyes when I look at him.
“What does it look like to you?”
My heart fucking races.
“It looks like a chocolate-chip muffin.”
“Well, if it looks like a chocolate-chip muffin, chances are it probably is a chocolate-chip muffin,” he teases.
But his smile slowly falls, because I can’t bring myself to smile back. Not when I can barely get my damn breathing under control. Not when I have to root myself to my seat not to do something incredibly stupid.
“Did you get this for me, Sam?”
I love his skin. I fucking love that creamy smoothness so much.
But I love it even more now because it hides nothing, the most perfect blush tinging his cheeks, blending with his freckles.
“I made some yesterday after a long time, and thought I’d bring a few. They go great with coffee. Should I—Should I not have?”
The subtle tremble in his voice cracks something in me.
He thinks he overstepped.
He brought me food he made, and he thinks he did something wrong because I can’t show him what this simple, thoughtful gesture is doing to me.
I can’t show him it’s wreaking havoc on my insides.
I can’t show him I’m doing everything I can not to fucking lunge at him.
I can’t let him know the animal in me whines with the need to thank its—
To thank its mate for caring for him.
Or at least, whom it thinks is his mate.
“Thank you, Sam,” I tell him, hoping he sees it all anyway. Everything I can’t tell him. Everything that is impossible.
The pleased smile that dawns on his face might very well be my undoing.
“You’re welcome.” His eyes twinkle. “Maybe that will take care of your sweet tooth for a while.”
“A really, really short while I’m afraid. It’s possible you just made things much worse.” In more ways than one.
“That’s okay.” He shrugs. “I’ve left more for you in the cupboard. And I can always make more.”
He says it like it’s no big deal. Like it doesn’t fill every inch of my body with aching warmth.
“Yeah. You definitely made things worse, Sam.” I swallow thickly, clearing my throat when a small, confused frown furrows his brows. “So, what do we have today?”
That has the desired effect as he immediately snaps into work mode.
“You want the good news or the bad news first?”
“Always the good ones first.”
“I blocked out a whole hour for lunch.”
I blink at him, waiting to see if he’ll go on. He doesn’t.
“Is that it?”
“Hey, lunch was just a theoretical concept half an hour ago. It’s real now thanks to me. Show some gratitude,” he quips with a quirk of his lips, and I’d do it in a heartbeat.
Show exactly how grateful I am. On his body. Repeatedly.
“You’ve done really well, Sammy.”
The pet name slips out before I can stop it, and for a moment, I panic, knowing for sure I’ve fucked up.
What the hell am I doing, giving my mated assistant cute nicknames?
Unbelievable.
I look at him, already scrambling for an apology, but the words get stuck in my throat when I see his face.
Eyes bright, cheeks pink, smile barely contained.
He… likes it.
He likes the name I used for him.
“Thank you,” he breathes.
Jesus, I’m losing my damn mind. It takes absolutely everything in me to tear my eyes away from him and turn towards my computer screen, where I pretend to check the calendar and today’s schedule and appointments.
Fuck, it’s a lot. I’m already tired, and the day hasn’t even started.
“Devon?”
I want his voice to be the first thing I hear every morning.
The concern in his gaze gives me pause.
“I can move things around if you think they’re a lot. Push them to the end of the week, or pass a few to someone else.”
Something twists viciously inside me.
Can he see that I’m tired? That I’m barely sleeping? Is that why he’s offering to lighten my burden?
Does he think I’m weak?
The mere thought has my jaw clenching, anger simmering in my blood at myself for letting him see me like this.
“There’s no need for any of that. I can handle everything just fine.” I hate the bite in my words, and regret it immediately when Sam’s smile momentarily wavers before he nods fast.
“Of course!” He busies himself with his tablet, and launches into a detailed overview of the day’s schedule.
He doesn’t look at me once.
By the time he’s done and excusing himself with a kind smile, my chest hurts so bad it’s hard to breathe.
“Sam.”
He stops, hand on the handle, head turning to peer at me.
“Yes?”
I shouldn’t. I can’t spend more time alone with him, but I can’t—
I can’t let him think I snapped at him because he did something wrong. And I know he’s thinking exactly that because it’s all over his lovely face.
But even more than that, the idea of Sam being sad for something I said feels unbearable.
“Do you have plans for lunch break?”
Surprise flashes in his eyes before he shakes his head.
“No, I usually eat in the staff room.”
“Will you have lunch with me?”
The question hangs between us for a few endless seconds before he gives me a smile that spreads nervous excitement through me.
“You actually asked this time. I hardly recognize you.”
I don’t realize immediately what he means.
When have I not ask—
Molten fire bleeds into my veins as the memory barrels down on me. Our conversation from that night when I practically demanded his name, begged him to come to my room with me, pleaded with him to get me out of my misery.
I hope he knew then that I was asking him the whole time. Just like I’m doing now. For anything he’s willing to give me.
Even though crumbs are all I can ever have.
“You’re right, I’m sorry. Let me rephrase that.” There’s nothing I can do about the hoarseness of my voice when I look at him from across half my office, wishing I was whispering the words in his ear. “Have lunch with me, Sammy.”
I know I’m imagining the secret smile he gives me when he whispers “Okay” before he leaves me. The one that betrays what he and I share. Something alive that pulses every time he so much as looks at me.
I fucking know I’m seeing what I want to see, need clouding my judgment.
But I don’t care. He’ll never know my thoughts because I’ll never tell him.
Being around him is enough. More than enough.
My eyes drop to the large muffin on my desk, and in the next second, I’m tearing its thin wrapping.
Fluffy sweetness explodes in my mouth when I bite into it, the chocolate chips melting in my mouth when I take a sip of my coffee with it.
So damn good.
It takes me a while to eat it all.
As it turns out, chewing while you can’t fucking stop smiling, is not an easy thing to do.
I still get up to grab another one.
Work will have to wait a little longer.