8. Lawrence #2
"Track you down? No." I lie with practiced ease, burying the guilt of the private investigator deep in my gut. "I use a sports therapist a few blocks from here. We planned to meet at this park to go over some knee stretches. He bailed on me ten minutes ago. I figured I'd get a run in anyway."
Olive narrows her eyes. She searches my face for a lie. My relaxed posture and easy smile offer no clues. I keep my Alpha pheromones pulled back tight. I refuse to flood the air with my scent. I let her breathe the fresh suburban air.
"You expect me to believe that?" She crosses her arms over her chest.
"I expect you to believe my therapist owes me a refund for my wasted time." I offer a soft chuckle. "But seeing you here makes the trip worthwhile. Do you live around here?"
She hesitates. The lie works. The idea of a coincidental run-in disarms her initial panic. She relaxes her grip on the edge of the wooden bench.
"I'm staying with my sister," She mutters.
"Do you mind if I sit?" I point to the empty space on the wood. "My knee acts up after a long run. You can leave, if you want."
Olive looks toward the empty sidewalk. Her logical brain calculates the risk. I stay planted in my spot, giving her total control of the situation.
"Sit." She shifts to the far end of the wooden bench.
I take the opposite end. I stretch my long legs out over the grass, making sure not to trap her in the corner.
"You look tired." I keep my tone gentle.
"Suppressants make you tired." She avoids eye contact. "Moving twice in a week makes you tired."
"I saw the houses in this neighborhood." I lean my elbows on my knees. "They look crowded."
Olive scoffs. "Three screaming kids and a creepy brother-in-law. Cramped feels like an understatement. Finding ten minutes of silence requires fleeing to an empty park."
"You hate it." I state the fact.
"I hate losing my independence." She finally looks me in the eye. "I hate relying on my sister for a roof over my head. I hate the noise. I hate the thin walls."
I nod, validating her anger. "You deserve better. You had a great life in the city."
"And your pack ruined it."
"We did." I accept the blame without flinching. "Victor acted like trash. Finn overwhelmed you. We triggered a shift you never wanted. We owe you a massive debt, Olive."
She grips her sweater tighter. "I don't want a pack bond."
"I hear you." I lean in a fraction of an inch. "So let's leave the bond out of it. Let's look at the facts. You need a quiet, safe place to stay while the suppressants wear off. You need a place without screaming kids or creepy relatives."
She frowns. "Where am I supposed to go?"
"Our mansion." I offer the solution with a smooth cadence.
"We have an entire east wing. It has a private entrance, a kitchen, and soundproof walls.
You can stay there rent-free. You never have to see us.
We will stock the fridge. We will hire lawyers to fight the hospital board for your job.
You get your quiet sanctuary back, and we get to pay off our debt. "
Olive stares at me. Her logical brain churns through the proposal. The idea of a quiet, soundproof wing clearly tempts her.
I smile. The Charmer never fails.
The tension shifts. Olive relaxes her grip on her gray sweater. Her tense shoulders drop a fraction of an inch.
The logic of my proposal works its magic. She craves peace and quiet. The chaotic energy of her sister's house drains her spirit. I offer a luxurious escape hatch right when she needs it most.
"A private entrance." Olive repeats the words, testing the idea. "I wouldn't have to interact with Victor?"
"You wouldn't even see his shadow." I offer a warm, reassuring smile. "You hold all the power. You set the boundaries. We stay on our side of the house."
She bites her lower lip. Her teeth sink into the soft pink flesh.
The simple motion sends a jolt of heat straight to my dick. My blood runs hot. My easy, detached playboy mask threatens to slip. Keeping my Alpha instincts locked down takes a monumental effort.
I let my guard drop a tiny bit.
I release a slow, deliberate breath. I push a controlled wave of my scent across the wooden bench. The crisp notes of citrus mingle with the dark, spicy bite of crushed black pepper. The aroma cuts through the smell of the damp suburban grass.
Olive inhales. Her breath catches in her throat.
Her brown eyes widen and her pupils dilate, swallowing the irises until a thin ring of color remains. The influx of Alpha pheromones hits her system like a tidal wave.
I slide closer on the bench, invading her personal space. The distance between our faces shrinks to mere inches.
"You deserve to be comfortable, Olive." My voice drops into a low, intimate rumble. "You deserve to feel safe."
A faint sweet scent rises from her skin. The smell of warm apple pie and cinnamon hits my nose. The arousal spikes in my veins. My heart hammers against my ribs.
My gaze drops from her eyes to her mouth. Her lips part on a ragged sigh.
The magnetic pull of the scent match takes over. The rest of the park fades away. The background noise of the rustling oak leaves vanishes. My entire universe narrows down to the taste of her breath and the heat radiating from her flushed cheeks.
I lean closer. My nose brushes against the soft line of her jaw.
Olive leans in. Her chin tilts upward. Her eyelashes flutter shut. She chases the heat of my skin. Her body acts desperate for the friction and the comfort of her Alpha.
We sit a fraction of an inch away from a kiss. My mouth waters at the prospect of tasting her. I plan to devour her right here on this bench.
Olive’s eyes fly open. The hazy, drug-like trance of the pheromones vanishes, replaced by a flash of fury.
She shoves both of her hands against my chest.
"Stop." Olive stands up so fast her knee knocks the wooden slats.
I hold my hands up, my heart racing. "Olive. Wait."
"You think you can play me?" Her voice shakes with furious, biting anger. She points a finger right in my face. "You think you can sit here, smile with those perfect teeth, and manipulate my hormones into submission?"
"I didn't manipulate anything." I try to recover my smooth tone, but my voice sounds rough and frantic. "You felt the connection."
"I felt a biological reaction!" She grabs her purse off the bench. "You used your scent to bypass my logic. You fed me a line of bullshit about a private wing to get me back to your house. You plan to lock me in a bedroom until I surrender to your pack."
"That isn't true." I stand up, towering over her. "The offer stands. No strings attached."
"Bullshit!" Olive glares at me. Her brown eyes burn with intense, unyielding hatred. "I'm not some puck bunny you can sweet-talk into your bed, Lawrence. I have a brain. I see what you tried to do. You think your charm fixes everything."
The insult hits me like a slap in the face.
She sees right through the playboy facade and recognizes the calculated moves. My entire strategy crumbled the second I let my instincts take the wheel. I got greedy for a kiss, and I blew the entire operation.
"Don't ever follow me again." Olive steps away from the bench. "I prefer the creepy brother-in-law over a pack of manipulative liars. You can all rot in hell."
She turns on her heel and marches down the paved path.
I stand frozen in the middle of the empty park. The wind rustles through the oak tree above my head.
My hands fall to my sides as my chest aches with a strange, profound tightness.
My charm always works. A smile, a smooth compliment, and a touch of Alpha pheromones never fail to get me what I want. Women fall over themselves to spend five minutes in my company.
But Olive walked away. She rejected my money, protection, and charm.
I stare at the empty dirt path. The playboy mask slips, leaving a raw, unfamiliar desperation in its place. For the first time in my life, my smooth talking failed me. Earning her trust requires a hell of a lot more than a pretty smile, and I have no idea how to proceed.