Chapter 8 #2
She hands me the tablet. Twelve names. Photos, roles, years of service, skill sets. Six women. Six men.
I scroll slowly, as though I’m being thoughtful. I am being thoughtful, just not about what she thinks.
I walk to the window as I scroll. The office looks out over the rear gardens, and from this angle I can see three other windows down the curve of the west wing. One of them I recognize from earlier as Lucas’s.
It’s open.
I smile to myself.
“This one,” I say, turning back and tapping a photo. “Jason Vance. His background in logistics will be useful for the integration mapping.”
“Good choice.” Lydia makes a note.
I scroll again, taking my time. “And…this one. Eric Cole. Pack communications. I’ll need someone who knows the internal channels.”
Lydia’s pen hovers just a second too long above her tablet. “Jason and Eric,” she repeats.
“Mm hmm.”
“Both excellent choices,” she says, recovering smoothly. She makes the note.
“Can you have them come by this afternoon? I’d like to brief them on expectations.”
“Of course.”
Jason and Eric arrive with Lydia at two o’clock.
They are exactly what I expected: polite, competent, and both extremely easy on the eyes.
Jason is tall and broad with a quick smile.
Eric has a runner’s build and a dry, observant manner that I can already tell I’ll enjoy.
I walk them through the scope of the assessment, hand them their NDAs, answer their questions.
They leave forty minutes later with their first assignments.
Lydia lingers after they’re gone, straightening a stack of papers on the credenza that doesn’t need straightening.
I tilt my head and let my tone go warm and confidential, the way a woman does with a friend in a coffee shop. “They’re both so handsome.”
Lydia’s hands stop patting the perfectly aligned papers. She looks at me, and the uncertainty in her face is exactly what I was hoping for. She glances at the door, then back at me, and lowers her voice.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I thought…” She hesitates. “I thought you and Alpha Steele were…involved.”
And there it is. My wolf growls softly, displeased on my behalf.
Lucas told her nothing. He didn’t explain the kiss. Just kicked me out of that library and left Lydia to piece together whatever conclusion she could on her own. Which means she’s been walking around since last night with the idea that I’m sleeping with the man she very clearly has feelings for.
I smile at Lydia. “Oh, no.” I wave a hand like I’m batting away a fly. “Alpha Steele isn’t really my type.”
Her eyebrows rise the tiniest bit.
“He’s a good alpha,” I continue breezily, “and obviously very capable. But he’s so…” I circle my hand in the air, hunting for the right word. “Broody. Dark. Depressing.” I wrinkle my nose. “Have you seen the clothes he wears?”
“The clothes?” Lydia blinks.
“I like my men full of life, you know? Someone with a little color.” I lean a hip against the desk. “Honestly, last night was a mess. I’d had a lot of champagne, and he was there. It was a moment. I’m sure he regrets it as much as I do.”
Relief passes over her face. She tries to hide it, but I’ve been watching too closely to miss it.
My wolf hates this.
I hate it, too. Lydia has been nothing but kind since I got here, and there is a part of me that wants to put a hand on her shoulder and tell her gently that her hope is misplaced.
That the man she wants is looking straight through her at someone else.
That she deserves to be someone’s first choice, not a consolation prize.
But this is war. And a very old, very clear-eyed part of me knows that all is fair in it.
“What’s wrong with his clothes?” Lydia asks, genuinely curious now.
I laugh, airy as can be, and walk over to the windows.
“Oh, nothing, really. I just don’t like dark clothes on men.
All that black. All that charcoal.” I shrug.
“He could at least wear a bright tie. A little something to say there’s a heartbeat in there somewhere.
” I turn around and give her a conspiratorial smile. “Ah, well. Not my problem.”
I walk past her toward the door, humming under my breath. I feel her watching me go. I don’t look back.
But, for the record, my voice should have carried very nicely over to the open window two offices away.
The next morning, I take the long way to my office.
I am dressed simply. Cream blouse, tailored navy trousers, heels that click just loud enough to announce me. My hair is loose, my makeup minimal.
I turn the corner near the main staircase, and there he is.
Lucas.
Coming down the hall from the opposite direction. One hand holding his phone, the other tucked in his pocket. Black suit. Charcoal dress shirt.
And a sapphire blue tie.
My steps do not falter. My expression does not change. But inside me, my wolf sits up like a cat that has just spotted a delicious mouse.
“Alpha Steele,” I say pleasantly just before our paths cross.
I let my eyes drop. Only for a second, which is long enough to linger, deliberately, on the knot of silk at his throat. Long enough that he would have to be blind to miss it.
Then, I look back at his face, give him a small, civil smile, and keep walking.
He stumbles slightly, and after a beat, he says, “Miss Carter.”
I’m sure he’s having a hard time following my shift in attitude. Good.
I feel his gaze on my back until I round the corner. And then, because I cannot help myself, I stop.
I lean back one careful inch, just enough to peek around the edge of the wall.
Lucas has stopped walking. He is looking down at his chest. One hand smooths the front of his tie, the gesture small and almost unconscious, and I see the faintest, most satisfied set to his mouth.
I duck back out of sight before he can look up.
I press a hand over my mouth to keep the laugh in, then walk the rest of the way to my office with both my gait and my pulse quick.
Jason and Eric are already here when I arrive, coffees in hand, pleasant as ever. Both of them are dressed in dark suits. Head to toe. No color. Not a bright thread between them.
Eric lifts his cup in greeting. “Morning, Miss Carter.”
“Good morning,” I reply, sliding behind my desk.
I busy myself with my laptop. I don’t look at Jason. I don’t look at Eric. I absolutely do not look at either of their suddenly extremely coordinated, extremely boring wardrobes.
I bite the inside of my cheek hard to keep myself from smiling or laughing.
Because for a man who claims not to want me, Lucas Steele is going to an awful lot of trouble to make sure I don’t want anyone else.