CHAPTER THREE
W hat the in the everloving fuck is that smell? My nose twitches as I try to concentrate on my side project, an article that highlights this month's most popular nesting items. Caramel…and bourbon? Unable to stop myself, I roll backwards in my chair, peeking my head out of my cubicle. There's nobody in the little aisle, probably because it's already almost six. The scent is stronger out here…but lower…my eyes land on a curious piece of black fabric on the floor right outside my cubicle. Is that…a pocket square?
My eyes narrow, checking the narrow space again between cubicles for anyone who might’ve dropped it. When I don’t see anyone, I snatch up the square and furiously scoot my chair back to my desk, almost feeling like I should be whistling so nobody thinks anything is amiss.
Which is weird, because people only do that in movies.
Besides, there is nothing amiss. It’s not like I’m immediately bringing the square to my nose and huffing up the caramel bourbon scent like a junkie snorting a line of cocaine.
I only realize when my eyes roll to the back of my head and I stifle a moan that that’s exactly what I’m doing.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“Hey there, Cady, whatcha ya working on?” The sound of Laura’s voice has me stuffing the pocket square deep into my cleavage. A sense of rightness at the action almost coaxes a rusty purr out of my cold, dead heart.
“Laura,” I plaster on a fake smile as I turn to face her. “Is there something I can help you with?” Laura’s brown hair is thrown in a tight bun today, making her cheekbones seem even more severe than normal. Her cat eye glasses sit perched on her nose, her shirt buttoned all the way up to her neck.
“Oh, just looking for some advice ,” she says with a sly smile.
Shit, not this again.
As Grady’s assistant, Laura is the only other one privy to my identity as the Knotty Omega, and somehow thinks that makes us all buddy-buddy. Like I told her in some strange vow of friendship rather than her being in the meeting where Grady and I came to an agreement on my terms for the position.
“Afraid I can’t help you there.” I grit my teeth through my smile. “This brain is completely void of any helpful thoughts for anyone. I’ll stick to my nesting item articles.”
Without invitation, Laura comes behind me and peers at my computer, lowering her glasses as her eyes scan the screen. “Does your alpha let you buy all these for your nest?” As if it’s not enough that Laura acts as if I need an alphas permission to spend my own money, she asks about the one thing you don’t ask omegas about.
Their nest.
Giving recommendations and advice? Totally socially acceptable.
Asking an omega for details about her most cherished and sacred space? Where she beds her alphas and has her heats where days-long sex marathons take place? Not fucking cool.
Not that any of those things are applicable to me, or that I even have a nest, but she doesn’t know that. If I had alphas, I would not be legally liable for ripping her throat out right now.
Maybe I should do it anyway.
No! Bad Cady. No homicidal thoughts at work.
“Reggie has no say in how I spend my own money,” I grit out, fake smile still plastered on. Again walking that thin line between revealing the truth and making statements ambiguous enough that if this ever comes out, I can truthfully say I never actually lied about anything.
“You don’t have a joint bank account?” Laura raises a brow, finally backing away. “Is your alpha okay with you working so much? It’s already five-thirty.”
I prickle at the question, wondering why I grace these needling questions with a response.
Oh, right, because despite Laura being a hemorrhoid in my ass, she holds one of my most sacred secrets in her hands.
I want to tell her that it doesn’t matter if he’s okay with it, this is my life and I’ll work however long I damn please. But then I remember said alpha is my cat, not an actual threat to my independence, and tap into my Knotty Omega persona for an acceptable answer. “As long as I come home at the end of the day and serve him dinner, he’ll be fine.”
Laura’s lips thin as she regards me, then shrugs. “What does he even look like?”
Her question takes me aback. Why the hell is she asking me that? If I didn’t know Laura is a nosy-ass, uptight, lying bitch, I might think she suspects something.
“Why?”
She nearly pouts. “Everyone else has pictures of them with their bondmates decorating their cubicles, but yours is…” She waves a hand towards my desk.
I grit my teeth. “Reggie has black hair. I don’t have pictures because I don’t need to be distracted from my work.”
Her brow raises. “That good looking, huh?”
“Something like that.”
She looks me over again, before deciding she’s bored with the conversation and shrugs. “Okay. I’m heading out. Yusef is taking me out on his yacht tonight.”
My eyes almost roll into the back of my head. Sure he is.
“Oh, and Cady?” She says, throwing me a look over her shoulder. “Don’t wear that scent again. As yummy as the bourbon and caramel smells, you have to remember that all colognes and perfumes are banned for everyone.” Her eyes convey the silent even omegas .
I stuff down the possessive growl at the thought that somebody else scented the delicious signature emanating from between my breasts. What the hell is wrong with me?
“Sorry,” I choke out, my cheeks reddening. “It won’t happen again.”
When she finally walks away, I breathe a sigh of relief, going near boneless in my chair. Without thinking, I pull the square of fabric from its hiding spot and pull it up to my nose again, inhaling deeply.
The way the bourbon and caramel mix with my orange blossom and vanilla is so damn dangerous.
“She needs to mind her own fucking business,” Archie says from behind me, causing me to let out a startled squeak, the pocket square flying into the air.
His eyes are heated as he takes me in. I’m trying to come up with an explanation for why I just sniffing this piece of fabric like a someone with a pocket square fetish, when he says, “Besides, I might request that you keep wearing whatever the hell you put on today,” he leans forward slightly, and takes a deep inhale. “It smells absolutely fucking divine .”
Despite the fact his words have my heart beating out of my chest, I shift nervously when I feel my panties dampen with slick, thankful I recently splurged on some top of the line, scent blocking ones.
Well that was fucking weird. He looked almost feral. Can betas even go feral?
Slightly flirty, sweet, and caring? That’s the Archie I’m used to.
This new side to him, the pure intensity in his eyes when he looked at me? That is a side that I would not mind getting to know.
Shit, I need to see where I’m at on my heat suppressants. They stop my heats for the most part, but once or twice a year I’ll get a mini-heat. It’s easy enough to manage with a good vibrator and some knotted dildos, but I need to know it’s coming so I can take time off from work.
My eyes search the cubicle for the little square of bourbon-caramel heaven, but it’s gone. Dammit. Did I launch it across the wall of my cubicle when Archie startled me?
I resist the urge to check every inch of this office to find it. It’s not even mine.
When I see a text come in from my best friend Hannah, I feel some stress leave me. Maybe I’ll ask her what she thinks of the whole Archie thing that just happened.
I could use a drink.
***
The bar is loud, especially for a Thursday night, and we have to shout to hear over each other. “He actually said that?!” Hannah nearly shrieks, her green eyes going wide. She’s got her dyed-pink hair piled on top of her head, and a tight black dress on. She looks amazing, as always. I wish I could put some fun color in my hair, but the upkeep is a bitch and I can’t commit to going to the salon so often.
Hannah, being a hairdresser, is already there and trades services with another stylist. Last month her hair was the prettiest shade of lilac.
Hmm. Maybe I could just do the ends purple...
I had just enough time to run home, change, and grab my pills since I didn’t know how late we were staying. My ripped jeans, ankle boots, and off the shoulder top combo I changed into make me feel confident, which I sorely need after my conversation with Laura earlier.
I nod, serious as I sip on my margarita.
“But he’s not wrong. I need to track down whatever cologne that was and spray it all over my not-nest.”
Hannah’s laugh twinkles across the bar. “You and your ‘not-nest’. It’s not a crime to acknowledge our omega tendencies, Cay.”
“I know,” I smile sadly, feeling suddenly melancholy.
I jump when the alarm on my phone goes off, signalling it’s time to take my pills. Excusing myself, I take my purse and walk into the bathroom. Taking pills at the bar would have been easier, given there’s already a drink waiting for me, but I don’t need anyone seeing the TruBond bottle and asking questions.
Hiding in a stall, I take out my pill bottle and move to shake one into my hand. I'm so focused on my task that I don't even realize that the lock on the stall door didn't latch properly until it's pushed open behind me. It knocks into my back, drawing an “oof” out of me and causes me to stumble forward.
“Oh, sorry!” Someone’s voice calls out behind me, but it’s too late.
I stare with wide eyes at the entire fucking bottle of my bond replicators splash into the toilet.
Shit.