19. Sophie
Sophie
The hot water pounds against my shoulders, washing away the burn of the workout.
I trained in my room for two hours tonight, pushing myself harder than usual. I needed it. I needed the pain and the exhaustion to drown out everything else.
To drown out them.
I turn off the water and step out of the shower, grabbing the towel from the hook. The mirror is fogged with steam, my reflection just a blur. I wipe a hand across the glass and study my face, flushed from the heat, hair plastered to my neck.
I’m toweling off my hair when my phone buzzes on the bathroom counter. Griffin’s name flashes on the screen.
I answer on the second ring.
“Hey, Soph.” His voice is warm. “Just thought I’d check in on you. How are things going?”
“They’re going well,” I lie, pressing the phone between my ear and shoulder as I continue drying my hair. “I’ve gotten to know the staff, built some rapport. Starting to get a sense of the dynamics.”
“Good, good.” I can hear him settling into a chair, the creak of leather in the background. “Any leads?”
“A few possibilities, but nothing concrete yet. I need more data.” I pause. “When is that background report coming?”
“Declan just sent it to you. Should be in your inbox.”
“Anything stand out?”
“I’m not sure, but Declan said he added some of his own notes. You know how he is, thorough to a fault.”
“Perfect.” I’m already moving out of the bathroom, crossing to the desk where my laptop sits. I flip it open and navigate to my secure email as we speak. “I have it here. I’ll go through it tonight.”
“How’s the cover holding up?” Griffin asks. “Anyone suspicious?”
“Not that I can tell. Sophie Dysart is fitting in nicely. Celine, one of the marketing staff, has practically adopted me. Keeps bringing me cookies and asking about my love life.” I scroll through the email, confirming the attachment is there. “The usual maternal omega stuff.”
Griffin chuckles. “Sounds like you’ve made a friend.”
“Sounds like I’ve made an asset,” I correct him. “Two, actually. Celine hears everything that moves through marketing, and Lucy on the front desk sees everyone who comes and goes and can’t keep a word to herself. Between them, if there’s gossip to be had, I’ll have it.”
“That’s my girl.” There’s pride in his voice. “And you’re taking care of yourself? Eating? Sleeping?”
“Yes, Dad,” I say dryly.
“I’m serious, Soph. These long-term assignments can wear you down. I don’t want you burning out.”
“I’m fine, Griffin. Really.”
He goes quiet for a moment, then carefully casual, he asks, “How are things with Pack Cavill?”
I go still, my hand hovering over the laptop touchpad.
“They’re fine,” I say slowly. “Why? Did they say something to you?”
“No, no.” Too quick. “It’s just... you know they have a reputation. Wealthy, powerful, used to getting what they want.” Another pause. “But things are okay, right? They’re treating you well?”
Good God.
I cannot believe Griffin is asking me this.
“Griffin.” My voice comes out harder than I intend. “I am not some desperate omega who’s going to fall at their feet because they have nice suits and deep pockets.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I’ve faced down trafficking rings. I’ve killed men twice my size. I think I can handle three billionaires who make sex toys for a living.”
Silence on the other end.
“Yes,” Griffin says finally, and I can hear the smile in his voice despite the scolding. “Yes, of course. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. I just worry about you.”
“Don’t.”
“Can’t help it. It’s part of the job description.” He sighs. “Alright, I’ll let you go. Call me if you need anything. And Sophie?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful.”
I end the call and toss the phone onto the bed.
Be careful. As if I’m ever anything else.
Griffin’s question follows me into the quiet. They’re treating you well?
That was never where the danger was. I know exactly where the danger is. It’s a server rack and a narrow gap and the half-second last night that I forgot I was supposed to want out. It’s a kiss I started weeks ago, in Finn’s suite, and have been running from ever since.
So I do what I do with anything that could get me killed. I take the memories and I bury them somewhere deep and dark and locked, and I promise myself I won’t go looking for them again.
I sink into the chair at my desk, pulling my laptop closer. The report from Declan sits in my inbox. I should open it now and start combing through the data.
Instead, I stare at the wall, and the promise lasts all of a minute.
The first thing that claws its way back up isn’t even the dangerous one. It’s Finn, earlier today. That color... it almost looks like you’re not wearing anything at all.
Which is almost a relief. Anger, I can use. Because Finn Preston is an arrogant, insufferable twat, and it is so much easier to be furious with him than to sit with the alternative.
The way he looked at me in his office. That slow, deliberate sweep of his gaze, like he had every right to assess my body, to comment on my clothing, to make me feel—
What? What did he make you feel?
Nothing. He made me feel nothing. Just annoyance. Irritation at being micromanaged by a man who clearly has control issues and too much time on his hands.
That’s all it was.
I can’t wait for this assignment to be done. To get back to my real job instead of having three alphas breathing down my neck, demanding I solve the mystery of who’s trying to destroy their precious little company and their dildos.
Three insanely hot alphas, a treacherous voice whispers in the back of my mind. One of whom kissed you in a way you’ve never been kissed before.
I shove the thought aside viciously.
It’s because they’re attractive. That’s all. Any woman with functioning eyes would react the same way. It’s biology, pure and simple. Pheromones and physical symmetry and the primal part of the brain that responds to power and beauty.
It doesn’t mean anything.
I’m here to do a job, and when it’s done, I’ll never see any of them again.
I arrive at the office early the next morning.
As per Finn’s request, and I use that word loosely, I’m wearing black pants and a simple white dress shirt, collar buttoned, sleeves down, not a hint of skin visible below my collarbone.
You couldn’t get more professional than this, I think grimly as I catch my reflection in the elevator doors. Not unless I showed up in a hazmat suit.
This afternoon I have to go to their house and walk them through Declan’s report.
It’s a debrief. I’ve done a thousand of them. There’s no reason it should be sitting in my stomach the way it is.
The marketing wing is quiet when I step through the glass doors, only a handful of early risers at their desks. Finn’s office is dark.
Good. The less I see of him, the better.
The morning ticks on. People trickle in, filling the space with the low hum of conversation and clicking keyboards.
Finn walks in at exactly nine, as predictable as clockwork.
I don’t look up as he passes and just keep my eyes fixed on my screen and my fingers moving across the keyboard, every line of my body communicating that I am working and he is irrelevant.
From the corner of my eye, I see him pause for just a second before he continues to his office, the glass door closing behind him.
But the thing is, he’s not irrelevant. He’s the reason I’m wearing these stupid clothes today, and it makes me angry that he gets to dictate even a single thing about me.
He can fuck right off.
At some point Celine glances toward an empty desk across the room and clicks her tongue softly. “Angela’s not in yet,” she murmurs, more to herself than to me. “That’s not like her.”
I tuck the detail away. Probably nothing. But people who break their routines are worth watching.
At noon, the usual lunch exodus begins. People gather their wallets, some heading down to the canteen, others driving out to the little town ten minutes down the road. Celine and I are partway down the corridor when I dig for my wallet and realize I must have left it at my desk.
“Go on ahead,” I tell Celine. “I’ve left my wallet at my desk. I’ll only be a second.”
“I’ll save you a seat,” she says, and carries on toward the canteen.
I make my way back. The marketing wing is empty, the lunch crowd already gone.
I’m almost to my own desk when I hear voices.
They’re coming from Finn’s office. The door is slightly ajar, unusual for him, and through the gap, I can see two figures. Finn behind his desk and Angela, sitting in the chair across from him, her face buried in her hands.
I should leave. This is clearly a private conversation, none of my business, and Sophie Dysart would never eavesdrop on her boss.
But I’m not Sophie Dysart. I’m a trained operative, and trained operatives gather information. All information. Even the kind that isn’t meant for them.
I move silently to the side of the door, positioning myself where I can hear without being seen.
“—take the rest of the day off.” Finn’s voice, but not the tone he uses with me. This is softer. “Go home, Angela. That’s an order.”
“I can’t.” Angela’s voice is thick with tears. “There’s the Henderson proposal, and the budget review, and—”
“The Henderson proposal can wait. So can the budget review.” He pauses. “How long have you worked here, Angela?”
“Six years.”
“Six years. And in all that time, have you ever taken a sick day?”
Angela doesn’t answer, but I can hear her sniffle.
“Exactly. You’ve never been sick, and you’ve never missed a deadline.” His voice is firm but kind. “So I’m telling you. Take the sick leave. Take a few days. A week, or even a few weeks if you need it. You’ve more than earned it.”
Angela makes a choked sound, half laugh, half sob. “It’s my mother. She’s in the hospital. They found something in her lungs, and they’re not sure yet what it is, and I—” Her voice breaks completely.
“I’m sorry,” Finn says. “I’m so sorry, Angela. Family comes first. That’s the most important thing.”
“I just feel so helpless. She’s always been so strong. And now she’s lying in that bed, hooked up to all those machines, and there’s nothing I can do—”
“Which hospital?”
“Lakeside General.”
He goes quiet for a moment. “What did the doctors say? What are they looking at?”
“They think it might be—” Angela takes a shaky breath. “They think it might be lung cancer. They’re doing more tests, but...”
“I know someone.” Finn’s voice has changed, suddenly becoming more deliberate. “He’s one of the best oncologists in the country, specializes in exactly this kind of case. Let me give him a call.”
“Mr. Preston, you don’t have to—”
“I want to.” His voice leaves no room for argument. “Let me make sure your mother is getting the best possible care. That’s the least I can do. Now, I think you should go and be with her. And Angela?”
“Yes?”
“If there’s anything else we can do, anything at all, you let me know. Okay?”
Angela goes quiet for a moment. “Thank you, Mr. Preston. Thank you so much.”
I hear movement, the scrape of a chair, footsteps approaching the door.
I grab my wallet from my desk, and I’m moving for the exit before Angela can reach the door, making sure she doesn’t see me.
The last thing I catch, through the glass wall of his office, is Finn already on the phone, his brow furrowed and his free hand braced against the desk, calling that doctor he mentioned, I’m guessing. He doesn’t even see me go.
Family comes first. That’s the most important thing.
This is the same man who told me my dress made me look naked and demanded daily meetings to micromanage my every move. The same man who’s been cold and hostile since the moment I walked into this building.
And he just offered to call in personal favors for an employee’s sick mother, without hesitation, because it was the right thing to do.
I’m already through the doors and into the corridor before I remember I was supposed to be meeting Celine.
I need some air.
I need to think.
I need to figure out why, for just a second there, Finn Preston sounded like someone I might actually want to know.