Isaac
“How do I apologise to an omega without making it worse?” I read aloud from over Evander’s shoulder, already regretting this conversation.
It’s my job to predict Evander’s next move so that I can organise myself appropriately.
However, he knew that I’d try to stop this plan from happening and cut me out of dinner with his sister and her mates.
With Cassie’s cousin, who he has clearly grilled relentlessly.
“That’s not what I typed.” Ev doesn’t hide his phone from me, and instead, looks at me like I’m stupid.
Unfortunately, he’s the only idiot in our office right now. He’s decided that his approach to handling omegas is to demand answers from Emmeline’s mates.
The more answers they give, the easier it is for me to reach two important conclusions.
First, he’s made a catastrophic mistake. Second, I’m absolutely not letting him make another one.
“No, your version was somehow more concerning.” I sip my coffee, grimacing at the extra sugars. Another red flag—Evander bought our coffee this morning.
He jokes I do it as the assistant, but it’s because he doesn’t even know what he drinks, never mind me.
“I don’t understand what I did wrong.” He places the phone down and looks at me properly. “Clearly, I overplayed my hand on Friday. I’m going to fix that.”
“You used the phrase ‘instinctive corrective measures’ whilst referring to her,” I say, fighting back a grin. “Sorry, bro, but you sound like a lawsuit waiting to happen.”
His glare could strip paint.
Unfortunately for him, I’ve been immune to Evander Whitmore’s intimidation tactics since we were seven and he cried because Emmeline threatened to shave one of his eyebrows off in his sleep if he stole one of her dolls again.
Sure, the dolls were stand-ins for omegas he could protect—but leaving that part out makes for a better story.
“She’s my scent match,” he says, like that explains everything.
It doesn’t.
It also doesn’t explain how he thinks flowers are going to be enough to apologise for what he did on their first ever meeting.
“I know that, Ev, but she’s also a… creative,” I say, hoping to appeal to the logical side of him and not the possessive, idiotic alpha side. “Like Em, yeah? So, using words like that when approaching her emotional needs is not the smart move.”
His face scrunches up in confusion, bitter cocoa perfuming harder through the office as he starts spiralling.
“What do you mean, emotional needs? I was offering to meet all of her needs,” he says.
If I wanted to lose this argument, I’d slap him.
Claiming to meet her needs is not what he did. Instead, he walked into the office of a distressed omega and implied she was too incompetent to maintain employment.
“Remember what we discussed,” I say, raising a brow. “You implied she was unable to do her job.”
He shakes his head. “You’re not understanding. I told her she didn’t need to force herself to stay somewhere that was hurting her. I was protecting her, supporting her. I was being a good mate—a good alpha.”
“You weren’t being a good alpha,” I say, leaning against his desk. “You were being a presumptuous asshole.”
Evander’s jaw tightens, bitter cocoa saturating the air with his frustration.
I can see him struggling to process this—his brain working overtime to reconcile the fact that meaning well and doing well weren’t always the same thing.
“You literally described unemployment with better branding.”
Evander throws himself back in his chair with a frustrated sound. “I was trying to help her.”
And that right there is the reason alphas and omegas need betas like me in their lives.
Alphas get caught up in their protective instincts and often forget that omegas have their own agency. I’ve watched him do it with Emme more times than I can count over the years, and now, it looks like he’s going to do it with Cassie, too.
Omegas, well, they sometimes need a beta’s perspective to help them navigate the minefield of alpha emotions. And Cassie definitely needs someone in her corner right now.
I lean back against my desk, watching him spiral into an early grave over a girl he doesn’t really know.
“You’re enjoying this,” he accuses.
I smirk. “Immensely.”
“You’re a terrible friend.”
“I’m a realistic friend,” I counter, crossing my arms. “And as your realistic friend, I’m telling you that showing up at her office again is only going to make things worse. No matter what gifts you bring.”
Evander flips me off without heat. I let my gaze drift briefly to the jacket he abandoned on Friday, the one still carrying traces of soft strawberry and vanilla through the office.
The scent has mostly faded now, but not enough for my instincts to ignore it. My chest tightens, and I need to look away.
Something in her scent is becoming impossible to ignore.
But right now, I can’t betray Evander like that. Not after he fucked things on their first meeting.
His expression sharpens.
“Fine. I have a better idea about how to fix this.”
Of course, he does.
That’s Evander’s answer to everything.
Fix it. Solve it. Protect it.
Control it until it submits.
That’s fine in the business sense. It’s what makes him so good at his job. But in the emotional sense, it doesn’t.
People aren’t numbers.
And wounds don’t heal as fast as bleeding money does.
“You’re going to take my gift to her,” he says, nodding. “It’ll be perfect. She won’t be scared because you’re just a beta, and she’ll…”
I shouldn’t be angry that he refers to me as just a beta, but, fucking hell, is that something that gets under my skin. I’m not just anything. Me being a beta is my biggest blessing.
I can blend into any crowd, I can see clearly what alphas miss, and I can walk away from the messes they make without getting dragged into the scents and emotions.
“You know how much it pisses me off when you say that,” I say, and he frowns. I’ve clearly interrupted him mid-speech.
“I’m sorry,” Evander says and actually sounds like he means it. He never intended to aggravate me, which only makes that worse. “You know I don’t think that way. I was just… I’m a mess, Zac. She’s my scent match—my literal soulmate—and I made her cry.”
I let out a long breath and take pity on him. “So, you want me to be your beta errand boy?”
“No!”
I shove his shoulder and grin. “I’m not upset, dickhead. Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it. This time. But once I meet her properly, we’re going to do things my way.”
“You’ll really help?”
I scoff, still grinning, at his wide-eyed, shocked expression. Why he’s surprised by my offer is beyond me. We’ve been cleaning up messes together since we were kids.
“Of course, I will. You’re my best friend, even when you’re being an idiot.” I roll my eyes, but there’s genuine affection in my voice. “Now, tell me what ridiculous grand gesture you’ve already committed to.”
The flowers are objectively ridiculous.
Evander claimed they were thoughtful and that every omega loves flowers, as proven by Emme.
I’m certain, though, that if his sister actually saw the size of this arrangement, she’d have warned him against it.
It’s easily three feet wide, a chaotic explosion of blush peonies, cream roses, and what looks suspiciously like white orchids—all arranged amongst eucalyptus branches and tiny white daisies.
The daisies are somehow the thing that annoys me most.
I don’t know much about the language of flowers, but Evander has gone on about it enough that I remember these. Apparently, daisies symbolise soulmates, or true love, or devotion, or some other soppy alpha nonsense.
Every daisy I see, I tease him about “the flower of loyal bonds.”
Which means this man either walked into a florist and demanded they build him the botanical equivalent of a mating claim… or he googled soulmate flowers at two in the morning.
Honestly, both feel equally likely.
I’m so lucky to get to be the one to deliver this to an omega who probably hates him.
Her office sits near the end of the hall, tucked away from the louder offices, and far away from the chaos of the bullpens. It’s nice and quiet here, calming, even, and perfect for an omega.
I stop outside her door, eyeing the little gold plaque fixed beside it.
C. Hargrove.
I read it twice before I can make myself look away. Her name on a door she earned. A door my best friend tried to talk her out of standing behind.
I knock carefully against the wood.
“Cassidy? It’s Isaac Reid,” I say, raising my voice a little so she can hear me through the closed door.
There’s no answer.
I wait, listening for any sign of movement inside, unease settling low in my chest as the silence stretches. Maybe she’s not there? Or maybe, once she heard my name, she decided to pretend she wasn’t.
I wouldn’t blame her.
I debate on whether it’s worthwhile leaving them outside or whether I should come back, when I hear something.
It’s a muffled sound, but one that I can’t ignore.
An omega crying.
Sobbing is more accurate.
Every muscle in my body locks, and suddenly, the flowers feel unbearably heavy in my hands.
Fuck.
The moment a distressed whine leaves her throat, I open the door without thinking.
Her scent hits me first, rich enough that instinct immediately sharpens inside me.
Strawberry cream and vanilla musk, perfumed so thickly into the room now that it almost feels tangible—but underneath it sits the sharp, awful scent of distress.
It’s clear now why that little hint on Evander’s jacket was so… intriguing to me. She’s not only his scent match, but mine, too.
And our first real meeting is with me invading her space whilst she’s crying over damage my best friend might’ve caused.
Cassie startles violently at the door opening, and her head pops out of her nest, horror etched into her gorgeous face. I place the flowers on her desk, careful to make sure they don’t fall, before I close the door behind me.
Her green eyes are wide with fear, and even tear-stained and blotchy, she’s still painfully pretty. She’s been crying for longer than I’d like.
I can only hope Evander isn’t the reason she looks this broken.