CASSIDY
The best way to avoid thinking is to arrive before the thoughts do.
By six-thirty, I’m already working at my desk, hiding from the men.
Harlan, who has barely looked at me in a week now, after our awkward moment.
Isaac, who has spent the last month lying to my face and letting me believe I was worthy of him, when, all along, I never was.
Evander, who I refuse to believe didn’t know about his best friend’s bond to me and his deceit.
And honestly, I’m avoiding Silas, too. The big alpha unnerves me, even through the scent neutraliser, and I have no doubt he’s somehow tangled up in all of this, too.
I shrug off my coat, drape it over the back of my chair, and immediately open my laptop to get the admin out of the way so I can get back to the creative work I want to lose myself in.
Emails first, since nobody will reply at this time in the morning.
Then I review the campaign reports and forward the information over to Harlan.
One task. Then another.
Then another. It’s simple. It’s easy. It’s the perfect distraction.
By the time I’m done, I can guilt-free go back to creating.
My coffee goes cold before I remember to drink it, and I don’t care. I don’t even like coffee anymore.
Or at least, I don’t like the smell of it.
I rub at my eyes and take a sip of lukewarm water that tastes blander than my current mood.
My stomach growls quietly, but I ignore it. Breakfast can wait. This campaign cannot.
By the time Harlan’s started blowing up my email with job lists, I’ve already scrapped two different designs.
An email sits open in front of me for nearly three minutes before I realise I’ve already read the same paragraph four times.
The screen blurs slightly as I blink to try and refocus.
To keep going.
I read it again, frowning as nothing sticks.
I’m usually better than this.
My fingers pause briefly above the keyboard, long enough for an unwelcome thought to slip through the cracks.
Brown eyes.
Patient smiles.
Caramel. Butterscotch.
Betrayal.
I slam the mental door shut so quickly it almost hurts.
I can’t do this today.
I have work to do. I have revisions to finish and timelines to review and approximately three hundred things that are more important than whatever emotional catastrophe my life has decided to become.
Useful.
I need to make myself useful. I can do useful.
Useful is easy.
Useful is safe.
I straighten in my chair and reply to Harlan, attaching the required document to the email.
As expected, I get no thanks.
Outside my office, the city is fully awake now. Inside, I lose myself in spreadsheets, layouts, and deadlines.
And for a little while, at least, it almost works.
The problem with hiding in my office is that, eventually, I have to leave it.
I make it all the way to one-thirty before necessity wins.
My water bottle is empty, and my head is pounding.
And despite my earlier insistence that food could wait, my stomach is now filing a formal complaint.
I save my work, grab my bottle, and step out into the corridor, making my way to the staff room.
The moment I enter the bull pen, I know I’ve made a mistake.
The building feels different now. Busier. Louder.
People move through the hallways carrying coffees and tablets and stacks of paperwork. Conversations drift from nearby offices. Phones ring somewhere in the distance.
It’s normal. Everything should feel normal.
And yet, I’m trapped in a spiral of overwhelm and panic. My head hurts, my chest is tight with anxiety, and my scent is fraying at the edges.
I’ve never felt more obviously omega than I do today, and it shows. I can’t function properly. Not here, not in this… chaos.
I keep my head down as I make my way towards the kitchen, trying to not make eye contact with anyone who gives me the usual scrutinising looks.
The route is familiar enough that I don’t need to think about it. At least, until caramel and butterscotch cut through the office air, loosening my anxiety ever so slightly.
And increases it tenfold at the exact same time.
I freeze and look up ever so slowly, hoping that they’ve not noticed me.
Isaac is standing at the far end of the corridor with Evander, the pair of them talking quietly enough that their words don’t carry to me.
Not like their combined scents do, anyway.
It’s unfair how unruffled Isaac is after yesterday’s disastrous revelations. His dark espresso-brown hair is as neatly styled as ever, not a strand out of place.
The crisp line of his jaw softens when he smiles at something Evander says, caramel-brown eyes warm with amusement.
Everything about him looks like it’s under control.
Like he woke up this morning, looked at the emotional catastrophe I’d stumbled into, and decided to keep functioning anyway.
Beside him, Evander is impossible to miss. He towers over Isaac by several inches, broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his shirt as he folds his arms across his chest.
Afternoon light catches the golden tan of his skin and the thick, slightly wavy brown hair that never quite behaves itself.
His forest-green eyes are focused on Isaac, heavy lashes softening features that would otherwise be intimidating. Even standing still, he seems to take up more space than anyone has a right to.
Coffee and dark chocolate wrap around the sweeter scent of caramel and butterscotch, the combination rich enough to make my stomach tighten and my throat ache.
Or maybe that’s just nerves.
Evander’s gaze darts up, meeting mine. His smile widens, and he moves to take a step towards me.
I don’t know who reacts first between Isaac and me, but as I step back, Isaac grabs Evander’s arm to stop him from approaching me.
I duck my head and rush to the staff room, not waiting to see whatever ensues between the two of them.
I run the tap, grateful that we’re approaching winter. One of the best things is how cold the pipes are and how cold it makes our water straight from the tap.
I fill my bottle, my hands trembling enough that some spills over the sides.
My heart doesn’t settle until several minutes later.
It’s pathetic. I am pathetic.
I’m a grown woman. A professional. Someone who is supposed to know how to hold herself together.
And yet, apparently, I have the maturity of a child, fleeing from men.
I grab a cereal bar, open it, and take a small bite. I chew automatically, despite the clenching of my stomach in protest.
Apparently, even though I’m starving, my stomach is protesting the idea of actual food.
I sigh as I bin the rest of it, hating myself for the wastage of something I didn’t purchase myself.
I check the clock, wondering if I’ve hidden in here long enough or whether there’s a chance I might run into them again.
I hope not.
Steeling myself, I head back towards my office.
This time, I almost make it without seeing anyone.
Almost.
The lift doors open just as I’m passing them, and I recognise the familiar burning feel of someone’s gaze.
I stop so abruptly my shoes squeak against the floor. I look over my shoulder, spotting Silas.
Of course, it’s Silas.
The alpha who has always noticed me, always managed to find me when I’m hiding.
The alpha fills the lift without even trying. Tall. Broad. Solid. Too steady when I feel anything but.
Dark brown hair, perfectly styled as usual. Deep-set eyes fixed entirely on me.
My stomach drops, and I wish I was in the safety of my office right now—in my nest, away from all of this.
From all of them.
I’m fairly certain I have emotionally unstable omega written across my forehead in bright neon letters, and that’s the last thing I want Silas picking up on.
The lift doors start to slide shut, and Silas’s hand shoots out.
They immediately reopen, and my pulse jumps. He makes no move to step out, no move to talk with me.
He seems content to just watch.
I can’t move, but the corridor feels too bright. Too warm. Too constricting.
Or maybe that’s just his natural presence.
Silas always seems to run hotter than everyone else. Even from several feet away, I can feel the steady, comforting heat of him reaching me, my body traitorously registering it as something safe.
I hate that.
I hate all of this.
Most of all, I hate the way his dark eyes narrow slightly. It’s like he’s already spotted every single thing I’m trying to hide.
“Morning, Cassidy.”
His voice is low and steady. With a kind of gentle that settles against my raw edges and makes me want to burst into tears for absolutely no reason whatsoever.
“Oh. Hi,” I whisper, turning to face him properly now.
His gaze flicks briefly to the half-crushed water bottle in my grip before returning to my face.
He knows something is wrong.
I can practically see the moment he reaches that conclusion.
Silas notices, then he acts.
And I am absolutely not equipped to deal with whatever that means today.
“I’m so sorry, Silas, but I have something I must do,” I squeak before practically running from him.
He doesn’t follow, but his eyes stay trained to my back until I disappear from his view.
Cowardly, yes.
But my pulse is hammering, my anxiety too intense to ignore.
I slip inside, close my office door, and then lock it for good measure.
Then immediately feel ridiculous for doing so.
The silence settles around me again, and I kick my shoes off, letting the carpet ground me as I walk through it with bare feet.
Out there, in the real world, everything is too much. Too uncontrollable.
Too overstimulating.
But in here, I’m safe, I’m contained, I’m left alone.
I stare at my monitor for several long seconds before sinking back into my chair.
Avoidance isn’t a solution.
I know that.
Eventually, I’m going to have to talk to them, or they’re going to corner me and drag whatever is upsetting me out of me.
At least, Silas and Evander will.
Eventually, we’re going to have the conversation I’ve spent the entire day avoiding.
But eventually isn’t right now. And right now is all I can manage.
The problem arrives at 3:17 in the afternoon.
Which, honestly, is rude.