Chapter 33 （Conrí）
Conrí
Claire stood ready to greet me. Steve would pop by later—his office was on a different floor and as Operations Manager his time ran differently to everyone else’s.
“Mr Gallagher, good morning,” she said, extending her hand.
I hesitated.
My eyes had already moved to Nika across the floor. This had never been an issue before—a handshake, reflex, meaningless. But we really didn’t want Claire’s scent on us right now. I patted her arm instead, touching only the material of her blazer.
“It’s so lovely to see you again, Claire,” I said, with a smile wide enough to cover the slight.
“Well, we are at your disposal,” she said, recalibrating smoothly. Her hand swept across the floor. Eight teams in total. I would need to work through all of them.
“If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to sit in on the Dáire project.”
Her smile faltered—just a fraction, just long enough—before she recovered.
“Of course. Let me get Andrew for you.”
She moved off across the floor.
Nika was sipping her coffee, one eye peering over the rim of the cup. Her hair was piled on top of her head like a crown. And beneath every other scent on that floor—the cleaning products, the coffee, the accumulated humanity of eight teams—hers was superior. I moved a little closer and inhaled.
Stronger than Friday.
Matured.
Pheromones that were more than a chemical reaction. A calling as old as time itself, rising off her skin like something that had been waiting for exactly this moment.
My lip curled as the scent hit the back of my throat.
She lowered her cup.
Confusion crossed her face first. Then panic. Her gaze stayed locked with mine.
She wasn’t ready. She wouldn’t show the usual postural cues yet—her body was ahead of her understanding and she didn’t know it.
We had time.
She might not know that.
But no one would be able to satisfy her the way we could.
No one.
Claire and Andrew approached just as Nika tore her eyes away from mine.
The man began to talk about Dáire Financial Services.
I didn’t give a shit.
Because Nika’s scent deepened another fraction.
For me.
For us.
I walked past them both.
I snagged a spare chair as I approached her desk, rolling it into the gap beside her and settling into it with a quiet exhale—letting the scent that surrounded her wash over me like something I hadn’t known I’d been starving for.
The woman beside her shifted without a word and made room.
“Good morning,” I rasped.
Her eyes became hooded. Her breathing laboured beneath the cream knit sweater, slow and slightly uneven, her body already answering something her mind hadn’t named yet.
She nodded.
We inhaled.
Kael as hooked as I was.
I stifled the groan.
So this was it. This was what my father couldn’t explain and my mother laughed about when we asked. This was why they reached for each other across every room they’d ever shared without thinking about it.
I finally understood.
She cleared her throat and began to show me what she was working on. I nodded politely, but focused on memorising that sweet, delicious musk until it was hammered into my brain. Until I could feel the blood rushing to my head. Until I felt Kael’s pull toward the ancient dance between wolves.
This wasn’t the time or the place and I knew we needed to pull ourselves together—but I indulged a little longer.
We noticed her posture. The gloss on her lips that matched her nails. Polished and perfect in a dusky pink.
Oh, by the Gods.
My eyes closed as I thought of the other shades of pink she would have.
This was torture.
“Are you well, Mr Gallagher?” she sniggered.
Fuck.
I opened one eye.
How had she managed to regain her composure so quickly?
She is the devil, Kael shot at me. Then—I think I love her.
Both eyes open.
We stared into the silver and black aether.
“You look a little pale.”
Around us, others had begun to talk. Offers of drinks and sugary confectionery appearing from nowhere, the floor’s instinct to manage a crisis kicking in around someone who clearly needed a biscuit.
It only then occurred to me that this entire visit was supposed to be us turning the tables on them.
But I could regret nothing.
We were basking under the gaze of our mate, revelling in her scent.
Bad Girl wasn’t trying to claw our face off.
This was progress.