Blizzard Bound (My Over The Top Possessive Alpha Harem #6)

Chapter 1

DARBY

Ifucking hate winter.

Snow. Ice. Air so cold it freeze-dries the insides of my nostrils every time I take a breath. I hate it when the tip of my nose feels like it’s going to shatter and fall off.

So of course I live in Denver. Not my brightest idea.

It’s too fucking cold to do anything but curl up in my cozy bed with a book and a cup of tea. But nooooo, here I am dragging my ass to my boring, meaningless, corporate bullshit job so I can pay the bills.

Taking one last deep breath inside the fading warmth of my parked car, I throw open the door, tuck my face deep into my coat, and scurry as fast as I dare across the icy parking lot toward the back door.

I hoped parking behind the building would at least shield me from the wind, but a gust slaps me in the face, stealing my breath.

I can’t believe people live here for fun, paying thousands of dollars to crystalize their lungs and risk their fool necks while slipping down icy mountains.

My mittens make my grip slip on the doorknob. I fumble for what seems an eternity, trying not to breathe in the brutal air. Finally, I get the knob twisted, start to pull open the door, and something catches my attention out of the corner of my eye.

Smoke. Rising from a dumpster at the edge of the building.

A literal dumpster fire.

Frozen with the door cracked, I open my mouth to yell for help, but someone’s already here. A man turns, looking at me over his shoulder.

“Oh. Hey, Darby.” My boss, Tim, swipes his hair back off his face and gives me a sheepish grin. “I didn’t think anyone used the back door.”

Stunned, I can only stare as he tosses another stack of manila folders over the edge into the burning dumpster. He’s got a whole trash can full of files.

My boss is burning folders. In the dumpster. Behind the building.

“I thought I’d get a closer parking spot,” I say slowly even though my mind is whirling.

Is he having some kind of breakdown? I’ve worked for Sunshine Financial for almost two years, but I don’t really know anything about him outside of work.

He’s my boss, not my friend, and not even that great of a manager. “Are you okay?”

“No worries.” He laughs with a shrill, maniacal edge of glee, or panic, I’m not entirely sure. “We needed to free up some space in the archives. Go ahead and start the staff meeting without me.”

Not to be that person but I’m pretty sure regulatory procedures for the proper handling of client data by financial companies don’t include burning files in a dumpster. But I’m just a spreadsheet girlie. They don’t pay me enough to know anything too useful. “Okay, sure. Do you—”

With a grunt, he shoves another huge armload of files into the dumpster. Sweat drips down his smudged cheeks and he coughs through the smoke. Wisps of thin, burned paper ash float around him. “Get out of here before it’s too late.”

That doesn’t sound good at all. In fact, his tone rings with finality, which signals threat and danger.

Rather than try and talk him down myself, I hurry inside, passing through the storage area into the main office building.

I’ve never entered the building from the rear, and I’m a bit turned around.

The lower-level offices are dark, small, and cramped, winding back and forth like a rabbit warren.

Finally I make it out to the main reception area where Bill, the security officer, sits watching the front doors.

He’s twenty or more years older than me, knows everybody’s name, and always has a ready smile.

“I need help,” I gasp.

Immediately, he’s on his feet, moving around the desk to come closer. His brown eyes fill with concern. “What’s wrong, Ms. Barclay? I didn’t see you come in.”

Now that I’m out of the cold, I’m suddenly too hot. The scarf is too tight, strangling me. I try to drag it away from my neck, but the mittens make me clumsy again. “Back door. There’s something wrong with Tim.”

“Stay here.” Pulling out his phone, he races back the way I came, already talking to someone on the phone.

Using my teeth, I pull off the right mitten so I can jerk at the scarf, nearly clawing my skin to get the itchy, hot material off my throat.

I’m sweating profusely, but I’m not sure if it’s just the temperature change or adrenaline.

Flashing red and blue lights out the front door only ramp up my stress levels.

Wow. That was fast. Bill must have called 911.

But then I realize it’s police cars. Not an ambulance.

Surely Tim needs to go to the hospital.

My heart thuds heavily, a slow, ponderous thump that makes my ribs ache.

He doesn’t need an ambulance. He’s burning files. He must be in some kind of trouble.

The kind of trouble that brings cops without sirens to a corporate tower.

Am I in trouble too?

Horrified, I stagger around the desk and fall into Bill’s seat before my legs give out. I haven’t done anything illegal—to my knowledge. But Tim’s my boss.

Oh my god.

I’m going to jail.

All I can think about is having to waste my one phone call from prison on my ex-husband so he can take care of our Husky, Skadi.

Which means he won. He finally got custody of the only piece of our disastrous marriage I’d been able to retain for myself.