47. Tori
The gathered crowd of reporters on the other side of the door grows steadily louder the closer to noon it gets. The boys surround me, their expensive suits shielding me from anyone who might be looking. I can hear their agents talking off to one side, the words unintelligible, but the tones are light and casual. Dee is lounging in a folding chair, near the window, his floral-printed shirt matching his halfway-to-Island-Time attitude. Which isn’t unjustified.
Mardi Gras season is officially over, and while the trade deadline tomorrow looms, we haven’t heard anything about deals or offers since before the ball. I’m not na?ve enough to believe Gideon slunk off into the shadows with his tail between his legs, but whatever revenge he might have cooking will be a moot point in less than…ten minutes, I realize as I check my phone again.
“Am I the only one freaking out right now?” I rasp, smoothing non-existent wrinkles from my blouse with sweaty palms.
Eli reaches over and takes one of my hands in his, bringing it up to his lips. “No, but we’re just better at hiding it,” he says with a soft smile.
I release a sharp exhale, before breathing in slowly, filling every corner of my lungs, then letting out the breath. Oli checks his phone, sliding it into his inside jacket pocket. “It’s almost time. Do you think anyone would fault us for starting early?” he asks, not raising his voice.
Spencer turns from scanning the room back to us, brow set. “I doubt it, but Rita told us not to start without her,” he mumbles, only half paying attention.
Not for the first time today, I wish Logan was here with us. Even if he couldn’t come out and say he’s part of Pack Mystic, I might feel better if he were just... near me right now. I know he’s in the scrum outside, as are most of the guys from the locker room. The players don’t know what’s being announced, but I’ve never met a hockey player who isn’t secretly a nosey bitch.
The sound of heels on tile makes all of us turn, and my eyebrows shoot up slightly in surprise. I’ve spoken with Rita on the phone before, but I’ve never met with her in person. She’s practically pocket-sized, even with her stiletto heels. Her umber skin and the dark waves cascading around it give her heart-shaped face an almost innocent look. Wearing a matching pants suit in a pretty shade of sage green, a dark green briefcase dangles off her elbow.
“It’s good to see you again,” she says, by way of greeting, when she’s within polite conversational distance, extending her hand for Oli to shake.
She shakes all the boys’ hands before finally turning to me with a wide, motherly smile. Up close, it’s clear she’s not as young as I initially thought, and there’s something about her that puts me at ease. Her scent is strong, a mix of omega and alpha: honeysuckles and matcha and potting soil. She only pauses for a moment before pulling me into a tight, one-armed hug.
“So good to meet you at last, Tori. How’re ya feeling?” she asks as she pulls back.
I shrug, my tongue too big for words. Everything about this situation is so wildly out of my control that I can hardly stand it.
Rita gives my arm a sympathetic squeeze. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, sweetheart. Me and your prime alpha can handle this, right?” She phrases the question as a statement as she gives Oli a hard look.
A nervous giggle bubbles over as he visibly pales and swallows hard. “Yes, ma’am,” he chokes out, clearing his throat.
Rita’s laugh is contagious, and I’m finding myself relaxing more by the second.
“If you’re ready, I’m ready,” Rita says, opening her briefcase and extracting a few sheets of paper.
Eli checks his phone and sighs. “No time like the present. Is everything set?” He turns to look at me.
“Miss Strauss,” a painfully familiar voice calls from down the hall, freezing my spine.
No. There’s no way. Not today. How did he —
“Mr. St. Clair, what are you doing here?” Dee splutters, and I don’t have to turn to hear him scrambling to his feet.
“Mr. Strong, glad to see where Miss Strauss gets her flagrant disregard for company policy from. This is hardly professional,” Gideon sneers, as arrogant as I’ve ever heard him.
“Tori, who the fuck is that?” Oli mutters into my ear, stepping around me to subtly put his body between me and Gideon.
“Your fucking boss, and mine, and Dee’s. Let me handle this,” I grit out, steeling myself before turning around.
I swear to God, Gideon must have a dozen copies of the same suit. Black jacket and pants, a crisp white shirt, a plain steel-gray tie and pocket square. His hair is slicked back, his cheeks shaved smooth, a smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth. And his hazel eyes are cold and sharp as topaz. Our gazes connect, and I roll my shoulders back before striding forward on remarkably steady legs.
“You do like your dramatic entrances, Mr. St. Clair. Though I can’t imagine what may have brought you to our door so soon after your last visit.” I make a point to emphasize my last few words as I come to stand level with Dee in front of him.
“Would you believe me if I said that I’ve missed you?” Gideon asks slyly, even going so far as to wink at me.
A growl from behind me—Spencer, if I’m not mistaken—pulls Gideon’s gaze away from my face for a moment, his smirk widening.
“So, my guess was right after all,” he says to himself, low enough that only Dee and I can hear.
“I require a word with you. In private,” Gideon says, first to me, and then to my boss.
“Not on your life,” Oli snarls, over a small scuffle before it goes quiet.
I glance toward the window, and I can’t help but smile as I see the reflection of Eli doing his best to hold back Oli and Spencer. At least one of my alphas has enough sense to realize how serious this situation is.
“Ace is right, though. We can find somewhere quieter to talk. Follow me,” Dee says, already moving toward one of the smaller rooms that connect to this hallway.
I fix my gaze on Gideon, daring him to do something, anything that could show a crack in his polished, collected expression. But he just turns on his heel and follows Dee, striding through the door he holds open for him. Dee waits for me, a worried expression pulling at his dark face.
“As your lawyer, I must strongly advise you not to go in there,” Rita says as she scurries up to my side.
“He literally owns the building we’re standing in. It’s going to be worse if I don’t,” I mutter, even as my guts twist with nerves.
“As your prime alpha, I really should—”
I give Oli an exasperated look. “Already trying to boss me around and we haven’t even gone public.” I sigh, trying to cover my fear with humor.
“Seriously, sunshine. I don’t like this. One of us—”
“ Sometime today, Miss Strauss! ”
Everyone freezes at the sound of Gideon’s bark, even the alphas in the room. Poor Rita nearly falls over before Spencer’s agent darts forward and catches her elbow. I’ve never heard anything like that in my life. I’m shivering as icy-cold compulsion slides down my spine and sends me stumbling backward, away from my pack. I can’t control my feet, or the chattering of my teeth, and can only give my pack an apologetic look before I finally give in and fully obey the command.
I practically sprint into the small conference room, and Dee tries to follow. But Gideon is there, right over the threshold, and as soon as I’m past him, he reaches out and grabs the door from Dee and slams it, clicking the lock into place. I take several steps backward, needing to put some distance between myself and Gideon, but I don’t like how he’s standing between me and my only exit.
“Well, now that we’re alone, we can be honest with each other at last, don’t you agree?” Gideon sneers, pacing forward even as I continue to move back.
His mask is completely gone now. The calm, even somewhat pleasant businessman and hockey fan I thought I knew is nowhere to be seen. This is the Gideon St. Clair who people speak of only in hushed voices, always looking over their shoulders for. Suddenly, I’m afraid for much more than my career. He stops when we’re near the center of the room, and I shiver unpleasantly as his hazel orbs rake down my body and then back up to my face, distaste in every pore of his countenance.
“You are fucking lucky I don’t string your ass from the arena rafters by your toenails for the shit you’ve pulled, Victoria,” Gideon starts, straightening to his full height.
My instinct is to curl inward, to make myself smaller and hopefully earn some mercy from this alpha’s rage. To roll over and show my belly like a good omega.
Too bad for Gideon that I’ve had years of practice in suppressing my instincts.
I straighten my spine and slide my hand into my pocket, unlocking phone and navigating it by muscle memory alone. I can only pray that I’ve selected the right options as I lift my chin and stay silent.
“Nothing to say for yourself? Do you think you have a cunt made of gold? Because you’re not going to be able to fuck your way out of this one,” he snaps.
“This is hardly an appropriate way for an employer to speak to their employees,” I retort, shutting down my emotions.
He wants a reaction. He wants to get under your skin and break you. But today is not the day, and I’m not the one.
“I’ll speak to you however I goddamn please, Victoria. And if you have a singular ounce of sense in that bottle-blonde head of yours, you’ll mind your tone with me,” he fires back.
“What tone? You’re the one who threatened to hang me from the arena rafters a few seconds ago,” I reply, easing into the brattiest version of myself I possibly can while remaining professional.
“That’s the least I could do for the insubordinate bullshit you’ve been flinging at me. You don’t get to undermine me and get away with it. Lesser men have tried, and I’ve painted my office walls with their blood.”
My eyebrow twitches down for a moment with confused alarm, but I manage to keep the rest of my face impassive.
“Thank goodness, then, that I’m not lesser, and not a man,” I drawl, mouth working before my brain.
Gideon lets out a humorless laugh, a sinister sound that has my hair standing on end. “If you weren’t such a bratty fucking bitch, I’d almost respect you, you know that? Not many people have the balls to say shit like that to my face.”
I roll my eyes, unable to help myself. His arrogance grates on my nerves, allowing me to push away some of my fear in favor of irritation. I can handle a battle of wits, though my opponents rarely come as armed as the alpha across from me.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and just because I know it’ll irritate Gideon, I pull it out and glance at the message, while also confirming that I have, in fact, turned on my voice recorder.
Oli
If you don’t come out of there in the next three minutes, I’m going to break down that door myself.
I type out my reply, and I’m about to hit send when Gideon lets out a cruel, humorless laugh, pulling my attention back to his face.
“Oh, am I not worthy of your precious attention? Maybe you’ll find these interesting,” Gideon spits, reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket and throwing three identical manila envelopes onto the floor between us.
I lower my phone and leave my message unsent but the app open as I slide it back into my pocket. I refuse to give in to his power play, instead just pacing over to the thick documents and nudging them with my toe. Each envelope has two simple lines of text on it, and my heart drops as I read them.
Oliver Astrauckas — Carolina Hurricanes Elijah Jokinson — Winnipeg Jets Spencer Black — San Francisco Wardens
“What are they?” I ask, my voice a hoarse rasp.
“Trade agreements. Already signed by Hoover and ready for submission to the league,” Gideon sneers.
I look up in horror, unable to hide it as my stomach drops to my feet. My phone buzzes again, probably Oli threatening to break down the door again. But even if he did, and managed to knock Gideon out long enough for us to announce our intent to form a pack, is that enough to stop a signed and sealed trade agreement? And of all the teams he could have bargained with, sending Spencer back to the team that made him miserable would be almost worse than forcing us apart.
“You think that you’re untouchable because you four are forming a pack—and don’t bother denying it, Miss Strauss; I’ve found the court filings—but you don’t get to call the shots on my team. You don’t have any power here.”
My pulse rushes in my ears, making Gideon sound like he’s at the other end of a tunnel, rather than only a few feet in front of me.
“But since I’m feeling oh-so-generous, I’ll offer you a deal,” Gideon says, his voice slick as an oil spill.
I look up, not able to form words even if I wanted to. My phone buzzes again, but I’m frozen, waiting for the other Italian leather shoe to drop.
“I’ll tear up those contracts, and your precious little alphas get to keep playing for the Mystic. But you have to sign this, tendering your formal resignation effective immediately. And as long as you never set so much as a pinky toe in my building or my arena ever again, you can even go through all the court bullshit and form your stupid fucking pack.”
The world seems to slow, each of my heartbeats lasting an hour or more, as things come into focus. Oliver and Elijah have been fighting tooth and nail to stay together since before I ever met them. Spencer was miserable on his own in California, and he’s found peace and happiness and belonging on the team here. And to be left behind, without them, it would kill me.
Is this even home without the men I love?
Is it worth having a life and a career if I don’t have my pack to share it with?
Five months ago, hell, five weeks ago, this choice would have torn me to pieces. But as a sharp pounding comes from the door, the handle rattling, I’m pulled back into the present. And there’s no doubt in my heart or head as I snap my head up and hold out a steady hand toward Gideon St. Clair.
“Do you have a pen?” I ask, voice stronger than ever.
“Tori! Open the fucking door! Can you hear me?”
“Let us in, you piece of shit! Tori!”
“Does no one have a motherfucking key? Tori! Unlock the door!”
The voices of my soon-to-be pack mates are muffled by the thick wood of the fire door, but I’m almost detached from reality. Gideon’s smile is a barbed wire slash across his handsome face as he pulls out a singular piece of paper, walking with me toward the table pushed against one side of the room. He slaps it down and takes out a pen that probably cost more than my yearly salary and holds it out to me.
“Not going to make me sign in my own blood?” I snark, leaning down to read over the text before I sign.
“I’m not that sort of lawyer,” Gideon replies, not missing a beat.
I snort, eyes darting back and forth over the text. The pounding is louder than ever, punctuated by the occasional slam of a body against the outside. But I have to focus and finish this before they get in here. I’ve underestimated Gideon’s ruthlessness up to now, and I wouldn’t put it past him to renege on his agreement and ship them out even if I resign.
The text is pretty simple, all things considered. But I know better than to sign it without careful consideration. He’s at least giving me the severance I’m entitled to, but it’s a cold comfort compared to what I’m losing. There’s a commotion outside now, more voices shouting over each other, and several new voices calling my name from the hallway. But I can’t stall any longer, and I scowl as I sign my career away in a few strokes of a pen.
“There. You’ll be expected to arrange the return of any company property currently being held at your home or elsewhere,” Gideon says, then snatches the paper away and returns it to his inner pocket.
He starts to leave and, unable to help myself, I drop to the floor, tearing open Spencer’s envelope first, ready to destroy this trade agreement with my bare hands. But as I tip out the thick stack of paper, my jaw drops as I realize that every page is completely blank. And, when I open the other two, all I have scattered around me on the floor are pristine, unblemished sheets of printer paper.
Noise fills the room as Gideon opens the door, half a dozen people falling over each other to get inside. He stands back, allowing Oli, Eli, Spencer, and Logan to rush to my side, while Rita and Dee linger at the threshold.
“This is for you, Mr. Strong. Tori has resigned from her position, effective immediately. And I want her escorted off the premises as soon as possible,” Gideon says, too much triumph in his voice.
I turn my head up to see Dee scanning the letter I just signed with wide, disbelieving eyes before he turns back to Gideon.
“I refuse to accept this,” he starts with a shake of his head, eyebrows pinched.
Gideon tuts, as if the alpha before him, who’s old enough to be his father, is merely an unruly child. “If you want to keep those tickets to Paris for you and…Sandy—that’s your wife’s name?—then you will do as your superior has instructed you to do.”
Dee’s face pales and he swallows hard. He’s as trapped in this situation as I am, so I don’t begrudge his nod, even if another shard of my heart crumbles to dust. I look down at the papers as my alphas crowd around me, their voices blurring together as they scan me for injuries or any physical damage.
“Oh, and one last thing,” Gideon says.
Tears blur my vision as I raise my eyes, finding Gideon stopped by the door, sneering down at me.
“Per the fine print in your employment contract, you are subject to a five-year non-compete clause.”
My heart officially shatters, and I can’t help but let out a choked sob. Gideon, the absolute bastard that he is, only chuckles as he twists the handle of the door and pushes it open.
“A pleasure doing business with you, Miss Strauss.”
Gideon’s laughter fades as he walks away, taking the last of my strength and dignity with him, leaving me sobbing on the floor of a room I’m now banned from being in.