7. Beau
Beau
The elevator dings, and the doors slide open to reveal Nelly halfway through a yawn.
Her hair's a mess. Not the styled kind, either. The real kind. One side flattened, the other doing whatever the hell it wants. She squints against the light like she's about to declare war on it.
"Good morning," I say as she steps inside.
She drags a hand down her face. "Debatable."
"You look like you could use another night of sleep."
The elevator doors slide closed. "What I could use is four days of clear weather."
"So you can work yourself to death?"
"No better way to go."
I chuckle and shake my head as the elevator carries us down to the main floor.
The doors open again, and a strip of sunlight cuts through the gray outside, catching on the wet pavement and throwing itself back in pointed, blinding flashes.
It's the first break in the clouds we've seen since the rain started. Nelly notices it, too.
Her posture shifts, like someone flipped a switch.
"Oh, good," she mutters, stepping out of the elevator with me. "I wasn't hallucinating the sun. I've got a window."
"What's the plan?" I ask as we head toward the exit.
My question is all it takes. "Gutters first," she says, ticking it off on her fingers.
"They're shot, and I don't trust the rain chains I put up yesterday to hold through another downpour.
" Another yawn drops her jaw. "Then rework the slope along the back side.
Just enough to keep water from pooling. I need to grab some gravel, so I'll start there.
Porch lights are fried, so I'll swap those out. And if I have time—"
"You won't," I cut in. "Rain's supposed to start back up by lunch."
She shoots me a look.
I shrug. "You've got, what? Two, three hours before it picks back up?"
Her mouth tightens, but she doesn't argue. "Then gutters and grading," she amends. "Lights can wait."
"You eat?" I ask.
The sunlight is sharp as we head toward the sidewalk. "Does coffee count?"
"Food, Nelly. Have you had something that requires you to chew?"
She waves me off. "I'll grab something later."
Typical Nelly.
Neglecting herself for the sake of her job.
Mud covers the edges of the sidewalk. Water still clings to every surface, dripping steadily like the storm never really ended. It doesn't shock me when Nelly cuts straight across the lot, her boots splashing through shallow puddles as if they aren't even there.
I stick to the sidewalk and come up the cracked driveway.
The house looks worse in the daylight. The tarp on the roof sags in the middle where water must've pooled overnight.
The yard is a mess of churned mud and scattered debris.
Not to mention the weeds taking over the decorative bushes along the driveway.
One of the gutters hangs at an angle like it gave up halfway through the storm.
Nelly stops just short of the porch, her hands on her hips. "Okay," she says under her breath. "Okay. That's manageable."
I walk up and stand beside her. There's something in her eyes that has always drawn me in, ever since we were kids. It didn't matter that she constantly fought with her family. It didn't matter that they didn't believe in her dreams. She never lost that relentless focus behind her stare.
That staggering energy she brings to every house she renovates.
"Oh, yeah. We can get the gutters and gravel done today," she says.
She flinches when she turns and finds me beside her.
"Be safe, okay?" I ask.
She nods once, already stepping forward. "Always am. Have a good day at work. I'll call if I need something."
That's not true, though. She's never safe, and we both know it. But she's already moving, grabbing tools and assessing angles and forgetting that I'm standing in the driveway watching.
I linger a second longer than I should.
But eventually, I turn and head toward my office.
It's quiet when I get there, which is just fine by me.
Makes it easier to handle numbers and spreadsheets.
While most people are out there dealing with storm fallout and rescheduling their lives, I'm at the office every second I can spare.
Numbers don't argue or ignore you. They don't decide to go wrestle a flood instead of eating breakfast. They don't hound you about not being an Alpha, and they don't judge you for the things you say.
I prefer their company.
Though Nelly's always been a close second.
"All right," I murmur as I pull up Nelly's file, "let's see what we can get done today."
I'm barely into crunching the numbers when a shadow appears in my doorway.
"You look like you're about to commit financial violence," Clay says.
I look up and find him holding a coffee as he leans against the frame. "Just getting my day started."
He snorts. "Same thing."
I gesture him in. "Bring me what you've got."
Clay drops into the chair in front of my desk. "You sure you've got time? You've got that wrinkle in your forehead that says you're already swamped."
"I've only been here a few minutes. I'm hardly swamped."
"Tell that to my flooded backyard."
I chuckle. "I've got a home renovator who's willing to sweep away the water. You interested?"
Clay laughs. "Nelly up to her antics again."
"Since when is she not?"
"I swear, that woman's the same as she's always been."
I close out of Nelly's file and pull up Clay's. "All right, what's the issue?"
"Why do you think there's an issue?"
"You never show up in person unless there's an issue."
He grins and sips his coffee. "I've got the money to open up my Roth."
My eyebrows hike up. "Hey! Congratulations! Finally, some good news around here."
"Was hoping we could get it opened and deposited before I head in to open the shop."
"You're opening today?" I ask as my fingers fly across my keyboard.
"Honeysuckle's only florist waits for no storm because wedding season stops for nothing."
He's got a point.
It takes me no time to get Clay's new account up and running. I can tell how proud he is, and he should be proud. Having one comes with all sorts of benefits down the line. I recommend them to all my clients.
I wish Nelly would get on board.
If she could stop overspending on her projects long enough.
Clay heading out frees up time to give Ford a call at his shop.
Any negotiating I can do on Nelly's behalf will only put more money in her pocket, and with how close she's cutting it with this current project of hers, anything is better than nothing.
I don't know why she took it on. I told her upfront that it wouldn't net her as much money as she hoped.
But then again, money's never driven Nelly.
In some ways, I admire her for that.
After the hopeful phone call with Ford, I give Nelly a ring. I'm not surprised when I get her voicemail.
"Hi! This is Nelly. Leave me a message with your name and phone number, and I'll get back to you as soon as I possibly can. Have a good day!"
I wait for the beep. "Nelly, it's me. Good news.
Just talked with Ford and the cost of materials came in lower than expected.
Not by a ton, but enough to give you some breathing room to the tune of a couple grand.
Labor can also be split into installments, but don't go adding anything unnecessary.
Stick to priority repairs, electrical and roof, and if you sell the house for one-fifty, you'll net enough to purchase your next project with seven grand to spare, not including the two grand you just saved.
Call if you have questions. I'll send a full breakdown to your email. "
After I send the email, my day dips into a blur. Numbers fill my screen and spreadsheets eat the hours until my alarm pulls me out of my trance for lunch.
Wait, that's not my alarm.
I pick up my phone only to see my father calling.
Fantastic.
"Hey, Dad," I say. "What's up?"
"This weekend. Sunday," he says with no greeting whatsoever. "You coming for the family dinner?"
"Don't I always?"
"Good. Be here at two. Your mother's making roast and you know she'll need help. Bring that bread she likes from the bakery. And don't be late this time." I open my mouth to speak, but he keeps going. "And wear something decent. Your uncle's bringing his new flavor of the week."
"Can't wait to see you, either."
"Talk soon."
And just like that, the line goes dead.
Talking to my family always puts a damper on things. Coming from a family of Alphas is pressure enough, but being the only Beta in a family of Alphas? I might as well be a modern-day Cinderella. Still, they're my family, and they're the only family I've got.
I shove my dread over Sunday off to the side so I can finish my workday.
Rain pounds through the afternoon, and I can't help but think of Nelly. Hopefully, she's back in Nash's place, safe and sound.
The thought alone makes me snicker.
"Doubt it," I mutter as I close my office down for the day.
Thunder rolls in the distance, promising more rain as this storm system creeps through. I move on autopilot until I'm back in my apartment, shedding my work clothes for something more comfortable.
After all, my balcony is calling my name, and work needs to be left at the front door, anyway.
Outside, the world still drips. Water beads along the railing and the air is sticky when I inhale. I use a towel to dry off the chair I have sitting out there, and I ease down into it, ready to enjoy my evening chamomile tea.
But then a familiar scent drifts up my nose. Warm vanilla with a hint of spicy citrus.
"Nelly?" I ask.
Did I leave my door unlocked?
I dip my head into my apartment, but my front door's closed. Huh. I lean over the balcony railing and gaze toward the house. Is she still outside, maybe? I inhale again, and the smell of freshly shaved sawdust fills my lungs.
I'd know Nelly's scent anywhere.
But I don't see her.
I open my mouth to call her name, but a sound interrupts me. A sound that shivers down my spine and makes my ears twitch.
A moan.
Wait, is she…?
The sound comes again. It's muffled, like she's trying to keep it contained. My cock kicks in my shorts as I lean over the balcony to try to figure out what in the world is going on. But when the wind starts up again, carrying more of her scent up to me, I realize I'm not hearing things.
Especially when a soft groan finds my ears.
"Go inside," I murmur to myself.
And yet, I stand at my balcony railing, gripping it white-knuckled.
My eyes close as I draw in her scent. Nelly's always smelled nice, but right now, she smells divine. I should go inside. Give her the privacy she clearly thinks she has. The sound of her whimper threads through the humid air, and my cock leaks against my shorts.
"Nope," I murmur. "Inside. Now."
I don't know how I force myself inside, but somehow, I manage. Nelly's not just my client. She's one of my good friends.
I should go down there and tell her she's got a window open or something.
"You should mind your own business," I murmur as I head into the kitchen.
Her scent follows me, though. The syrupy sweet vanilla clings to my shirt, and I can't contain myself. I divert from the kitchen and head for my bedroom.
"Don't do it, don't do it, don't do it," I whisper to myself.
And yet, my hand creeps down my shorts anyway.
My back closes the door behind me, and I slide to the floor.
The echo of her sounds bounces around my head, and the image of me over her while she whimpers around my cock makes me gasp.
Nelly's always been beautiful. In my eyes, she was one of the most beautiful girls in school.
Never dolling herself up with makeup, yet shining just as bright as those popular girls with their short skirts and pristine ponytails.
"Fuck," I groan as I stroke my hand up my length.
My free hand fists my shirt and rakes it up to my nose. I inhale that beautiful citrus and sawdust scent as I buck into my hand. Precome leaks from me in beaded strings that dribble down my skin, slicking my motions.
While Nelly's groan replays in my brain like a video on loop.
My toes curl. I bite down onto my lower lip to keep quiet.
My hips buck as I think of how tight that pretty pussy of hers must be.
This is so wrong on so many levels, and yet I can't stop.
Nelly deserves someone who treats her right.
Who caters to her, has her back, and doesn't try to control her life.
"That's it," I hiss. "Take it. Such a good girl for me, you can do it. You like that, don't you?"
Her moan in my head morphs into my name, and just the thought is enough.
My balls pull up and my orgasm rockets through my body while I clench my teeth together.
I tighten my hand, trying to imagine her wet pussy stretched around me, taking every thread of arousal I have for her while she begs for more.
Except I have no knot. I could never cater to an Omega. I could never give Nelly what she needs. She deserves a strong Alpha with a guiding, supportive hand. One that can help her through her heats without the embarrassing knotting toys I have stuffed away in my bedside drawer.
Yet as I sit there, my shorts soaked with the evidence of my unprofessionalism, all I can think of is her.
And how she deserves the world on a silver platter.