Chapter 2 #3
The picture of cool, calm control.
Even if I have to squeeze my thighs together to ignore the heat radiating there.
Grey gestures casually. “Mia.”
My name in his voice snaps me back into formation.
“This is Nash Cross,” Grey continues. “Alpha of the Crossvale pack.”
As if I don’t know.
As if I didn’t memorize the cadence of his breathing once.
Or the cut of his washboard fucking abs.
Ugh.
“Hello,” I manage.
“Nash, this is Mia Reyes,” Grey says to Nash. “Our strategist.”
Strategy, damn right. The word steadies me.
The title alone reminds me this is supposed to be a professional exchange.
No feelings. No rapid heartbeats or aching core.
Nash inclines his head as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking and is mocking my efforts. “A pleasure.”
His voice is smooth. Familiar. Dangerous in its restraint.
“Likewise,” I say evenly. Maybe even a little coldly.
If Lexi senses the shift in the air, she doesn’t show it. And I’ll be damned if I let them see our familiarity, because the last thing I want to do is explain how I know this male. Or how intimately.
Grey clears his throat and continues, “Crossvale has agreed to assist with outer perimeter security.”
I blink as his words sink in. My brain snaps back into function. “Assist how?” I ask warily.
Nash answers, “My wolves will patrol beyond your boundary lines. If Ramsey attempts to bring reinforcements through neighboring territories, we’ll intercept and send word to you to provide us with reinforcements.”
His tone is professional. Measured. Like we’re strangers.
Good.
I turn to Grey. “Are you that sure Ramsey will be able to recruit such a strong number against us?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Grey says quietly. He flicks a glance at Nash, who frowns, and realization dawns.
“Ramsey approached you,” I say.
Nash nods. “He did.”
It’s Franco’s recruitment scheme all over again. The one that brought Nash to town two years ago. The one I thwarted by making Nash agree to leave. “What did he promise you?” I ask. “Territory? Money?”
“Both.”
I narrow my eyes. “And you declined.”
“Yes.”
My skepticism is obvious, but I don’t care. “Why?”
There’s the faintest flicker in his gaze. “Because I prefer alliances built on integrity rather than tyranny.”
And because he made a promise to me once.
I shake the thought off immediately. The night we shared was so long ago; I doubt he even remembers it or the promise he made. This is purely business for him, so I’ll have to make sure it stays that way for me.
“Well, we appreciate the intel. I better get back.”
I turn to leave, but Grey steps forward. “I want the two of you coordinating. Full patrol schedule. Offensive contingencies. All of it.”
I blink, startled. “You want me to work with him?”
The question comes out a little louder than I intend. But I can’t help it. The idea of spending time together… alone… I can’t even let myself imagine it.
“Is that a problem?” Lexi asks, but she looks more interested than concerned.
I exhale. “No.” I force my expression to stay neutral. “Of course not.” I shoot Nash a look. “But we do have a system, and I’m not interested in disrupting it.”
“I’ve run my own teams for years now,” Nash says. “I’m sure I can keep up.”
Prepotente. Arrogant alpha.
“I’ve invited Nash to stay for a few days while we shore things up,” Grey says.
“I see,” I manage.
“If he needs anything, you’ll coordinate for him?” Grey asks, though it’s not a question so much as a command.
“Of course,” I say.
My pulse remains steady, which is honestly a miracle because Nash hasn’t looked away from me once.
Grey continues outlining logistics, but my awareness is split—half on strategy, half on the hot-as-fuck alphahole standing in front of me like a mirage solidified.
When the meeting disperses, Lexi and Grey head down the corridor. Andy slips back into the office and shuts the door, already nose-deep in her tablet again.
And suddenly it’s just us.
Again.
He takes a single step closer.
Close enough to feel the heat of him. To recognize his familiar and delicious scent of snow-tipped mountains. My throat closes a little as I try not to breathe it in.
“You look well,” he says quietly.
“You look expensive,” I reply, nodding at the suit and luxury watch.
His mouth curves faintly. “Is that judgment?”
“It’s observation.”
A beat passes.
“This isn’t how I expected to see you again,” he says.
“Funny, I could have sworn I would never see you again.”
“Fate had other plans, it seems.”
My pulse betrays me with a single sharp kick.
“This is work,” I say evenly. “Fate has nothing to do with it.”
His gaze sharpens. “Of course.”
But the way he says it doesn’t agree.
The giant estate around us feels suddenly smaller. The air charged. Like the calm outside is just waiting for someone to strike a match.
And if Ramsey is the storm gathering beyond the horizon—Nash Cross might be the lightning already striking the ground in front of me. And I realize, with zero amusement, that this moment right here wins hands down as the most surprising twist of fate’s fucked up sense of humor yet.