Chapter 11
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
ROSETTE
I’m not sure what Mr. Roth is thinking. Many of his colleagues from the firm are at this event, too. Surely they’ll catch wind if he’s walking around introducing me to people as his date.
I feel like I’m on a train that’s about to crash.
“What are you doing?” I hiss at him as we finally leave our conversation with Mr. Schwarz and head toward the bar. “Human resources is going to have some things to say.”
“I’ll deal with it,” he says with finality. “What would you like to drink?”
I’m surprised that he’s even asking me, when at any other gala, he’s ordered me a gin and soda with lime.
“Wine,” I say, because I do actually like gin and soda, but I want to assert myself. “White wine, please.”
Mr. Roth nods and gives the bartender our order: one white wine and one dry martini with two olives. Both are produced in short order, and then we return to mingling.
I don’t fight it when Mr. Roth slides his arm around my waist because truthfully…
I like it. If I thought I didn’t mean anything to him before the night he burst into Octavio’s, that thought is banished.
He’s here telling me—and everyone else around us—that I’m his. He’s saying it loudly and clearly.
I’m still not sure how I feel about that, whether I want to be his.
But the idea is appealing, standing here on Mr. Roth’s arm as we chat to his society acquaintances, and they politely ask me questions like, “Where did you go to school?” I answer with my backwater state university, but no one bats an eyelash.
“How did you two meet?”
Here it comes.
“She began working as my assistant,” Mr. Roth says smoothly. “But it became something more than that.”
Where I expect the couple we’re talking with to be disgusted, instead, they both nod in understanding.
“We also met at work,” the wife says. “Though more as colleagues.”
The husband arches an eyebrow. “Got up to some extracurricular activities on the job?”
I can feel it when my entire face turns red, because I feel like my head is about to pop off my body from the embarrassment. But Mr. Roth just chuckles, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. He takes my hand in his and squeezes it, and then he doesn’t let go.
Eventually, we move on, making our way around the room.
When the cocktail hour is over, we’re herded to our seats in the massive ballroom, where I find we’ve been seated with others from the firm—including the CEO.
Mr. Roth pulls out my chair for me, then takes my hand as I sit.
He kisses the back of it before letting go, and my face must turn bright red all over.
Not even the light show on the walls or the beautiful, glittering centerpieces can distract me from the fact we’re blatantly ignoring human resources protocol.
“And who is this?” the CEO asks. Naomi Philips is a force to be reckoned with, and I’m squeezing Mr. Roth’s hand so tight under the table that I’m probably biting into his skin with my nails.
He looks unfazed.
“Ms. Kristoff, my assistant. I believe you’ve met before.”
Her brow rises. “Your assistant? From the firm?” She surveys me. “Well, I hope you’re taking good notes.”
I open my mouth, not sure what to say in response when I have my phone nowhere near me, but she simply chuckles.
“And what’s your excuse, Vincent?” Naomi says. “For dating your assistant.”
He shrugs. “The mating exemption.”
The table falls totally quiet. Every conversation comes to a halt as our coworkers turn their heads to stare.
Oh, no.
“Really?” Naomi gapes at him. “You?”
Without hesitation, Mr. Roth nods. “We’ll be approaching human resources on Monday.”
We will? This is news to me. As is, apparently, that he’ll be claiming the mating exemption.
Which only means one thing. He thinks I’m his mate.
My jaw works as the music slows, then stops, and someone comes on stage to start speaking. Naomi turns away, as does everyone else at the table, to watch the speaker extoll the virtues of the organization.
“Are you serious?” I lean my head in close to Mr. Roth’s side as I whisper. “When were you going to tell me?”
“Tonight.” His hand curls tighter around mine. “I’m sorry for the way it came out.”
But I don’t think he’s sorry. I think he engineered it so he could catch me off guard in public, so I wouldn’t be able to freak out on him the way I am freaking out inside my head.
How long has he known? What does orcish mating even entail?
I move to get up from my chair, and Mr. Roth gives me a quizzical look.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” I say, and immediately, he gets to his feet with me and guides me out of the ballroom. We ask a volunteer to point us in the right direction.
But I pass the bathrooms and duck down into a side hallway. Mr. Roth glances around us, where only a harried-looking volunteer is carrying an auction basket, and she runs on ahead, leaving us alone.
“You can’t make stuff up like that,” I say immediately. “That’s just to throw them off the scent, right?”
“No.”
Mr. Roth’s gaze is solid, unwavering.
“Really?” I choke. “With me? But…”
“You’re my mate.” His tone couldn’t be more certain. “Mine.”
VINCENT
Now she knows, with no room for doubt.
My first clue should have been when I threatened a man just for touching Velvet’s tits.
And then, last night, I imagined her at Octavio’s.
Imagined what she might be doing there. The longer I pictured it, strangers’ hands all over her, maybe even some other cock inside her, I was sure I was going to break a hole in my brick walls.
Instead, I destroyed another punching bag.
It was when I tore through the leather and stitching again, and it collapsed to the floor in a heap, that I knew. My body and soul had both laid claim to Rosette Kristoff. What I thought was a tryst with my assistant has become much, much more than that.
For me, at least.
This is, most unfavorably, an orcish experience. Only orcs, wolfmen, and a few other scattered species out there spontaneously imprint on their mates, creating an undeniable and everlasting bond. Often it springs from attraction, but sometimes it can come even for totally platonic work colleagues.
Thus, the mating exemption. I can’t control who my body imprints on. Though I’m sure we helped it along by fucking the way we did.
The one question mark has been how Ms. Kristoff will respond. I am asking her, quite plainly, to be with me. To be mine forever, wholly and completely.
Which, after how I’ve behaved, is a big request.
“Don’t I get a say in this?” she asks, pulling her hand away from mine.
I furrow my brow, confused by her question.
“The mate bond only happens once in a lifetime, with one person,” I say patiently. “It’s destiny.”
She keeps her clutch close to her, like I might try to take it. “You didn’t answer my question. I’m a human, not an orc. You decided I’m your mate, whatever that means—”
“Whatever that means? It is a serious thing, mating. I don’t have a choice in it.”
She screws up her lips. “But I have a choice, don’t I?”
It hits me like a punch to the gut, what she’s saying. She’s suggesting that she won’t accept it. That she wants to deny the truth about us.
I straighten, adjusting my red tie. Losing my temper now won’t do me any favors. She needs something else, something more… tender, I believe. I need to convince her that she wants to be my mate.
“Ms. Kristoff.” I take a step toward her, then go down onto one knee. Her eyes get big as I gently scoop up her hand in mine. “No. Rosette.”
I see the shiver as it rolls up her body.
“Please, give me tonight. Let me show you, tonight, what being my mate could be like.” I bring her fingers to my lips, and I think how even now, I’ve never kissed her. If she lets me, I will rectify that this very evening.
Her mouth falls open, revealing the tip of her pink tongue. She wets her lips with it, staring down at me with wide eyes. I think I have pushed her just a tad off-balance.
“Really, Vincent?”
I preen at the way she uses my first name.
“You’re going to get on your knees?” She shakes her head. “You never struck me as dramatic.”
“There are moments that call for it.”
Her uncertainty as she chews her lip is delicious, so close to agreeing. If she lets me, I know that I can give her a good life. A very good life.
“All right,” she says at last. “Show me, then.”
I surge to my feet and whirl her into my arms as the last word leaves her lips, and she lets out a surprised squeak as I encircle her. She vanishes inside my embrace, right where she belongs, and I wish I could keep her there for all time. I lean down to kiss her temple.
“You know what mates do, don’t you?” I ask her, her hair tangling around my tusk as I lower my head even more. “After all the dancing is over.”
“I… I think I do.”
“Good.” I release her, rising back to my full height. “Then let’s go back to the party.”
“I still need to pee,” she pouts, so I hold her bag and wait as she goes.
Ms. Kristoff is reserved when she returns, but when I hold out my elbow, she loops her hand through it, and we head back to the ballroom together. She’s elegance incarnate in the blue dress I chose for her.
We slip into our seats while an inspirational video of rescued pets plays on the screen. I skim her thigh with my palm, and she shivers under it. I know that despite how she turned me away at Octavio’s, she is undeniably attracted to me. She’s wanted me since we met, same as I have her.
Why it took us so long to get here is a mystery to me, but I’ll convince her the destination is worthwhile.
Then dinner is served, and I watch from the corner of my eye to ensure she’s getting enough.
I plan to keep her up into the late, late hours tonight.
My coworkers make conversation, which she easily picks up.
I can see the parts of her that are Velvet as she asks questions and uses a higher-pitched voice.
This is the version of her that she uses to entertain and socialize.
I am still very curious to learn who the true Ms. Kristoff is.
Then, at last, the dinner is cleared away and bidding games are played for dessert. As a cream pie goes past, Ms. Kristoff sits up abruptly.
“Is that chocolate cream?” she asks, fascinated by it.
“I think so.”
She urges me to bid, so I hold up my paddle when the pie goes up for auction. Another woman and her husband at a different table are also eager for it, so I end up forking over a few thousand dollars for a pie we probably could buy from a grocery store for significantly less.
But Rosette is immensely pleased and eats a surprising amount—two whole pieces—before giving up and collapsing back in her chair. She smiles up at me, and I think my heart stops in my chest.
“Thank you.”
“For the cats and dogs,” I say.
“Would you ever want a dog?”
I quirk my head down at her. She’s got her hand on top of mine where it rests on her thigh, and I rub the fabric of her dress there.
“I like dogs well enough. Growing up, we used them for hunting.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Hunting?”
“Orcs love to hunt. But a pet dog? I have never had one.”
Ms. Kristoff smiles wistfully. “I’d love to have a dog. But I’m never home. I wouldn’t want it to be waiting for me alone while I’m at work all day and then some nights.”
But I could give that to her.
It arises unbidden. I remember the time she mentioned how she wished someone else would do her laundry, and I could make that happen, too, if she lived in my home with me.
I try not to let my little fantasy run away with me. I need to show her what I can offer her in a way that won’t overwhelm her. She clearly values her independence and agency, so I’ll have to tread carefully.
As I file this information away for later, the live auction begins. Ms. Kristoff seems most bored by this, disinterested in the fancy trips to Thailand where you can ride elephants, or the all-expenses-paid beach getaways.
“Sometimes a girl just wants a dinner at Red Robin,” she mutters as the bidding goes on. But breathing in her scent, I am nearly ready for this to be over.
At last, the auction ends, and the lights dim. I sweep her up into my arms the moment the music starts, and she giggles in a way that’s surprisingly carefree as other couples come out to join us.
“I didn’t know you liked to dance,” she says, falling easily into step with me. “You’re pretty okay at it.”
“I took classes.”
“To learn to dance?”
“I had a phase. I learned two kinds of dancing, pottery, and baseball.”
“Baseball,” she repeats, squinting. “I have a hard time imagining that.”
“I wasn’t good at it.”
I bring her in closer until her cheek rests against my chest. She sighs and leans in, letting her arms wrap around my waist. We sway to the music together, and the tightness in my ribs eases having her so near me.
This is good. This is the balm my soul needed.
Is this what it’s like, to have a mate? To hold them close and feel as if all is right in the world?
I could get used to it.