15. Ethan #2
“In a manner of speaking.”
“By selling vibrators and knot simulators.”
“Someone has to.” A smile tugs at my mouth. “Surely you can appreciate the value of release.”
She looks up at that. I hold her gaze.
She doesn’t respond. Just makes a noncommittal sound and turns back to her work.
“You don’t seem convinced.”
“I’m not here to be convinced of anything, Mr. Brooks. I’m here to find a mole.”
“Ethan,” I remind her.
She ignores that. “The point is, whether I think your business is worthwhile or not doesn’t matter. It’s not my concern.”
“But if it was your concern,” I press, because apparently I can’t leave well enough alone, “what would you think? About all of it. The products. The pleasure industry, as you put it.”
She sets down the detector and turns to face me fully. Her eyes have gone flat.
“You really want to know?”
“I really do.”
“I think,” she says slowly, “that the world would be a lot simpler if people didn’t let their bodies control their decisions. If alphas could think with their actual brains for once and omegas didn’t go into heat and lose all sense of reason.”
“You’re not wrong,” I say.
She looks at me, clearly expecting pushback. “You’re agreeing with me?”
“Why wouldn’t I? Biology is inconvenient. It’s one of the reasons we built this company, to give people more control over their own bodies.” I shrug. “The fact that it happens to produce products people find enjoyable is just a bonus.”
She stares at me for a moment, like she’s not quite sure what to do with that. Then she turns back to her equipment. “Let’s keep moving.”
The fourth floor is clean. Every conference room, every office. Not a single bug or listening device anywhere.
She’s been ignoring me for the most part, focused entirely on the work. But she also hasn’t asked me to leave. When I hand her equipment, she takes it. When I move furniture, she nods in thanks. It’s not much, but it’s something.
By the time we’re done, it’s nearly eleven. I’m exhausted, my eyes gritty from the late hour and the dim lighting. Sophie looks exhausted too, though she’d probably rather take a bullet than admit it. There are shadows under her eyes, a tightness around her mouth that wasn’t there when we started.
Neither of us says anything as we head down the corridor.
And then her stomach growls, loudly enough that it echoes off the walls.
Sophie’s jaw tightens, her eyes fixed straight ahead, pretending it didn’t happen.
I try to do the same. I really do.
But then it growls again.
“You’ve had dinner, haven’t you?” I ask, keeping my voice casual.
“I’m fine.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “No. I didn’t have time.”
I frown. “We didn’t meet until eight. What were you doing before that?”
“Other stuff.”
“Other stuff?”
She shoots me a look, clearly annoyed. “I was working out. Okay?”
“Working out.” I stop walking, which forces her to stop too. “On an empty stomach. For how long?”
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
“It’s not.” I start walking again, and she falls into step beside me. “But you still need to eat something.”
She looks at me like I’ve suggested she commit a felony.
“Hey,” I say, an idea forming, “why don’t we grab something from the canteen? Elena always leaves sandwiches in the fridge. It won’t be anything fancy, but it’s food.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. Your stomach sounds like it’s trying to digest itself.”
She opens her mouth as if she wants to argue, but then her stomach growls a third time, even louder than before.
I raise an eyebrow.
She glares at me. “Fine,” she says, begrudgingly.
“Great.” We step into the elevator and I press the button for the ground floor. “I’m a bit hungry myself, actually.”
The canteen is dark when we arrive, lit only by the emergency lights and the soft glow from the drink coolers. I leave the lights off. No sense advertising that anyone’s in here.
I pull open the fridge, and its light spills a pale wedge across the floor. Sure enough, there’s a tray of sandwiches wrapped in plastic, neatly labeled with tomorrow’s date.
“Looks like we have ham and cheese, or chicken. What’s your preference?”
Sophie moves closer, peering at the tray.
“Both,” she says.
I blink. “Both?”
She reaches past me and grabs three sandwiches, two ham and one chicken, cradling them against her chest like she’s afraid I’ll take them back.
I look at the three sandwiches, then at her, then back at the sandwiches. I try very hard not to look shocked.
“Right.” I grab a sandwich for myself and close the fridge. “Drinks?”
“Water’s fine.”
I grab two bottles from the cooler and turn to face her. She’s already unwrapping the first sandwich, taking a bite before I can even suggest we find somewhere to sit.
She slides down the front of the counter and settles on the floor, back against the cabinets, tucked into the one corner where the windows can’t reach her. Out of every sightline in the room. Of course.
I hesitate, then lower myself down across from her, my back against the opposite counter, close enough in the narrow space that our knees nearly touch. I leave what distance I can.
Something about it gets to me. But I can’t picture anyone else I know folding down onto a kitchen floor to eat a sandwich in the dark. Sophie does it like it’s nothing, like she’s eaten in stranger places than this and never thought twice about it.
For a while, we just eat.
The kitchen is quiet around us, just the hum of the fridge and the tick of something cooling in the dark. Sophie works through her first sandwich with a focus that’s almost impressive, then starts on the second without pause.
I find myself talking before I realize I’m doing it.
“Synthera wasn’t always like this, you know.”
Sophie glances at me but doesn’t respond. Doesn’t tell me to shut up either, so I take that as permission to continue.
“When we first started, it was just the three of us in a small office. Max handled the business side, I did the research and kept us from killing each other, and Finn...” I smile at the memory.
“Finn was supposed to be doing marketing. Mostly he kept us going, the only one who never stopped believing it would work.”
She’s still eating, but her head is angled toward me and her chewing has slowed.
“We met at boarding school, the three of us. Ashford Academy.” I take a sip of water. “Max was the brooding heir, Finn the charming one. And I was the scholarship kid who didn’t belong.”
“Scholarship kid?” She sounds almost surprised.
“Full ride. After my father died, Ashford was my ticket out.” I shrug. “It wasn’t easy. Rich kids aren’t exactly welcoming to charity cases. But Max and Finn didn’t care where I came from.”
Sophie has stopped eating. She’s watching me now, her dark eyes giving nothing away.
“That’s how the pack started, really. Three boys who didn’t quite fit anywhere else, finding each other.” I let my head rest back against the cabinet. “Twenty years later, here we are.”
The silence stretches between us. I wonder if I’ve said too much.
Then Sophie picks up her third sandwich and takes a bite.
“That’s not what I expected,” she says finally.
“What did you expect?”
She answers around a mouthful, in no hurry to swallow. “Three rich alphas who’ve had everything handed to them their whole lives.”
For a second I don’t answer. I just look at her.
Based on how she’s devouring that sandwich, it’s clear she doesn’t give a damn what I think of her. She isn’t filtering her words, and she isn’t pretending to be someone else. She’s just... being herself.
And somehow, that makes her seem startlingly human. And, God help me, kind of cute.
Jesus, where did that come from?
This is a woman who could probably break my neck in two seconds. She isn’t cute.
Well. She’s not supposed to be cute.
“Fair enough.” I turn the water bottle in my hands. “We’ve been lucky, I won’t deny that. But we also worked for what we have. Built something from the ground up.” I pause. “Something we believe in.”
Sophie is quiet for a while. When she speaks, her voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it.
“Why are you telling me this?”
I meet her eyes. In the dim light, with her hair pulled back and her face bare of makeup, she looks younger and more vulnerable than I’ve seen her.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Maybe because I’m tired and I talk too much when I’m tired.”
The corner of her mouth twitches. Not quite a smile, but close.
She finishes her last sandwich, then crumples the wrapper and pushes to her feet.
“I should go. I have an early day tomorrow.”
“Of course.” I stand too, gathering the empty wrappers and bottles.
We make our way through the building and stop at the elevators.
“Good night, Sophie,” I say. “See you tomorrow.”
Her eyes soften, just slightly, before she looks away.
“Good night, Ethan.”
She steps into the elevator and the doors close behind her. I watch them for a moment longer than I should, then turn and head for the back entrance.
Ethan.
She said my name. Not Mr. Brooks. My actual name.
The sound of my name from her lips makes my chest tighten, then a warmth spreads through me, building, making me catch my breath.
I shake my head, trying to clear it.
She’s here to do a job. Nothing more.
But as I walk back toward the house, the night air cool against my face, I can’t stop thinking about dark eyes and the way she sat on that cold floor and ate her sandwich, not giving a damn how she looked.
It made me feel like I was getting a glimpse of the real her for the first time.
Which, considering that I’m supposed to be the sensible one, makes no sense at all.