12. Unreasonably Reasonable
Chapter twelve
Unreasonably Reasonable
Jonas gives me a thumbs up, but his eyes don’t stray from the door. “It’ll be fine.”
I don’t know who he’s reassuring. Certainly not me.
“Call if you need us.” He shifts on his feet. I can almost taste the need. He rocks forward before stopping himself. “I should go.”
Yes, because watching his desperation to get to his new heart’s desire is ratcheting my anxiety up tenfold. My dress is little more than dust and sweat at this point.
Not the impression I wanted to make.
Cool, collected, so perfectly put together that little miss never-missed-a-manicure-in-my-life would realize that I’m not about to be pushed out of my own pack.
My anxiety threatens to grow hotter, and I swallow.
“Rosie.” Jonas looks awkward. “Just… be nice to her, yeah?”
My eyebrows fly to fucking Mars. “I beg your pardon?”
“Shit,” his eyes widen. “Sorry. Forget I said that.”
Beg my fucking pardon, more like.
I can’t go in there. Not alone.
But if I go in with any of them, it’s going to end badly.
How can any of this not end badly?
I swat Jonas away with a flapping hand as I shove the door open and step inside before I can decide to run as far away as freaking possible, slamming it behind me.
My words are abrupt. “Fuck, it’s cold in here.”
On the other side of the colossal board table, Lauren looks up from a pile of paperwork, her finger reaching out to pause a video on her tablet. One of my videos. “I turned the air con up. Figured it would be better that way.”
I take an experimental breath instead of answering, and recoil. “Yeah.”
Can’t breathe in another omega’s scent if it’s so cold it hurts to breathe, I suppose.
We study each other in silence.
She’s replaced her smart suit with a pair of jeans and a navy floral blouse that wouldn’t look out of place in my closet. She takes in my dress with a small frown. “I’m still getting used to the dress code. New York was more formal.”
This is their scent match.
She’s theirs.
The middle of their fucking hearts, and I’m standing here trying to work out where I might fit in this new dynamic.
Lauren taps her finger against a familiar branded cup. “Heard you like coffee. The guy on the stand said this was your normal order.”
I bet she spat in it. “Thanks.”
When I don’t move, a faint hint of blush travels up her cheeks. It’s satisfyingly blotchy. “Should we sit?”
She’s already sitting. But I pull out a chair and drop into it, staying close to the door in case I get any murderous urges. The silence grows until it threatens to smother us both.
“This—”
“Do—”
“Sorry.” Lauren nudges the coffee toward me. I slide my hands under my legs so I’m not tempted. “You should go first.”
I spent the entire night wondering what I’d say right now. Liam gave his orders while I angrily scrubbed out the stains from Mile’s shirt in the kitchen sink and tried not to vomit all over again.
Get to know each other. Build a connection before she comes here.
I need to leave here with her and pretend that everything is normal.
This is my summit. My own personal Everest. My own opportunity for personal growth, to be the bigger person—
“If you come anywhere near my nest, I will shred you.”
Shit.
Well, the thought was there.
Lauren blinks. “Okay.”
“Use what you want in the kitchen, but I’m making one cupboard off-limits. You can have one too if you need it.” Bitch is not touching my personalized Titans mug.
“Thanks?” Lauren’s brow furrows. “Maybe we should—”
“We do our own washing.” My hands grip the chair. “I’m ordering separate machines. They—”
My voice cracks. “We don’t mix their clothes with ours. Not yet. Same for nest materials.”
“Look, Rosie.” Lauren looks awkward. “I know this must be really—”
“No.” Fuck. My eyes start burning, and I forgot to put on waterproof mascara. “Don’t finish that sentence. You have no idea what I am feeling, or what this feels like. You don’t get to tell me what I’m feeling on top of—on top of everything. And this is me trying. I am…”
My nails dig into my wrist.
“This is me trying,” I repeat. “Don’t touch the green blanket on the couch.”
Lauren slowly reaches for her notebook, eyeing me in the same way that I imagine one might eyeball a drunk, unstable asshole in the stands while waiting for security to step in. “I’m going to make notes.”
“Fine.” I reach across the table for the coffee, taking a gulp.
Of course it’s perfect. Of fucking course. “Don’t touch Liam’s shower bottles.”
“Uh.” She makes a note. “Sure?”
Fuck, this hurts. “Jonas has his own shelf in the bathroom. Don’t mess with it. He hates that.”
“Look, I’m not going to—”
“And do not touch my noticeboard. Ever.”
I sit back in my seat and stare down at my coffee. The click of the pen being set down makes me tense.
“I’m sorry that this is happening,” Lauren says quietly. She’s looking at the page when I glance up. “More than I can say.”
“Is that why you agreed to this?” I study her, looking for the angle. “This arrangement?”
Her shoulders tighten. “Does it matter?”
“It matters to me.” Giving up on any pretense of civility—since I can barely manage it on a good day—I put the cup down. “If this ends up in a dominance battle, I’m not going to curl up in the corner. You’re coming into my home. Into my pack.”
Oh, Liam is going to kill me.
Problem solved.
“Look.” The smallest hint of sharpness enters her voice.
There you are.
“I just met them.” She meets my gaze directly. “Yesterday. And yeah, they’re my scent matches. I don’t want to end up in long-term care with a chronic illness because I couldn’t make this work. So here I am. I don’t want a battle either.”
For fucks’ sake. “Are you always this reasonable?”
“No,” she says abruptly. “Are you always this direct?”
Wow. Awkwardly, I shrug. “Pretty much. You’ll get used to it. Since, you know, I’m not going anywhere.”
The silence stretches out.
“Okay then.” Lauren tucks her hair behind her ear and reaches for the notepad again. “You… um. You didn’t mention Carter.”
Take his name out of your fucking mouth.
I focus on breathing. And counting, Lauren looking more concerned by the minute. For my sanity or her safety. “We can finish this later if that’s easier. Or we can talk about work.”
I would love to talk about work. Every word feels physically painful. “I know you’re going to… touch them.”
The room seems to drop another fifteen degrees.
I keep my eyes above her head. “I’ll try to be considerate about it if you will.”
Lauren doesn’t speak. At the rustling, I blink, feeling liquid drip onto my cheek. She’s burrowing around in a navy leather handbag that looks remarkably like my own. It practically swallows her whole.
I mentally cheer it on. Hopefully it’ll drag her to some alternative swamp dimension where she can steal someone else’s pack.
Taking the tissue she eventually offers me, I turn it over in my hands and wait for her answer.
“I can do that,” she says finally.
Giving up on any semblance of manners, I blow my nose with a honk.
Fuck it. She’s moving in with us. If she can’t cope with a little snot, she’ll expire entirely at the bathroom after three carb-loading hockey players have finished with it. A pang pierces my stomach. “I’m warning you. I’m going to hate every single second of this.”
I might lose it in public, and then this whole scheme comes crashing down. I shove back my chair.
No time like the present to test my already debatable self-restraint.
Lauren looks startled. “Where are you going?”
“I can’t sit here and parcel up every single piece of my life like some fucked-up twisty Christmas.” I head for the door, coffee in hand before I throw it at her. “We can pick this back up later.”
When I feel less like I’m carving out my own heart and giving her the pieces of that too. “You want a tour or not?”
***
I’m halfway down the hall before I notice she’s not following.
Retracing my footsteps, I stop beside her. The line of photographs stretches the length of the hall, but I follow her gaze to one and grit my teeth. “That was draft day.”
“I watched it.” She shifts on her feet. “Looked like a good day.”
“It was.” Carter is laughing in the photo, his arms wrapped around Liam and Jonas. Even Liam is grinning widely, Jonas in the middle of talking to someone off camera. “Jonas hates this photo.”
“It’s a great photo.” Lauren examines it while I examine her. “Are they happy here?”
We were happy before you came along. “I guess so.”
“I meant with the team.” There’s an apology there, but I’m in no mood to hear it.
She jogs after me, the two of us heading down the steps and keeping far enough apart that anybody watching wouldn’t even think we were talking.
“The socials make the Titans seem like a family, but it’s not always true. ”
“It’s true.” I head off down the hall before she reaches the bottom of the stairs, trying not to limp in my ridiculous shoes. “Everyone here is pretty close. Lots of changes since the buy-out last year, but Meridian didn’t want to mess with the culture too much.”
Until now, apparently. But she’s nodding, easily catching up to me. “I get that. I’ve been over the external channels a few times. There’s not much I’d want to change. Fill some gaps, target some content for wider stakeholders, that kind of thing.”
“Fluff and filler, you mean.” My voice is dry. “Ten-minute breakdowns of our five-year strategy that nobody watches but the suits think is incredible?”
Amusement fills her voice. “Not quite. But there’s a middle ground. I’d like to talk to you and Ness about how you plan content—horizon scanning, your current target groups, organic and paid spends. I have some thoughts from looking at the budget.”
Fun. Sighing, I take the next stairs that leads to the player levels. “Sure. I’ll put a meeting in the calendar.”
“I already did.” She holds up her tablet when I side-eye her. “It should be in your inbox.”
“How organized of you.” Annoyance leaks through my words. When she touches my arm, I jerk away.