A dangerous gleam flashes in his eyes. “Are you saying I did you a favor by questioning your work in front of the executive team?”
“I’m saying I turned your attempt to undermine me into an opportunity to shine.” I smile sweetly. “So thank you.”
For a split second, something that might be respect crosses his face. Then it’s gone, replaced by his usual stern expression.
“The marketing budget review at 2,” he says, straightening his cuffs. “Make sure Troy brings the Q3 forecast this time.”
“Already reminded him. Twice.”
Adrian nods and strides out, leaving behind a faint trace of his scent. I ignore the way it makes something in my hindbrain stand at attention.
That’s just biology—stupid, inconvenient biology that doesn’t understand that my boss is a control-freak Alpha who probably schedules his bathroom breaks with the same precision he demands in slide presentations.
Even if he does look annoyingly good in a suit.
I gather my things and head back to my desk, mentally reviewing my three rules. Scent blocked? Check. Heat talk avoided? Check. Composure maintained despite provocation? Mostly check.
Another day in corporate Alpha territory survived. Only about a thousand more to go before I can get that promotion and move to a department where I don’t have to deal with Adrian Cole’s perfectionism, his intimidating presence, or the way his rare almost-smiles make my stomach flip in a completely unprofessional manner.
But that’s a problem for future Elle.
Right now, I have tables to align and a marketing budget to review and approximately seventeen other fires to put out before lunch.
Because Rule Number Four—the unofficial one I never say out loud: Work twice as hard, be twice as good, and never, ever admit how exhausting it is to be an Omega in an Alpha’s world.
two
. . .
Adrian
I scanthe flight manifest one more time for this last leg of the trip to Singapore, confirming what I already know. One jet. Two passengers—Elle and myself.
A clean, efficient twelve hours were planned for travel for the tech summit. The first half down, last stretch to go. No distractions, just uninterrupted time to review the presentation deck and iron out any inconsistencies.
The way I like it. The way I arranged it. My schedule exists for a reason, and that reason is control.
Control is efficiency. Efficiency is success.
So when I follow Elle up the metal stairs into the jet’s cabin and see Caleb Rios lounging with a whiskey in his hand and Miles Harrington scowling at his tablet, something dangerously close to rage floods my system.
Elle freezes so abruptly I nearly collide with her back. Her slim figure tenses, shoulders rising slightly—a defensive posture I’ve catalogued countless times in boardrooms.
I don’t need to see her face to know her expression has shifted from professional composure to barely concealed shock.
“What the hell is this?” I keep my voice low, meant for her ears only, but in the confined space of the jet cabin, it carries.
Caleb looks up, flashing that insufferable grin that’s helped Synercom poach two potential clients from us last quarter. “Well, if it isn’t the illustrious Adrian Cole.” He raises his glass in mock salute. “And the ever-efficient Ms. Park. Welcome aboard.”
Miles doesn’t bother looking up from his tablet, but his jaw tightens—the only indication he’s aware of our presence at all. Typical Harrington, acting like everyone else is merely an inconvenience to be tolerated.
Elle remains motionless, a statue in a black silk blouse. I place my hand on her shoulder, guiding her forward so I can fully enter the cabin and close the door. Her skin is warm beneath the fabric, and I remove my hand immediately, unsettled by the brief contact.
“There must be some mistake,” I say, addressing no one in particular while scanning the cabin for the flight attendant.
“No mistake,” Miles finally speaks, his voice as flat and unwelcoming as his expression. “Charter company overbooked. All commercial flights to Singapore are full because of the tech summit. So, we’re sharing this jet.” He delivers this information with the enthusiasm of someone announcing a terminal diagnosis.
Elle seems to regain her composure, straightening her spine in that way she does before entering difficult meetings. “I’ll contact our travel department immediately. There must be alternatives.”She reaches for her phone, but I place my hand on her wrist to stop her.
