“It’s invasive, is what it is,” I say, though there’s less heat in my voice than I’d like. “And again, a text would have sufficed.”
“Would a text have come with chocolate?” he challenges.
“No, but it also wouldn’t have involved you stalking me at work.”
“I wouldn’t call it stalking,” he shrugs. “More like... an appearance.”
Despite myself, a laugh threatens to escape. I press my lips together, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
He runs a hand through his curls. “I also came to apologize, I guess. For what happened. Not that I regret it, exactly, but... the way it happened. The way you felt you had to run.”
It’s more sincere than I expected, and it throws me off balance.
I run a hand across my hot forehead again, clearing the sweat. That’s when I notice something odd. A young omega who looks like she’s stepped out of a fashion magazine is hovering nearby, pretending to study a sculpture that she has walked past three times already.
And she’s not alone. Two more omegas, who had been quietly browsing a moment ago, have now migrated to our corner of the gallery. They’re whispering to each other behind their hands, casting furtive, admiring glances at Tristan.
A hot, ugly spike of something possessive lances through my gut. My fingers tighten on the chocolate bar in my hand, the foil crinkling under the sudden pressure.
I clamp down on the feeling, instantly horrified with myself.Get a grip, Zoe.
It’s ridiculous to feel... what? Irritated? Possessive? I don’t even know these men. Not really. And yet, seeing those omegas eyeing Tristan like he’s a piece of art they want to take home makes my stomach twist. It’s the marks. It has to be. They’re messing with my head, making me feel things I have no right to feel.
“Your alpha pheromones are filling the gallery,” I point out. “You’re disrupting my workplace.”
“Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. In fact, he looks vaguely pleased with himself. “Can’t really control it.”
“Mr. Sterling!” Helen’s voice cuts through my thoughts. She’s approaching us with the smile she reserves for potential big donors. “What a delightful surprise!”
Tristan turns, his charm instantly back at full wattage. “Ms. Porter, always a pleasure.”
“Helen, please,” she simpers, extending her hand in a way that forces Tristan to either kiss it or be rude. He chooses the former, though I catch the flicker of amusement in his eyes.
“I see you’ve met our assistant curator,” Helen continues. “Zoe is one of our brightest talents.”
“We’ve met,” Tristan confirms, with a glance at me that carries so much subtext it could fill a novel.
“Mr. Sterling was just leaving,” I say pointedly. “He has a meeting.”
“Actually,” Tristan counters, “I came to discuss a potential acquisition.”
Helen’s eyes light up with dollar signs. “An acquisition? How thrilling! Perhaps we should continue this conversation in my office?”
“The acquisition isn’t art-related,” Tristan clarifies, his eyes never leaving mine. “It’s more... personal.”
There’s a beat of silence as Helen processes this. I watch understanding dawn on her face, followed quickly by surprise, then a calculating assessment.
“I see,” she says slowly. “Zoe, you never mentioned you knew Mr. Sterling... personally.”
The way she says “personally” makes it clear exactly what she’s thinking—that I’m sleeping with a potential donor. Which, technically, I am, but not in the way she thinks. Or rather, not for the reasons she thinks.
“It’s a recent acquaintance,” I say stiffly.
“Very recent,” Tristan agrees with a smile. “But significant.”
Another omega patron chooses that moment to approach,drawn by Tristan’s increasingly potent pheromones. She’s pretending to be interested in a nearby sculpture, but her eyes keep drifting to Tristan with undisguised interest.
“Mr. Sterling,” Helen presses on, oblivious to the growing omega attention, “whatever your... personal interest might be, I hope you’ll also consider the gallery for your corporate collection. Sterling Solutions is known for its impressive art acquisitions.”
