Daniel's head snapped up. The pen fell from his mouth and rolled across the desk. For one unguarded second, something warm flickered across his face before the usual stoic mask slammed back into place.
“Michael.” His voice came out gruff. Rougher than usual. “What are you doing here?”
“Checking on the grumpiest Alpha in the Pacific Northwest.” I pushed off from the doorframe, wandered closer. “How's it going?”
“Fine.”
“Really? Because you look like someone who's been arguing with spreadsheets for six hours and losing.”
“I don't lose arguments with spreadsheets.”
“The spreadsheets beg to differ.” I nodded at the crumpled ball of paper near the trash can that had clearly missed its target. “That one especially.”
Daniel's jaw tightened. He pulled off his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose in a gesture that spoke of bone-deep exhaustion. “Territory tax assessments. The county wants documentation proving the pack house is a legitimate business property instead of a private residence. Which means I need receipts going back fifteen years that may or may not exist in any organized fashion.”
“Sounds fun.”
“It's bureaucratic hell designed by people who've never had to explain why a 'family lodge' has thirty-two bedrooms and a commercial kitchen.”
“Thirty-two bedrooms seems reasonable for a large family.”
“That's what I said. The assessor didn't find it amusing.”
I pulled up a chair, sat across from him. “When's the last time you ate something that wasn't coffee and spite?”
Daniel blinked. Looked at the cold mug on his desk like he'd forgotten it existed. “What time is it?”
“After two.”
“Ah.” He set down his pen, leaned back in his chair. The leather creaked in a way that suggested it had held generations of frustrated Alphas. “I may have skipped breakfast.”
“And lunch, apparently.”
“I was busy.”
“You were torturing yourself with paperwork.” I stood, held out my hand. “Come on. You need food, fresh air, and at least one hour away from anything that requires a signature.”
Daniel stared at my hand like it might bite him. “I have work to do.”
“The work will still be here when you get back. Probably with reinforcements. Paperwork breeds when you're not looking.”
“That's not—” He stopped. Sighed. Something in his shoulders loosened, like he was giving himself permission to stop carrying the weight of the world for five minutes. “Where would we even go?”
“Somewhere that's not here.” I wiggled my fingers. “Trust me. I'm told I'm excellent at kidnapping stubborn Alphas who don't know how to take breaks.”
“Who told you that?”
“I'm telling myself right now. It sounds very authoritative.”
The corner of Daniel's mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but close enough to count.
He took my hand.
His grip was warm, callused, strong in ways that made my stupid heart do complicated things. He let me pull him to his feet, and for a moment we stood close enough that I could smell pine and sawdust and something underneath that was just him.
“This is a terrible idea,” he said.
“All my best ideas are terrible. Ask anyone.”
