And unpredictability makes my alpha anxious.
Mr. McMillan stands to the side, typing on his phone before he looks up and sees me approaching. “Ah, there you are,” he says. “I’m glad you could make it. Timothy called in with an emergency, so I’ll need your help.”
I raise a brow because the other intern is the type of person who works even if they’re an inch from death. “What kind of emergency?”
“His dad died, or something. Maybe an aunt?” He waves it off, his attention back on his phone screen.
My jaw tenses, my walls immediately coming up. His dismissal causes my teeth to grind as I work overtime to keep my rage contained. Especially since Timothy looks up to our boss very highly, and this asshole doesn’t even give him the decency of knowing who he just lost.
“I’ll help any way I can,” I say, even though I was supposed to spend the day observing. “But I have a question about something. Do you know of any cases involving Hyper-Hormonal Omega Synd?—”
“Alston!” My boss yells to someone, completely ignoring me. My fist strains by my side, my entire body lighting up. When the person he called for arrives, I recognize him immediately. Roger Alston is one of the best civil rights attorneys in the state, and he is well known for his policies on designation bias. As he walks over, there’s a subtle note of roasted chestnut, his dominance flaring under the surface.
“Hello, Gregory,” Mr. Alston says cordially, but I can tellthere is a bite to it that he tries to hide. I narrow my gaze, focusing on the tension in his face as my boss taps him on the shoulder.
“Have you met my intern? He’s the youngest intern from Bensen who’s ever been hired. I’m telling you, Roger, this kid is a prodigy. Smartest of his kind,” my boss praises, although it sounds more like he’s bragging to his rival.
Roger gives me an examining look before he points his finger. “Samson Langley,” he states, like he remembers me.
I reach up to shake his hand. “That’s me. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Alston.”
“You were mentioned in theMA Weeklya few months ago, for that fundraiser you did at Bensen.”
My mouth drops open. The fact that someone recognized me from that is surprising, mainly because the article had a lot more to do with the money Alpha Xi raised rather than who raised it, which I was thankful for because I definitely don’t want my business out there. I don’t raise money to be featured in magazines, so I’m glad the article stuck with the facts rather than who I am.
I nod in confirmation and Mr. Alston smiles. “I’m an alumnus of Bensen University. Dean Winters has spoken very highly of you,” he adds. “She says you’ve really turned that fraternity around.”
“I’m just trying to be a good leader,” I say, but his words fit into the tiny hole in my chest that’s always felt hollow. To hear that from someone I respect is nice, and to be acknowledged for the work I’m doing is nicer in a way that I didn’t expect.
My boss cuts in, “Except with that pack of yours, huh? Isn’t that what you told Timothy? That things were ‘complicated?’”
I look in his direction with a hard expression. “That’s out of context, sir.” I speak as calmly as I can as I try to force anyfrustration off my face, especially in front of my boss’s colleague, but it proves difficult.
What the hell was that about? Is he still trying to somehow brag about how much I focus on work?
“Oh, come on, kid. Every alpha has his issues with his pack. It’s natural.”
“I don’t think this is the appropriate time,” I warn him, but he doesn’t get the memo and his smile remains. Roger Alston looks at my boss with discreet disgust before giving me a look of understanding. He doesn’t comment on it, just lets my boss continue.
“I’m just saying, he’s a real workaholic, this one. Always focused on the job. It’s no wonder—” His sentence cuts off when a growl erupts from my chest. His brows rise, and I realize he must be the dumbest person on the planet if he thought he could say these things about my pack without any repercussions.
I wish he were an alpha so I could detect how bothered his scent is. My dominance hits the air around us hard, without too much effort, and he gulps at the realization that it’s coming fromme.
“The State versus Colby Stanley,” someone calls from nearby.
Talk about being saved by the bell. The words are a godsend as I was just about to lose my cool for the first time in my life, and in front of someone who has my respect in this occupation.
“That’s us,” I mutter to my boss, not bothering to look him in the eye as I turn to Roger Alston. I dip my head in respect. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Alston.”
“You too, Mr. Langley,” he says, his eyes shimmering with a compassion that I certainly can’t appreciate right now in my anger. “I hope to see you again, soon.”
TWENTY-SIX
Practice wasn’t as brutal as usual, and my body is thankful for it. The guys and I trail outside, and the second the brisk air hits my skin, I sigh with relief. Despite our sport being in an ice rink, I always overheat. The bite of the snowy air causes me to reset, finally grounded as my feet hit the sidewalk.
The guys speak around me, but I tune them out. If you don’t hear what people say, you can normally get away without responding. Luckily, we’re a pretty big group, so it’s easy for me to blend in and not have to speak much. But when Pack Pearson turns away to walk to the parking lot, the group dwindles, and the business of the conversation dies with it.
When I turn to look at the seating area right outside the arena, a flash of red hair catches my attention.
