I stood, already gathering my things. “Depends on your definition.”
Marchand looked at Beckett, then at me. “Let’s reconvene soon. This is just the beginning.”
I hated how certain he sounded.
How much he believed he’d just won something.
I was halfway to the elevator when I heard my name.
“Wren.”
I turned, fixing the neutral expression back onto my face like armor. “Yes, Adrien?”
Marchand stepped into the hallway with the air of someone who'd already decided how the next week would go. His smile was pleasant. Polished.
Predatory.
“I’ll need you on-call for the next few days,” he said smoothly. “If things go the way I’m hoping, there will be optics to manage. Interviews to coordinate. Headlines to… massage.”
Which meant he expected Beckett to accept the offer and wanted me ready to spin gold out of gasoline.
“Unlikely,” I said. “I’m due for a few days off. Cleared it with admin weeks ago.” Even with the playoffscoming. We had a little over ten days until the first playoff game. Originally, the down time was just so I could decompress before going hell for leather. We hadtime. Before it had been time I needed. Now, it was time Ihadto have. No way I could survive coming off them here. No way in hell. Not. Negotiable.
Marchand tilted his head slightly, as if surprised I’d say no to him. “You can push that, can’t you?”
“I can’t,” I said, keeping my tone easy. “I’ve got appointments.”
That wasn’t a lie. Just not the kind he thought.
His smile faltered just a hair.
“Wren—”
“I’ll be available for written statements if things move forward. Otherwise, I trust you’ll use your years of experience and good judgment not to let him blow anything up before I’m back.”
I pressed the elevator button and held his gaze. Few others could maintain with Adrien Marchand. I’d noticed that. Even the other owners, all alphas in their own rights, tended to backoff. Flick their eyes away, just once, but still away.
I didn’t.
Never had.
Right now, he’d irritated me enough to make a point that he couldn’t make me back down. It was the only thing alphas understood when they weren’t getting their way. When the doors slid open, I stepped inside by walking backwards justtwosteps. Not once did I look anywhere else, even when his nostrilsflaredand a flush touched his face.
Two steps.
Then my phonebuzzed.
Once.
Twice.
Then in a flood.
Time elongated, but Marchand’s irritated inhale was enough. I won that skirmish.
I glanced down—half dreading, half curious—and saw the first message.
Jana (CBC):
