His brow lifts. “To my private estate? Where the address isn't exactly public information?” He shakes his head. “Not happening.”
“I’m perfectly capable of following directions to an address.”
“I’m sure you are. But my security doesn’t take kindly to unannounced vehicles on the property. The car ensures you actually make it through the gate.”
“You could just—”
“Mr. DaCosta.” He cuts me off smoothly with a raised hand, the maddeningly calm tone in his voice from earlier, gone. “This isn’t a negotiation.”
Right. There’s no point arguing when he’s already decided. “Fine. Send the car.” I meet his eyes. “But this doesn't mean—”
“It means you’ll arrive safely. Nothing more.” A beatpasses between us, heavy with something I can’t name. His gaze travels down my body before returning to my eyes. “Unless you want it to mean something else?”
My insides do an uncomfortable flip.
Is he... is he flirting with me?
No. That can’t be right. My failing suppressants are making me see things that aren’t there. Or maybe I’m losing my fucking mind.
Either way, I need to get the fuck out of this office before I do something stupid.
“No.” I rise to my feet, better than sitting while he looms. “I’ll be there.”
“Good.” He extends his hand.
I stare at it for a half-second too long. Shaking hands means touching him. Skin to skin. My suppressants are already struggling, and physical contact with an alpha is the last thing I need right now. But refusing would be suspicious as hell. Theyall think I’m a beta. A beta wouldn’t hesitate at something as simple as a handshake with an alpha.
I take his hand.
The contact shoots a thousand volts through my arm and pools all that shock below my belt. It takes everything in me not to yank my hand back, and even greater effort to keep my body from reacting. His grip is firm without being crushing, his palm warm and callused in unexpected places.
I pull away first, probably too quickly.
Valerio notices. His eyes narrow almost imperceptibly, and I can practically see him filing the information away for later analysis. Adding it to whatever profile he’s building of me in his head.
“See you tomorrow, Mr. DaCosta.”
I walk out of that conference room with my composure barely intact and my heart trying to crack through my ribs. Esperanza is waiting in the hallway. I follow her in silence, mind racing so fast I can barely feel my feet moving.
Tomorrow night. His home.
It’s perfect. It’s exactly what I needed.
So why does my stomach feel like I’ve swallowed broken glass?
I make it back to my apartment right before another headache hits. I stumble to the bathroom, strip off my work clothes and stand under a scalding shower until my skin turns red.
It doesn’t help. I can still smell him. Still feel the ghost of his hand wrapped around mine.
I turn the water to cold and stand there until I’m shaking with my teeth chattering. The heat flaming under my skin finally, mercifully recedes.
When I get out, I check my suppressant schedule. I’ve been taking double doses for almost two weeks now. The recommended maximum is ten days. After that, the side effects start compounding—feverish headaches, nausea, hormonal instability. Push it too far, and the rebound heat can be catastrophic.
I’m already past the safe window. Have been for days. But stopping now isn’t an option. If my heat hits while I’m anywhere near Valerio, I’m dead.
I just need to make it through tomorrow, then everything else can go to hell.
I shake out two more pills from the bottle and swallow them dry, then lean against the sink, waiting for them to kick in. My reflection in the mirror looks rough—shadows under my eyes, skin blotchy from the heat spike.
