She stared at me like a third eye had leapt out of my forehead. “Did you just… make a joke?”
I shrugged, stepping forward into her space. The ceiling was low, and I knew if I walked towards the hanging light in the center of the room, it would tousle my hair.
Her sofa was just as comfortable as it looked. I crossed my legs and ran my fingers over the velveteen fabric, knowing she watched my every move.
“This feels like a crossover episode of a shitty TV show,” she said.
“Explain.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Please,” she emphasized. “Explain,please.”
“Fine.” I rested my palms on my thighs. “Explain, please.”
She regarded me for a moment before she spoke. “I doubt you ever watch trashy TV, but—”
“On the contrary, I’ve been known to watch the news now and again.”
She blinked. “Was that another joke? Two jokes in under a minute?”
I shrugged. “Continue,please.”
She shook her head, bemusement rife in her tone. “Having you in my home feels like an out-of-body experience. Kind of like seeing characters you know from one specific TV show appearing in a different world.”
“This feels strange to me, too.”
Strangewas not the word I would use. It was much more… intimate than that. There was something deeply jarring about seeing an employee in a bathrobe with her hair loose and her face devoid of make-up. It felt like the layers between us had been shaved away.
The person who stood in front of me wasn’t Ms. Nayakanymore, but Dessi, an omega whose scent was obscenely addictive.
That wasmyproblem, not hers. How she smelled to me was a reflection of my Alpha’s weakness. I could tell myself in a thousand different ways that scenting my employee was forbidden, but my spirit animal would not give a flying fuck.
Instead, I cleared my throat and glanced away from her.
“The files, please,” I said.
With a frustrated sigh, she retreated to the room to rummage through it. For long minutes, all I heard was the sharp clatter of drawers slamming shut a little bit too hard. Papers rustled as though they were being shoved aside without much thought.
Moments later, she emerged from the room, falling onto the sofa with a huff, her curls flying around her cheeks. The documents were nowhere to be seen.
“I’m not going to steal your clients, you know,” she said, holding the edges of her robe together. “And even if Iwasgoing to, it would be easy. I already have a better relationship with them than you do.”
I angled my chin toward her. “Do you?”
She made a little humming noise. “I guarantee you that your clients like me more than they like you.”
“I’m not pandering to be liked, Ms. Nayak. I’d rather be respected.”
“Maybe that’s your problem.”
“I don’t see it as a problem.”
“Then that’s a problem, too,” she reiterated. “You can’t see your own mistakes. There’s a brick wall between you and self-awareness.”
“And you?” I returned. “I assume you’re entirely aware of the motivations behind your actions?”
“Of course.”
