Carmen snorts. “Professional, my ass. Has any of them looked at you like they want to eat you alive yet?”
The memory of Kieran’s hungry growl flashes through my mind, followed by Drake’s heated gaze in my apartment, and now Elias leaning close at breakfast... Heat floods my face.
“No comment,” I mutter.
“I knew it!” Carmen crows triumphantly. “Which one? Wait, don’t tell me—all of them.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Wait! I actually called for a reason. Your first paycheck is being processed today. Direct deposit, as we discussed. It should hit your account by tomorrow morning. The oldest brother, Kieran, already paid ahead for six months this morning. You must have really impressed him.”
The news momentarily distracts me from thoughts of alpha brothers and their smoldering gazes. “That’s great! I can finally start looking for my own place.”
“Or you could stay in the mansion and become their pack omega,” Carmen teases. “Four alphas, one omega sounds like the perfect pack and a dream, doesn’t it?”
“You’re impossible,” I laugh, but there’s a flutter in my stomach when I think about it. “I’m here to do a job, not find mates.”
“Why not both?”
“Goodbye, Carmen.”
“Love you, little sister! Don’t pass up on this opportunity!”
I hang up, shaking my head at my sister’s enthusiasm. But as I start unpacking my clothes, hanging them in the massive walk-in closet, I can’t help wondering what it would be like. To be valued and cherished by alphas. To be their omega, the heart of their pack.
My wardrobe looks pathetic hanging in this luxurious space. Faded jeans, well-worn sweaters, simple dresses that have seen better days. I make a mental note to upgrade my clothes once I get paid. Nothing extravagant, but a few new pieces would help me feel less out of place in this mansion.
A sudden shout from downstairs makes me freeze, a hanger clutched in my hand.
It’s Elias’s voice, followed by a crash of breaking glass.
My heart leaps into my throat as I drop the hanger and rush from the room, taking the stairs two at a time. I race back to the dining room to find Elias standing by the table, blood streaming from his right hand, shattered porcelain scattered across the table.
“Oh my god,” I gasp, hurrying to his side. “What happened?”
“It’s nothing,” he says through gritted teeth, but his face is pale beneath his tan. He wraps a napkin around his bleeding palm. “I just... lost control for a moment.”
The white napkin quickly blooms with crimson, and I feel a surge of panic. “That’s a lot of blood. We should call a doctor.”
“No need,” he insists, sounding embarrassed, but I’m already grabbing a clean towel from a nearby cart, pressing it firmly against his wound.
“Please let me help then at least,” I say in a gentle voice, guiding him away from the broken cup. He’s tall and solid against me, his muscles obvious even through his suit jacket. “We need to clean this and check for glass fragments.”
He doesn’t argue as I lead him toward the grand staircase, though I have no idea where I’m going. “Where’s your room?”
We walk in silence, my arm still around his waist, though he doesn’t really seem to need the support. I’m hyperaware of every point of contact between us—my hand on his side, our hips occasionally brushing, the warmth of his body seeping into mine.
I can feel his muscles tensing and releasing beneath my fingers.
He opens the door to a room, and I’m surprised as I walk in. It’s immaculate, with a clean white bed and beautiful flowing curtains. The walls are lined with bookshelves, and a sleek desk sits beneath a window overlooking the gardens.
“Sit,” I order, guiding him to the edge of his bed. “I’ll get some water to clean this.”
His nostrils flare as he looks at me, and I assume he must be in significant pain. “There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom,” he says, voice strained. “Cabinet above the sink.”
I hurry to the adjoining bathroom and find the kit exactly where he said it would be. As I gather supplies, I can’t help but notice how his scent is strongest here, concentrated and undiluted by the presence of others. It’s intoxicating, making my head spin slightly as I fill a basin with warm water.
When I return, Elias has removed his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeve, revealing a muscular forearm dusted with darkhair. He’s still pressing the towel to his hand, but it’s less saturated now, the bleeding apparently slowing.
