Aksel and I scramble up from our chairs at the same time, practically tripping over each other as we bolt out of the tiny café.
“Have fun, you two!” Eric calls after us, entirely too cheerful for the situation.
Nadine may be small, but she’s fast. We make it to the convention area in record time, lungs burning, sweat slicking our skin. We barely get a second to catch our breath before she lets out an irritated huff, her hair glowing brighter by the second, the longer we stand there panting.
“Come on,” she drawls, her breathing calm and even, looking completely unfazed by the sprint through the hotel and casino.
She leads us through a back hallway that twists and turns like a maze. My pulse skyrockets to a rate that feels medically irresponsible, my nerves fried beyond repair. One glance at Aksel tells me he’s in the same boat.
She stops abruptly at an unremarkable door, knocks twice, and then opens it before anyone has a chance to answer.
Themanbehindthedesk,whomIassumeisMr.
Andreas,looks up with clear irritation as we step inside.
“I’ve told you a million times, Nadine,” he says, rubbing tiredly at his temples, “the whole point of having my door closed is so people will knock. And the point of knocking is to wait for someone to let you inside. Knocking and walking in at the same time is pointless.”
He exhales heavily.
Maybe he also went a little too hard on the booze last night.
“Oops,”shesays,apologizingwithzeroremorseas
she shrugs carelessly. The door slams shut behind her when sheleaves,andIswearmyheartflatlines.I’mdead.
Someone call a coroner and drag my body the fuck out of this office.
The large centaur behind the desk releases a heavy sigh before finally turning his attention to Aksel and me.
“Have a seat, gentlemen. We have a lot to discuss.” He gestures toward two stiff-looking plastic chairs positioned across from his desk.
He laces his fingers over his hefty stomach and studies us in silence for an uncomfortably long time. No one speaks. Aksel and I shift restlessly in our straight-backed chairs as his scrutiny continues, unbroken and merciless.
Mr. Andreas has beady eyes and a tragic combover desperately attempting to disguise a very obvious bald spot atop his gargantuan head. He smells like greasy, day-old Chinese food aggressively masked with Axe body spray. A mustard stain on his shirt keeps dragging my attention back to it, over and over, as I slowly suffocate under the weight of his stare.
He’s obviously an alpha. Assertive. Controlling. I clock it immediately from his brief interaction with Nadine. His pheromones don’t agree with me at all, and I’m uncomfortable in a way that sinks straight into my bones. Everythingabouthisslimypresencesetsmyteethonedge.
I want to leave. Unfortunately, we’re at his mercy. Hopefully, he has some.
After what feels like several hours of unbearable silence, but is only a minute or two, he speaks.
“I hear congratulations are in order, boys.” Fuck.
I knew this meeting was about our impromptu wedding, but somehow the word congratulations still catches me off guard. My brain scrambles, unsure whether we’re supposed to thank him or defend ourselves. Before either of us can manage either, he continues talking.
“What in the actual fuck were you two thinking?” he snaps. “I can’t have two competitors who are married. This is a disaster. People tune in for competition, not a love story. Do you have any idea what your little shenanigans are going to do to my ratings?”
He pauses, pressing a finger to his pimpled chin, eyes unfocusing as he thinks.
“Hmmm.” A slow smile creeps across his face. “That’s… not a bad idea. Not a bad idea at all.”
My stomach drops.
“Two competitors. In love. Equally talented. Forced to compete for the grand prize. Against each other.” His grin widens, manic now. “Will the pressure tear the lovebirds apart, or will they stay strong through the heat of competition? Tune in next week to find out.”
Heletsoutapleasedhum.“It’sbrilliant,boys.
Brilliant.”
