It’s not working.
A minute passes. Maybe two. The break room door opens, and two voices filter in, a casual conversation that grates on my nerves like sandpaper.
The same man from Anne’s cubicle enters with another guy, both of them laughing about something now, completely at ease. They head for the coffee maker, still talking, oblivious to my presence in the corner.
They pour their drinks and move to sit on the opposite side of the room. The space is empty enough that I can hear every word clearly.
“Looks like you’re finally about to get your dream girl, David,” the other man says, voice full of knowing amusement.
David. That’s his name.
David chuckles, and the sound makes my hands clench on top of the table. “I wouldn’t get ahead of myself, but yeah, it looks like she’s going to give me a chance. Finally.”
“She certainly loved the flowers. Smart move, man. Now you gotta lock her down. Don’t mess this up.”
“I don’t plan to. We’re going out for dinner on Thursday, and I’m pulling out all the stops. She deserves the best.”
They keep talking, voices easy and relaxed, completely unaware that their conversation is driving me to my wits’ end. Every word is a knife, every laugh a twist of the blade. My wolf is roaring inside me, demanding I cross the room and end this, end him, make it clear that she’s mine even if I can’t claim her.
I get up abruptly, chair scraping loudly against the floor, and leave without a word or a glance in their direction. My wholebody vibrates with barely contained violence as I stride back to my office and slam the door hard enough to rattle the frame.
I drop into my chair and pull up Luna Violet’s schedule on my screen, forcing myself to look at the data, to focus on something productive. Times and locations all jumble together, though, meaningless strings of information that won’t coalesce into anything useful.
All I can see is his hand on her shoulder. All I can hear is his voice saying he’s taking her out.
By the time evening rolls around and the building starts to empty, I’m hanging on by a thread. I tell myself to go home. To leave before I make things worse.
Instead, I find myself standing in the parking lot, lurking.
The sun is setting, casting long shadows across the nearly empty lot. Most of the staff have already left, but I spot Anne’s car immediately; I’ve memorized everything about it without meaning to. I position myself behind a nearby tree where I can see it clearly.
I don’t have a plan. Don’t know what I’m going to say or do. I just know I can’t let her leave without…
Without what? Confronting her? Demanding she explain herself? I have no right. No claim. I’m the one who pushed her away, who told her the mate bond was dead, who made her believe I was a stranger.
She appears at the building entrance, keys in hand. The golden light of sunset catches in her hair, and even from this distance, even with jealousy eating me alive, I can’t help but think she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
She heads for her car, heels clicking on the pavement.
I move before conscious thought can intervene, cutting across the lot to intercept her. She doesn’t see me until I’m right there, stepping into her path just as she reaches for her car door.
“What the—” She jumps, one hand flying to her chest. “Goddess! You scared me.”
“We need to talk.” My voice comes out rougher than I intend, raw with everything I’ve been holding back all day.
Her surprise shifts to wariness. “About what?”
Instead of answering, I step closer, forcing her backward until she’s pressed against the car. My hands land on either side of her, caging her in, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I know I’m being irrational, possessive. Everything I have no right to be.
But I can’t stop.
“Who sent you the flowers?”
Her eyes widen. “What?”
“The roses on your desk. Who sent them?”
Her voice hardens, anger sparking in those warm, brown eyes. “That’s none of your business.”
