My pheromones itched to escape me as her scent coiled through the room, lingering. Perhaps my pheromones were already sneaking past the blockers. Still, she was human. Even if they were, she would never know. She would react, yes. But she would think it was her own will. A flutter, a momentary weakness to her own forged desires, perhaps.
That’s why I couldn’t.
Why Iwould not.
Because I’d never know if her desire was real… or just a product ofme. Of my body betraying both of us—besides the obvious tidal wave of HR violations.
Still, I couldn’t help the curl of satisfaction at the thought of her fiancé—ex-fiancé—finally gone. His scent was always wrong on her. Rotten. Like vermin nesting in my garden.
Now?
Now, the flowers might finally bloom.
And perhaps I could finally enjoy my garden.
Fuck. This wouldn’t work. I fished around my jacket pocket before finding my phone, pulling it out and loading up After Hours.
My lips curled at the loading screen before the questionnaire popped up.
It was fine. This was just to find a therapist to help expel my pheromones. Then, my life could return to the very structure I had built brick by brick.
Therapy.
That is all this was.
Ambrose
“Iread your articles. Touching stuff,” I mused, reclining in my chair.
Across from me, Mr. James peered over his notepad with the kind of half-smile people wear when they think they’re clever. He set the pad down, deliberate, like he wanted to remind me he’s not here as a fan—as if his articles did not do that already.
“I’m surprised you read them,” he said. “Have to say, I’m touched.”
“How could I not,” I replied, my tone mild, “when you paint me in such an interesting light?”
He hummed.
“Still, I appreciate you taking time for me today,” he said. “Even if only a few moments.”
“Empires don’t build themselves,” I murmured, glancing toward the glass wall. “The work never stops.”
Through the glass, I spotted Harper, hands on hips, glaring down a printer like it personally offended her ancestors. Her stiletto heel tapped a steady staccato of growing rage against the tile. She jabbed a button.Nothing. Kicked it.Satisfying.She’d always been impatient—with machines, with people, with everything except results.
It’s one of the reasons I would never let her quit, not that she had ever shown anything but eagerness for the job.
I watched longer than I should, then I blinked hard and forced myself back to the room.
James didn’t miss it. “Your empire looks suspiciously like it was built in a day,” he said, voice oily with charm. “Tell me, how did aHellbornebroker so much trust in a city that doesn’t give it freely?”
“I know people.”
His jaw twitched.
“Know them,” he repeated, “or influence them?”
“Influence—” I began, my voice smooth. My eyes drifted back to the door. Harper was still fighting the printer. She kicked it lightly and I struggled to stifle my laugh. I should have bought a new one months ago. “It is part of business.”
“You don’t think that’s a little… underhanded?”
