Fin’s ear twitched.
“And the worst part is Clark barely looked at me after that. Walked past my desk like I was furniture, probably thinks I got in trouble, that my boss scolded me for flirting with a client, and I wanted to melt into my chair and become one with the upholstery, Fin. I wanted to cease to exist.”
I rubbed my face with both hands.
“And then. AND THEN. After that whole humiliating display, Finneas spent the rest of the day being... I don’t even know how to describe it. He kept coming to my desk. Kept finding excuses to be near me. Handing me files he could’ve emailed, standing too close, holding eye contact way too long. Normally when I catch him looking at me he does this move where he pretends he was reading the wall behind me, which is beige and has literally nothing on it, very convincing.” I waved my hand. “But today he didn’t even bother pretending. He just looked. Right at me. And I looked back because I’m an idiot who can’t back down from anything, and neither of us stopped for what felt like an hour and then my phone rang and I squeaked, Fin. Out loud. In the office. Like a dog toy being stepped on.”
I dropped my head onto my knees.
“And the thing that’s driving me insane is this: he embarrasses me in front of a client, tells me to be professional, and then spends the rest of the day staring at me like... like that? How is any of that professional? Someone explain it to me because I cannot figure this man out.”
I lifted my head and looked at Fin.
Fin licked my cheek. Full tongue, right across my face.
“Gross.” I sputtered and wiped it off with my sleeve. “But fine, I hear you. No good theories from this end either.”
I leaned back against the railing and tipped my head up. Didn’t grab my book tonight, didn’t feel like reading or doing voices or anything except sitting in the quiet with Fin pressed against my leg and going over every detail again. His hand on Clark’s wrist, his jaw when he said professional, seven seconds of eye contact over a coffee mug while my whole body went warm and stupid and I forgot how to set a cup down without spilling.
“The worst part, Fin?” Quiet now. Almost a whisper. “I’m angry at him. I really am. But I also liked it. Liked that he crossed the floor and took that guy’s hand off me like it was a personal insult. And I really, really shouldn’t like that. It’s controlling and possessive and probably a dozen things I should be mad about.” I paused. “But I’m sitting on my porch telling a dog that my boss grabbed another man’s hand off my shoulder and the main emotion I feel is flattered, so clearly I have lost all perspective.”
Fin pressed his nose into my hand and I curled my fingers into his fur and held on.
Eventually I went inside. Brushed my teeth, changed into pajamas, got into bed. But I didn’t sleep. Lay there with the light off, staring at my ceiling, going over his hand on Clark’s wrist and his fingers near mine on that file and his eyes holding mine while coffee pooled on his desk and my voice cracked on the phone. The way he stood beside my desk and didn’t move, close enough to touch, looking at me with that expression that said one thing while his words said another.
Two years. Two years of grunts and hand waves and “fine” and “acceptable.” And then today he crossed a room in three steps because a man put his hand on my shoulder and I felt it in my chest like a crack opening up.
“I am in so much trouble,” I whispered to my ceiling.
My ceiling didn’t answer. Which was fair. I wouldn’t know what to say to me either.
7
— • —
Finneas
Andrea went inside an hour ago. I was still on her porch.
I should have left. Should have shifted back, gotten dressed, driven home, and dealt with the fact that I told my mate to “keep things professional” while my canines were half-extended and my eyes were burning gold behind my contacts. Should have done a lot of things today that I didn’t do, starting with not crossing my office floor in three strides to grab a client’s wrist because he put his hand on her shoulder.
God, I was a fucking idiot.
My wolf wouldn’t settle. Hadn’t settled since this afternoon, since that whole goddamn disaster. Clark showing up early, parking himself at Andrea’s desk with that easy grin, that confident lean like her workspace was a bar and he was about to order a drink. I watched through the glass while she handledhim, polite and warm and going nowhere, and I should have left it alone. She didn’t need my help. She’d been handling men like Clark her whole life, and she was better at it than I’d ever be because she did it without wanting to rip someone’s arm out of its socket.
But then he put his hand on her shoulder.
His palm on her, fingers curling over the top, casual and easy like he had the right, and my wolf lunged so hard against my control that I was out of my chair and through the door before my brain caught up. I heard myself say words that came out controlled and measured while every cell in my body was screaming to do far worse, and I nearly shifted in my own goddamn office. My eyes almost turned in front of a human client, and if Clark had looked at me half a second sooner he would have seen amber where brown should be and this whole thing would have gone from bad to catastrophic.
And then, because apparently I had zero self-control where Andrea was concerned, I spent the rest of the afternoon hovering near her desk and staring at her through the glass. Coming out with files I didn’t need delivered, standing too close, holding eye contact until she spilled coffee on my desk and I heard her voice crack when she answered the phone. I knew I was making it worse and I couldn’t goddamn stop.
She was angry at me. I could see it in the way she set the coffee mug down too hard, liquid sloshing, and in the rigid line of her shoulders when she walked past my office without glancing in, and in the tight smile she gave me when I handed her that file, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, that saidI am being polite because this is my job and I will deal with you later.
She had every right to be furious. I’d embarrassed her, implied she was being unprofessional when she was just doing her job, standing at her own desk, handling a handsy client with more grace than I’d managed in the entire two years I’d known her.
My wolf did not give a shit about any of that, only knew that another man’s hand had been on her and that we needed to be near her right now, and no amount of rational thought was going to override that.
The light in her bedroom had turned off a while ago. I should go.
