“What?” he said, puzzled.
“The locals might find the Hawthorne alpha attending their meeting a tad… overwhelming, Samuel,” Victoria pointed out kindly.
“Yeah, like a wolf offering to shear lambs,” Bo contributed.
“Ditto,” I muttered.
Samuel rolled his eyes.
Things at Hawthorne & Associates were already in full swing when Bo and I arrived there an hour later. Samuel had business at the Chamber of Commerce and parted ways with us in the parking lot, but not before he pulled me in for a kiss that nearly melted my panties and had Bo curling a lip.
I swear that alpha read my mind about the possible sex ban tonight.
Charlene was dealing with a difficult client on thephone when we walked into the building. Her hair had unraveled around her head and the glassware in the lobby was vibrating at a dangerous frequency.
I caught a snatch of her conversation.
“No, Count De Vile, you cannot have Dave’s private number. He’s on vacation.” She paused. “In the Bahamas,” she grated out. “Not that that’s any of your concern.”
I greeted the building’s security guard. “Hey, Fred. Is the Count being a pain again?”
“Yup,” the half-demon said glumly. “I’m one Defcon away from reaching for the headphones.” He eyed Bo. “Why does the pooch look like he’s just sniffed some questionable garbage?”
“Because it’s not even nine a.m. yet and I just witnessed an act of abject debauchery in the parking lot,” Bo explained indignantly.
We both squinted at my dog.
“Is it me or is his vocabulary expanding?” Fred said suspiciously.
I could see Pearl all over this.
“Also, you and Samuel need to stop making out in the parking lot,” Fred advised. “Nigel saw you guys on the security camera once and almost had a moment.”
I shriveled up a little inside.
At the other end of the desk, Charlene started citing the employee handbook, her eyes taking on a worrying glow.
“I’d get those headphones out if I were you,” I warned, beating a hasty retreat to the elevator.
Fred extracted his noise-cancellingheadphones from a desk drawer with a glum expression and absent-mindedly gave Bo a treat. My dog accepted it enthusiastically, the fact that he’d already consumed his weight in bacon that morning long forgotten.
“You’re going to get fat,” I told him.
“I have werewolf metabolism,” Bo said smugly. “I burn calories just by existing.”
“You’re not a werewolf.”
“I’m werewolf adjacent. It’s close enough.”
Some days, my dog’s logic could not be argued with.
The elevator doors opened on the fifth floor to reveal Gavin sprinting past with his horns out and smoke trailing from his nostrils.
“Don’t go in the break room!” he shouted over his shoulder.
Bo and I watched him disappear around a corner.
“Should we ask?” Bo said hesitantly.
