Page 13 of Cuffed By the Wolf

The sheriff takes a sip. “Thank you,” he mutters.

“Who told you how I like my coffee?”

“Fitch.”

“Ms. Walker, are you trying to bribe me for this position?”

My brows pinch together. “No, I wanted to brighten your day.”

He stands there for a moment longer.

“Have a seat.”

While sipping his latte, he looks over my application.

“I brought my resume, too.” I retrieve it from a folder inside my oversized purse.

He takes it from me. While he glances at it, I take the time to retrieve my coffee from the to-go carrier and sip the piping-hot deliciousness. Nothing like a brown sugar espresso.

In order to get this job, I need to play nice. Once I’m in, the gloves will come off.

“Can you really type forty-five words a minute?” he asks.

“Yes. I took a typewriting class online. And I practice my skill every six months to make sure I still have it. My father runs a busy law office. I had to move fast to ensure the attorneys had their briefs and pleadings for court. There were times I didn’t take lunch.”

“I know our office is small, but it’s busy. Sounds like you might be able to keep up with the workflow.”

“I assure you I can.”

He leans back in his chair. “I’m aware you’re here on a temporary basis. Just how long do you plan to remain in my town?”

“For a month at least.”

He leans forward. “Because you’re looking for the people who stole from you, right?”

He’s trying to bait me.

I purse my plump lips together. “I was invaluable to my dad’s firm,” I say, avoiding his question. “I trained the secretary who took my place. Let me help.”

He considers my words and sinks back into his oversized chair. My gaze moves over his bearded jaw that looks thicker than it did yesterday. How can a man grow that much beard hair overnight?

His eyes fall back on my information sprawled in front of him. “You didn’t check if you were a beta or an omega. Why?”

“Just know I’m either one,” I chuckle awkwardly.

He’s silent for a moment, then tells me about my daily duties.

A smile lifts my cheeks as he says, “You’ll report to work Monday through Friday, eight a.m. to four p.m. Sometimes five. Our biggest festival of the summer is here in two weeks. I expect all hands on deck.”

“Sounds good to me.” I grin.

My eyes roam over his striking face once more: the defined jawline, the thick brown beard, those soft, tempting lips. I catch myself wondering what they’d taste like.

Sasha, stop that.

His finely shaped brown eyebrows, perpetually furrowed. His warm, golden tan skin. And his medium-length hair, which I imagine tugging at while he licks my slick.

Hopefully, he and I are done here.