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Her physiology suggests extreme stress. Her shoulders kink, her elbows flinch, her knees wobble slightly as she lowers herself toward a chair across from us.
But she keeps speaking, outlining the finer points of her pitch while she distributes impressive piles of glossy paper and gives a brief description of the new logo she’s designed.
I do a double-take at that, my eyes roaming over her and the new orange-and-black Ospreys’ icon in turn. The image depicts our mascot as a phoenix rising from its own ashes. A white silhouette on a black background, emerging from a fiery pit of our team’s signature orange.
It’s… infinitely better than ours. The artwork is clean. Modern, but with an edge, and some new angles that hold my interest. Great aesthetics; but it’s the symbolism that really draws me in.
And she designed it? In addition to being a designation demographic expert with two advanced degrees?
She’s impressive. Not just her proposed marketing plan, but her professional demeanor, too. Whatever’s bothering her, she seems determined to ignore it.
I could use some of that control, myself. I’ve been tense all day, but her anxiety sends my agitation to a whole new level.
I need to help her. Fix it. Make her feel safe.
A perplexing sensation to have for a total stranger who smells like industrial air-freshener.
But—logical or not—I can’t deny the way she draws my complete focus. Even while she does something as mundane as sitting down.
Declan opens his mouth again. I glare at him until he shuts it.
Why is he being such a dick anyway? It’s not like he cares about any of the pack’s business decisions. He’s only here because he expects to work closely with whatever PR person we hire. Since he loves having his face printed all over everything all the time.
It’s only been a handful of minutes when Miss Reed suddenly pauses. Then lurches to her feet.
“Uh-umm,” she stutters. “I…”
Her wide, blue eyes meet mine first. Surrounded by the delicate features of her face, they look enormous. And full of fear.
Help me.
My brow knots while she flashes me a panicked, beseeching look. It has an instant effect. I push to my feet, too, prepared to hurdle across the room and catch her.
But she takes a step back, trembling harder.
“I think you’ll find everything else you need in those packets.” She says the words in a rush. “If you like what you see, please let me know and I’d be happy to come back to film some trial content.”
Ronan rises, too. His face is like a thundercloud, all booming anger and stormy eyes. “We have an interview now,” he replies, his voice nearly edging into a bark. “Please, Miss Reed, sit down.”
The almost-command hits her right in her knees. They give out for a split second before she draws herself back up.
“I-I’m sorry,” she stammers. “I really should go now. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Ash.”
She looks back at me, her eyes piercing right into my center. “Dr. Monroe.”
Does she… Am I… Is that my scent spiking? Now? Because she said my name? Not even my first name, either.
It makes no sense. My pheromones shouldn’t spike for a beta woman I don’t know. The only reason for them to randomly surge for a stranger would be a scent-sensitive omega. A scent-match. The odds of that are so low they’re statistically insignificant.
Declan waits for the confusing woman to address him, wearing a cocky, cold little smirk that makes me want to thump his head. Instead of looking at him, though, Miss Reed ducks her head and runs for the doors.
Leaving me to wonder why every fiber of my being demands I chase her down.
chapter
six
The babbling beta has already gotten under our pack leader’s skin.
