Page 6

"Yes. I mean, he's a beta, you know that. But we're both good."

I hold her dark brown gaze while she scrutinizes my face. To everyone else, Carrie appears staid and professional. Her braids are pulled back into a severe bun, tightly wrapped around her hair tie. She always wears a sleek dark blue suit that conceals her curves without looking frumpy. She keeps her lips stained a coral-brown that downplays their perfect fullness. She's made the decision that I haven't. She will wait for her alpha, and in the meantime she does as little as possible to attract other males' attention.

But beneath her restrained uniform, Carrie is a rare friend I've shared more than one late-night pizza-and-movie marathon with, curled up at opposite ends of the couch, laughing at rom-coms, gasping at horror movies, and weeping at melodramas. Her concern is unsurprising.

"Are you really okay knowing you'll never have your alpha?"

"I'm sure—" The words snag. I sigh, slide my laptop bag off my shoulders, and take a deep breath before turning back to face her. "Yes, Carrie. You know most people never find their—"

She tilts my chin up. "I'm not worried about most people. You're my girl, and I only want the best for you."

"I know." I squeeze her hand, but she doesn't let go.

"Does Steven know you're still hoping?"

My mouth falls open. "I'm not still hoping."

"Cienna."

"What? I'm not. I made my decision. Steven and I talked about it, and we're both adults. We're going into this with our eyes wide open."

She studies me for another moment, and I practically hear her deciding whether to push. Carrie is a wonderful friend, with a bill collector's persistence.

"Okay," she says finally. "But I better be the first person you call when you start planning the wedding."

"You'll be the second. I have to tell my mother."

"Girl, your mother is going to cry."

"She cried when I got my first medical journal publication."

"Exactly. So you know what's coming." We both grin before she sighs. "All right, then. We need to set a time to celebrate. You know I'm the best woman, right?"

"You mean the maid of honor?"

"Whatever. I prefer best woman—because, as you know, that's what I am." She says, brushing invisible dust off each shoulder.

I'm still laughing as I open my office door.

And freeze.

There are three men inside. One sits behind my desk like he owns it, and the other two flank him.

"What the—"

"Oh, yeah." Carrie steps behind me. "I forgot about that. You have some visitors, and they wouldn't—" She rolls her eyes, marching back to her desk. "—take no for an answer." So you deal with them, because they almost made me pull out my pepper spray. You know I'm armed at all times." She glares at them before she sits down. "Call me if they get out of hand."

I look between her riled expression and the men waiting in my office. Then I go inside and close the door.

"Gentlemen. I'm Dr. Layne. You wanted to speak with me?"

The one behind the desk rises. "Yes." He waves me toward my freaking guest chair, then sits back down… in mine. It's a straight-up alpha move.

I stand tall; I'm not sitting in my office at his command. Still, the butterflies in my stomach start to spin like a centrifuge gone wild. I ignore it. "How can I help you?" I ask, my brows pulling together.

"My name is Ivan Brusilov," he says, and pauses—as if I should know who that is.

I look at him closely. Do I know him? No. He has a face I would remember. The man is huge; his body nearly takes up the entire side of the desk, and it's a wonder he fit into my chair at all. And his face—there is no way I would have forgotten that face. He's a shifter. A big shifter. A cat, for sure. Usually, feline shifters carry some trace of softness, an almost feminine grace to their features, but nothing about him is soft. His face says, male. And screams alpha.