Wolfe listens with his hands clasped under his chin. He doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t blink.
He stares like he’s imagining menakedin one of those rooms.
Halfway through the scent-map—yes, I had one made with a certified scentologist—he cuts in.
“Do you wear that lavender cedar blend every day?” he asks.
My mouth goes dry. “I—excuse me?”
He leans forward, elbows on the table, watching me like a predator. “Your balm. It’s lovely. Subtle. But I get a hint of Omega beneath it. You must have a strong natural profile to peek through that.”
The room freezes. Scott clears his throat. A marketing assistant coughs into her water.
I grip the table’s edge. “This is a professional setting.”
He smiles. “I’m being professional. I notice things. It’s what makes me good at my job.”
I pivot.Wrap up the pitch. Wrap it up fast.
As I pack my portfolio, Wolfe comes around the table. He steps too close. His scent hits me in a wave. Not just Alpha.Aggressive. Pine and leather and ozone. My knees almost buckle.
“You could do very well at Everhart,” he says softly. “If you ever want… mentorship.”
His hand touches my lower back.
I flinch and step away.
Then he grabs me.
Not hard. Not brutal. Butpossessive. A palm at my hip. His nose skims my neck like he’s scenting me—and my whole body locks in horror.
I shove him off, stumble into a chair, and when he comes forward again, I claw at his face, nails catching his jawline. Then I slap him, hard, across the mouth.
“Touch me again and I’ll scream this whole building down,” I hiss.
His eyes blaze more turned on than angry. But he steps back.
I don’t wait. I grab my bag andrun.
The elevator is too slow.
My hands shake so hard that I drop my phone trying to unlock it. The mirrored walls show my reflection: wild-eyed, lips parted, like I’ve just come off a rollercoaster. Or gone into heat.
I catch my breath just as the screen lights up. Incoming call.Scott.
I answer. “I’m fine.”
His voice is clipped. “Wren… the Everhart project is off. Wolfe says you came on to him. He’s pulling the whole contract.”
I go still. “Hewhat?”
“He’s spinning it. Saying you commented. Pressed your hand to his chest. The partners don’t want a lawsuit. They’re asking you to go home. HR will follow up.”
Silence.
“Wren?”
I end the call. I can’t speak. My mouth won’t form words.
