I’mawake two hours before my alarm, which means it’s already a bad day.
Actually, that’s generous. Awake implies I slept. What I actually did was roll around on these thousand-thread-count hotel sheets and blast the AC down toArctic Tundrawhile still hallucinating the lingering scent of ocean, sandalwood, and—strongest of all—burning wood.
Burning wood because Nolan is maybe thirty feet away with nothing but a door between us.
Fucking suppressants.How simply meeting and being in the same room with three scent-matched alphas breaks through every single pill I’ve taken daily for years is something that should be studied.
I stick a pair of gel patches under my eyes and squint at myself in the mirror above the minibar in the suite’s bedroom. You would think being a moderately successful pop star would mean developing a higher tolerance for chaos, but no—my tolerance is at absolute zero. The undereye patches promise “instant radiance” but unless radiance is code for “looks like a freshly exhumed raccoon,” I’m going to need backup.
I consider a shower, but the last time I showered I got stuck in a fifteen-minute loop of replaying the gala. Not the part where I sang flawlessly (obviously) but the part where I lost my damn mind, got rescued by a literal prince, and then started a scent-matching fever dream with not one, but two alphas, and possibly a third if we’re counting Nolan, which I am not.
I’m not.
I absolutely fucking am. How could I not count Nolan when I’ve hadfeelingsof some sort for him since he was hired? And sure, it started off as Nolan simply being handsome and protective, but it’s transformed over the years and now…
Now I can’t stop thinking about kissing his chin again.
I don’t have anyone to talk to about this. It’s the price you pay for estranging yourself from your parents at sixteen and then going viral for an acoustic folk cover of a pop song. The onlyfriends—if I can call them that loosely—who might give useful advice are asleep on the other side of the world and presumably not wrestling with instinctual omega hell.
Which leaves me with exactly one person in my corner: Nolan. My bodyguard and, as of last night, secret co-star in this involuntary scent match sitcom.
I make myself look presentable and then open the bedroom door. Nolan’s sitting on the other side of the suite’s living area. He’s reading something, probably the day’s security brief, on his phone. But I know for a fact that he’s also watching me in the reflection of the window because his sight level isjusthigher than the phone screen.
I grab a cup of expresso from the suite’s machine and then sit in the corner of the couch. Nolan normally doesn’t talk much to me until I’ve had my morning caffeine fix, so his silence isn’t abnormal. But by the time I finish this cup I can’t take it anymore. I move to get up and Nolan does so too.
He nods toward the expresso machine. “Do you want another?”
I sit back down. “N-No, thanks.”
Why am I making this so weird?
Probably because Nolan didn’t exactly kiss me back last night. Or at all. Because he’s trying to reel himself in when I think the universe just gave us the permission I was worried we’d never have.
“Are you sure?” His brown eyes search mine. Being under his scrutiny feels different today. Thrilled goosebumps slide up my arms in a rush. His burning wood scent is overwhelming.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I finally say. “I don’t want to reach max caffeine so early in the day.”
Nolan’s eyes grow concerned. “Have you slept?”
I debate lying, but he’s going to see the dark circles regardless. “Nope. Did you?”
He hesitates. “Enough.”
Liar.Not that Nolan would ever admit to being anything short of ready for duty.
My phone buzzes on the counter, vibrating so hard it nearly walks itself off the edge. I catch it in time. It’s a text from Raelynn:I’m coming up. Be ready.
I glance at the time. It’s 6:45 AM. I am not ready. “Raelynn’s coming.”
Nolan stands up, smooth and silent, like he’s about to take a bullet for me. He probably is.
A brisk knock sounds at the door. Raelynn was probably already in the elevator when she sent that.
Nolan beats me to it. He scans through the peephole before opening it.
Raelynn strides in, powered by two shots of something even meaner than expresso. She’s wearing her signature black suitwith no jewelry. Her bobbed red hair is perfect, not a strand out of place.
She acknowledges Nolan with a curt nod. “Can we talk alone?”
