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“Minions?” I teased him.

He stopped walking and looked at me, seemingly confused.

“Minion is not complimentary,” I let him know.

“Whatever. The point is, I know now I can ask you out, and that’s why I came to this thing. I don’t like most of these people.”

“You don’t?” That surprised me. He was serious at work, but personable. I bet that every one of my colleagues thought he liked them.

“No. But again, that should not be your concern.”

“It’s not a concern. I’m just surprised.”

“Could we change the subject back to me asking you out?”

“Yes,” I said with a smile.

“Good. What do you say we do something after the auction of the Gould letters goes live. Say, next Saturday?”

“I would love that.”

“I will actually take you for dinner. You won’t even have to cook.”

“That could be a blessing. You might hate my cooking.”

“If that lasagna tastes as good as it smells, I don’t think that will be a problem.”

“That’s very smooth of you also.”

“Well, you’re going to need to ply me with food and alcohol to get me through this evening.”

“I’m sure you’re going to have a great time.”

When he reached the door and opened it, in came Bing. Of everyone in our office, of course his least favorite person was first.

“Hey, Coco,” Bing greeted Wyn, who turned immediately to me, tipping his head, giving me a wide-eyed stare.

I nearly choked to death on my wine.

“Give me a knife,” Wyn ordered.

“No knives for you. Come drink your wine. You need to pour yourself more.”

“You think?” The sarcasm was thick.

“Hey,” Bing greeted me, hefting one of those tote bags with partitions for many bottles up onto my counter. “I got lots of different ones ’cause I can tell you’re picky.”

“That’s very nice of you.”

“Oh shit,” he gasped and, that fast, darted away to the front door and threw it open, nearly knocking Terri over in the process before pushing by her, then Marc, who was close behind.

They both yelled at him, then slammed the door behind them, greeted me, and handed Wyn what they’d brought.

“Hang up your coats and come in and drink,” Wyn directed them.

It was funny, because other people might have thought he was being oddly domineering in someone else’s house, which he was visiting for the first time, but I was used to this exact behavior. Trained for it, actually. This was how alphas, and other more dominant personalities, were. Anywhere their mate was belonged immediately to them. Had Deacon been there, in my little house, he would have taken over everything, directed people, and even started barking orders at me. It was how they were made. Omegas, we were born to be subservient. There was something oddly comforting in it, my desire to have another in control.

“Where did he go?” Marc asked me.