“I prefer Madi, but I will answer to
New Girl, or
Secretary, or
Ms. Evans, or
Madison, but if you call me little girl again, I won’t hear anything that follows it.”
Amazing. I actually want to laugh. I’m not sure I remember the last time I laughed over anything at all. Good thing I’m already in my office, and she can’t see the smile tugging at my lips.
“Noted,” I grumble.
Score another for the assistant.
I am so very fucked.
Madison
“I’m coming. I promise. I’m on my way now.” I shove my feet into my knee-high boots and take a quick look in the mirror of the bathroom at work. Blackthroat kept me working late, and I was supposed to meet Aubrey an hour ago to prepare our set for the 80’s band night at the club next to La R?sistance.
Now there’s no time to change at the cafe, so I have to put on my outfit here. Jerry, the night janitor, who is already on our floor cleaning, is going to get an eyeful when he sees my transformation. I’m sporting a tiny mesh crop top over a loud neon pink bra, a mini-skirt that shows half my ass, and black leather boots. I teased my bangs up in front and applied thick war paint as makeup. I look critically in the mirror.
Not bad.
Good thing I’m taking the subway in New York City, where there are people in all kinds of outfits, and not in DC, where blending would be impossible.
I throw my mid-length cream jacket over the top of it because there’s a fall chill in the air, and it helps tone down the outfit a smidge. Then I grab my half-drunk vanilla latte that served as my dinner and barrel out of the bathroom.
Oof. Straight into Brick Blackthroat.
My coffee spills all over both of us, but mostly me, dripping down my cream jacket. I groan. “I guess that’s what you call hitting a Brick wall.”
I’m not above a pun when it’s so perfectly presented.
I’m tempted to give his chest a napkin pat-down, like I did the time I spilled water on him, but his glare makes me refrain.
“What the hell are you wearing?” Blackthroat demands. His gaze rakes down my body, taking in the suggestive rock and roll outfit. He looks pissed, the same way he does when I wear the peek-a-boo dresses. Like my body is an affront to his peace of mind.
“I’m off the clock; it’s not your concern.” I probably should watch my tone, but I’m annoyed because he already made me late, and now I’ve ruined my favorite jacket. I seriously doubt I’ll ever get a coffee stain out of the pale fabric. I peel it off and shake off the liquid with a grimace.
His nostrils flare when he sees my outfit without the jacket to hide anything. “You’re on salary, which means I own you all hours of the day. Plus, you’re still at work. Why are you dressed like that?”
I huff. “I’m performing tonight at an 80’s night. In a Go-Go’s cover band, if you hadn’t guessed.”
He dabs at the coffee on his shirt, his brows down. “Madison, you’re not getting in a cab looking like that. No way.”
“You’re right. I’m taking the subway-it’s faster this time of night.”
“Oh no, you’re not. Forget it.”
I try to get around him. I’m seriously late at this point, and Aubrey will never forgive me if I miss our performance. “I don’t recall you having the right to deliver edicts about how I spend my personal time.”
He blocks my way. “I’ll drive you.”
“I’m out of time, sir. I really have to-“
“I’ll get you there.” He finally lets me by, and I dash to grab my bass guitar from behind the desk.
Blackthroat eyes it darkly, like my playing bass guitar is another affront to him. When Jerry walks by, pushing his janitorial cart, my boss steps in front of me, as if to block his view of my outfit. We get in the elevator, and he doesn’t stop frowning at me.
My heart beats faster just being so near him. I’ve worked for this guy for a month, and I like to think I’m figuring him out, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still both intimidate me and turn me on.
He’s so much bigger and taller than I am, and the powerful force field of his presence takes up even more space. The elevator car feels too small. “You don’t have to drive me,” I say again to try to cut through the tension.
He gives me an unfathomable look. “I’m driving you. Where is the show?”
“It’s in Brooklyn. I was supposed to be there an hour ago.”
“You should’ve told me.”
“Would it have mattered?”
“I would’ve let you go,” he says mildly.
It occurs to me that he might be telling the truth. He’s a demanding hardass, but he rewards hard work.
I shift and steal a glance at his handsome face. “I don’t like to leave a job unfinished.”
“I appreciate that.” His gaze dips to my outfit, resting on my bare belly for a few minutes, then down my legs, then back up to my breasts framed in the hot pink bra. He shakes his head. “You couldn’t have changed at the venue?”
“There’s no time.”
We take the elevator to a private garage level where Blackthroat and his execs apparently keep their cars. I whimper when I see the ride-a shiny black Porsche Taycan. The new all-electric one.
At least he didn’t illegally park it on the curb.
“You really don’t have to drive me,” I mutter as he holds the passenger door open for me.
“Shut up, Ms Evans. I’m driving you.” He slams my door.
“What crawled up your ass?” I mutter to myself before he climbs in his own seat. The glare he gives me makes me think he heard.
He puts the car in reverse and backs out so fast the tires squeal. “I’m sorry you don’t seem to understand the effect your bare skin has on the average male, but let me assure you, it’s significant.”
Heat pools between my legs, and my nipples pucker beneath the neon bra. He actually admitted it. He’s attracted to me.
I pluck at the very short hemline of my skirt. “Um… thanks?”
“It wasn’t a compliment, just a fact.” He takes the curves of the parking garage so fast I have to hang onto the door handle. He glances at the guitar propped between my knees. “Are you any good?”
“No. I mean, I’m proficient. But this isn’t a real band or a regular thing. My friend loves this sort of thing, and I promised to do it as a favor.”
He zips out onto the streets. Traffic sucks, but Blackthroat drives like we’re in one of those high speed chases in an action movie, weaving in and out of traffic, making tight turns and gunning it every chance he gets. I hang onto the door handle, turned on. I always had a thing for Jason Bourne.
Once we’re in Brooklyn, I give him directions to the venue, and he pulls up in front.
“Would it be okay if I left my coat in here, so I don’t have to worry about losing it in there?” I ask as I climb out.
He looks grim, like I’m asking for the moon. “Sure,” he deadpans. “I love for my car to smell like vanilla lattes.”
“Great. And thank you for the ride. It wasn’t awkward at all.” I return his sarcasm.
His lips curve in what I swear to God is the first smile I’ve ever seen on him. It’s not actually a smile. Just the hint of one. “Break a leg.”
For a moment, our gazes lock, and I lose my breath. I give him a full grin as I swing the door closed. “Thanks.” Tossing the guitar strap over my shoulder, I jog in, trying to ignore how hot and flushed I feel all over.
* * *
Brick
Dammit. I drive away, but the idea of letting Madison roam unprotected in that crazy outfit has me cutting back around the block to find a parking place. I find a valet garage not far and pull off my tie before I leave the Taycan.
It’s not that I’m feeling possessive. I don’t have the need to keep other men from looking at that juicy little body.
Okay, fine, that’s exactly what it is.
This little human has my instincts running haywire. There’s no reason I should feel so protective. She’s no one to me. She’s not pack or even a wolf. But I sure as hell can’t stand the idea of anyone seeing her dressed that way.
I’ll just go back and make sure she doesn’t attract unwanted attention. She’s a smart girl, but something in me compels me to make sure she’s safe.
I pay the twenty dollar cover charge to get in. It’s wall-to-wall packed with patrons. The venue is small, with a bar at one end and a stage on the side. The band onstage is a mediocre version of Duran Duran. They look the part, and the music is decent, but the performers seem a little embarrassed, like they’re not sure if they’re about to get booed off stage. I unbutton the throat and cuffs of my dress shirt and roll up my sleeves before I order a beer and find a barstool in the back to watch the show.
I catch sight of Madison and what must be the rest of her band pounding shots at the side of the stage, presumably for courage. I want to go throw her over my shoulder and carry her out. To hide her away from the world. Keep her for myself.
I should be at the office, working all angles of the Benson deal. Searching for our next acquisition, one that will ensure Moon Co’s market dominance. Or I should be flying to the Berkshires, so I can shift and let my wolf run out the endless energy that’s been keeping me up at night.
There’s no reason I should be hanging around this human haunt, stealing a few precious moments to satisfy my craving for her.
My whole life, I’ve committed every moment to my pack and the businesses that keep us wealthy. Keep us safe. I’ve had a few flings with a handful of willing she-wolves, but I’ve never taken such an interest in a female before.
My attraction to Madison isn’t rational. She is definitely something special, whether my wolf loves her delectable scent or not. It just would be far easier to ignore the attraction if my wolf wasn’t involved.
I want it even more when she gets up on stage and the band starts playing because they’re good. Sexy. Musically talented. Fun. They’ve got the beat, and the crowd chants along at the tops of their lungs. Their lead singer is a beautiful black woman who appears the same age as Madison with tattoos down one arm and a nose piercing. She’s wearing a headband to hold back her wild mop of curls. She’s great, but I’m too taken by my pain-in-the-ass assistant to watch her. Madison is a rock star. The stage lights illuminate the whole band, but she shines brighter, as if lit from within. My eyes are glued to her and her alone.
I shouldn’t be surprised to find she has talents other than fielding my phone calls and remembering entire conversations verbatim-there’s probably nothing this girl doesn’t do well.
And it hits me as I stand under the neon lights, in this dark, tight space with too many idiots drenched in cheap body spray. Everything I’ve done, every moment of my life has been with my pack, for my pack, to benefit my pack. My father raised me to know my duty and my destiny. The legacy of Alpha has ruled my days, months, years.
Up until now.
The music swells around me, too loud, too much bass. The place is foggy with human stench and sweat and hoppy beer. The carpet under my polished wingtips is no color and every color, marked with decades of questionable stains.
What in the hell am I doing here? What compelled me to come in? To stay? To actually enjoy watching this ridiculous show?
It doesn’t make sense, yet I can’t make myself leave. Can’t make myself stop looking at New Girl up there on that stage.
Madison and her friends finish the set and leave the stage, and I keep my eye on her as she goes to the bar with her bandmates, her guitar still slung over her shoulder.
I should leave. She’s here with friends. She can take care of herself. She may be a fragile human, but she’s smart and not alone.
But she’s also drinking. And if she thinks she’s taking the subway home, I will have to intervene. I keep my post in the back, irritated when I lose sight of her for a while.
“Brick Blackthroat!” She stumbles a little with exaggerated surprise, and I shoot a hand out to catch her elbow. I mean to help her catch her balance, but instead, I hesitate and let her tumble against my chest. I wrap my other arm around her waist. Her breasts press against my ribs. “Oh.” She tips her face up in surprise. Our lips are close.
So fucking close.
Close enough that I’d only have to move a half-inch to taste her beautiful, sassy mouth. I almost do it. I want to.
But it would be so very wrong.
The tequila on her breath sadly overpowers her natural scent. Okay, so there is something she doesn’t do well-hold her alcohol.
Reluctantly, I release her waist, keeping my hand at her elbow to steady her.
“What are you doing here?” she slurs, making an obvious attempt to get her balance and square her shoulders like she’s not wasted.
“I’m here to drive you home.” I scowl because now her citrus spice scent invades my nostrils, and my hand automatically tightens on her arm, like I’m unwilling to let her go.
She raises her brows, and it makes her fall back again, so I pull her closer.
“Wait…did you see the show?”
I force my expression into one of scorn. “Don’t be absurd.”
She narrows her eyes, still swaying slightly. I can’t fathom what’s going through her mind, but she seems to realize something. To my shock, she pokes me in the chest. “You’re lying, Brick Blackthroat. I know when you lie. I see everything.”
Oh fates. She’s unbelievably cute like this.
I catch her hand with the pointing finger and hold it crumpled in my larger one. “That’s
Mister
Blackthroat to you, and you know absolutely nothing.”
She sways forward even more, leaning into me. Her soft breasts brush against my ribs again.
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