Page 3 of Falling for My Shifter Boss

"Lisa decided to stay in the city." Eli's eyes sparkle with barely contained amusement. "And you, my friend, just got promoted. Adrian needs someone who understands the local community, especially with the gala coming up."

My wolf stirs again, more insistent this time. "Does he know about this?"

"He does now." Eli gestures toward the elevator. "Better not keep him waiting. He's not exactly known for his patience."

The elevator ride gives me just enough time to steady my nerves and smooth my expression into something professional. I can do this. I've dealt with demanding alphas my whole life—Theo isn't exactly a ray of sunshine himself. Besides, this is my chance to prove I'm more than just another pack wolf.

When I knock on Adrian's office door, my heart betrays me again, skipping several beats as his deep voice commands, "Enter."

He's standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows when I walk in, his broad shoulders tensed beneath his perfectly tailored suit. The office itself is exactly what I'd expect—minimalist, everything in its place, not a paper out of order on the imposing desk that dominates the room. It's a space designed to intimidate, to remind visitors who holds the power here.

When he turns, those storm-gray eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, the world narrows to just us. Recognition hits me like a punch to the gut—he's the same wolf who'd brushed past me at the coffee shop this morning, leaving behind a scent of sandalwood and winter storms.

And something else. Something that makes my inner wolf howl in recognition.

Mate.

The realization hits like a punch to the gut, and I instantly slam mental walls around it. No. Absolutely not. I refuse to even consider the possibility. But my wolf knows, and from the way Adrian's nostrils flare slightly, the sudden tension in his jaw, I suspect he knows too.

"Mr. Blackwell." I keep my voice steady, professional, grateful for years of practice hiding my emotions from pack politics. "Eli mentioned you need an assistant?"

His jaw tightens further. "Apparently so." He moves to his desk, every movement calculated and controlled, though I notice his fingers curl into his palm when he reaches for a tablet. "The gala is in three weeks. It's crucial for securing local support for our community development project. I need someone who can handle the logistics while maintaining discretion about certain... sensitive matters."

"You mean the hunters." I meet his gaze without flinching, refusing to dance around the subject.

His eyes narrow at my directness. "Among other things." There's a warning in his tone that my wolf bristles at. I'm not one of his employees he can intimidate into submission.

"I can handle it." I straighten my spine, chin lifting slightly. "I know this community, and I know how to be discrete. The question is, can you handle working with someone who won't just bow to your every command?"

Something flickers in his eyes—surprise, maybe even appreciation, before it's quickly masked. "We'll see." He slides the tablet across the desk. "These are the preliminary plans. Review them before the meeting at ten."

I reach for the tablet, and our fingers brush for the briefest moment. The contact sends electricity racing up my arm, and I notice his sharp intake of breath, the way his fingers curl into a fist the moment they leave the tablet. My wolf howls louder, demanding I acknowledge what we both know to be true.

I turn and walk toward the door, fighting every instinct that wants me to stay, to circle back, to figure out what this pull between us means. But I've spent years building my independence, my identity outside of pack expectations. I won't let biology—or destiny, or whatever this is—decide my fate.

"Maya." His voice stops me at the door, rough around the edges in a way that makes my skin prickle. "Don't be late to the meeting."

I glance back over my shoulder, catching the intensity in his gaze before he masks it. "Wouldn't dream of it, boss."

As I walk away, I can feel his eyes on me, and the weight of everything we're both pretending not to know settles heavy between my shoulder blades. This job just got a lot more complicated.

???

The scent hits me before I even enter the conference room. Adrian's presence saturates the space so thoroughly that my wolf stirs beneath my skin, equal parts wary and intrigued. I take a steadying breath, adjusting my blazer before stepping inside.

The sleek corporate setting feels at odds with the primal energy emanating from its occupants. Around the polished mahogany table sit Eli, Adrian's right-hand man, looking deceptively relaxed in his chair; Sawyer, the bear-shifter head of security, whose steady gaze misses nothing; and several other executives whose subtle shifts in posture acknowledge my entrance without breaking their focus on their alpha.

Adrian stands at the head of the table, commanding attention without effort. His tailored suit does little to hide the predator beneath, and when his steel-gray eyes meet mine, my pulse quickens traitorously.

Now that we're all here, let's get started," he begins, his deep voice filling the room. "Today's topic is the gala. It should demonstrate our commitment to the supernatural community. We need the local packs' support to move forward with the sanctuary project."

I sit up a little straighter, surprised by the weight of his words. A sanctuary. I hadn’t realized this was the true vision behind Blackwell Corporation—not just business expansion, not just another detached corporate move, but a real effort to create safe havens for supernaturals. Places where families wouldn’t have to live in fear of hunters, where we could build something lasting. Something protected.

A thrill runs through me at the thought of being part of something that could change lives. The company I’d initially written off as cold and impersonal is doing something meaningful, something desperately needed. For the first time since I started working here, I feel a sense of purpose.

But as Adrian continues, detailing projected costs, security measures, and implementation timelines, my excitement dims. Everything is numbers, strategies, and risk analysis. He speaks with precision, his focus strictly on logistics, on data. My wolf stirs uneasily. Is that all this is to him? A well-calculated business maneuver with an acceptable margin of risk?

"The ROI on initial investments should—"

---