Page 11 of Omega's Fire

“Prolonging the process serves neither of us.”

Leo holds my gaze for a long moment, and I feel that pull again. It seems to tighten the air between us.

“No,” Leo says again. He turns without another word and walks out, leaving the door open behind him. His scent lingers in the room.

Sun lets out a breath. “That was... intense.”

“Yes,” I agree, gathering my papers with unhurried precision. “It was.”

“Do you think he’ll be here tomorrow.”

I consider the question as I slip the file back into my portfolio. “I doubt it.”

As I leave the conference room, I find myself uncharacteristically distracted. I pause in the lobby, looking out at the rain-slicked street where Leo disappeared minutes earlier. The pull is still there, a compass needle seeking true north, even with distance between us. It will only grow stronger.

Leo will be feeling it too. But even as I think it, another feeling settles in my chest—respect. Unexpected, unwanted, but undeniable.

Leo Torres isn’t just another resistant omega. He’s something else entirely.

And damn if that doesn’t make me want him even more.

Leo

I slam the Bureau’s door behind me. I’ve slammed every door I’ve gone through in this building. It feels petulant but damn it also feels good. I’d have preferred to take my anger out by punching Nash Thorndike in his stupid smug face but I do have some willpower.

Cool air hits the heat of my face as I stride down the concrete steps, my breathing ragged and uneven. The plaza stretches before me, Bureau workers in tailored suits strolling past as if today is perfectly ordinary. As if my life hadn’t just been allocated via algorithm to the most infuriating man I’ve ever met. I suppose it is an ordinary day for them. Assholes, every one.

I keep walking, not caring where. Away. Just away from Nash Thorndike’s steady gaze and infuriating composure. Away from that creepy Bureau rep’s fake sympathy. Away from that stupid room where they’d discussed my future like I wasn’t even in it.

The one thing I didn’t expect was the chemistry. I’d persuaded myself it was all a set up. Hell, maybe it is, but there is definitely chemistry there. Thorndike might be a jerk but he is ahotjerk. I’ve seen him on TV before and known in my head that he was aesthetically good-looking. It meant nothing until actually being in the room with him.

Maybe it is a prime match. I’ve never felt anything like hisscent before. It was like being hit by a bus. A big hot sexy bus.

Oh for fuck’s sake, Leo, I chide myself.

Half a block later, I realize I’ve left my leather binder—the one with all my notes—sitting on the polished conference table.

“Shit.”

For a moment, I consider going back. But that would mean seeing Nash again. Seeing those dark, intense eyes. Feeling the strange pull that ambushed me the moment I’d walked into the room.

“Screw the binder,” I mutter, quickening my pace. “Screw them all.”

I reach the abandoned office building without conscious thought, my body operating on muscle memory.

Humiliation burns hotter than my anger. I’d prepared for this meeting. I’d been ready to argue my case with precision and control. Instead, I’d found myself stammering, distracted by the unexpected physical reaction that hit the moment Nash Thorndike had looked directly at me.

That wasn’t chemistry. It was an ambush.

But damn it all to hell, the man is gorgeous. He’s a devil with the face of an angel and a voice that resonated in places I’d rather not admit. His perfect posture, those broad shoulders under that suit, those strong hands...

The memory sends heat curling through my abdomen. I stop in the building’s empty lobby, grateful for the momentary solitude. I lean against the wall, closing my eyes, trying to steady my breathing.

“This isn’t real,” I whisper to the empty space. “I don’t want him.”

But my traitor body disagrees. The pull I’d felt was visceral. Which is exactly the problem. The Bureau counts on that to override consent.

I hate myself for feeling it. For the flush that had crept upmy neck when Nash spoke. For the way my body had instantly recognized him. My underwear is uncomfortably wet. I feel my face flush with humiliation again. The sooner I can get out of these clothes and wash Nash’s scent off me, the better.

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