Page 138 of Altius
“What the hell did he mean?” Alijah covertly gripped the hem of my shirt. “Is something going on? Is Garvey threatening you?”
“I can’t tell you the details.”
“But that asshole knows?”
“Alijah.” I wrapped my fingers around his wrist and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I would tell you everything if I could. But I’m under an NDA with Redwing. So’s Garvey, and I think he just violated it.”
“But he said—”
“Stop.” I tugged on his wrist. “Pretend you didn’t hear anything. At least until I have Owen’s permission to tell you.”
“He’ll say no. Or he won’t reply.” Alijah pulled away, choking on a disparaging laugh. “You’d think Redwing ran the damn pack instead of him.”
“Let me ask, just to be on the safe side. But I promise you’re not in danger.”
“Me?” His black eyes were bottomless pools of anguish. “Forget about me! It’s you. That’s what I’m worried about.You.”
Stepping closer, he almost pulled me into his arms. But he couldn’t. There were too many eyes turned in our direction.
Alijah rubbed his forehead in frustration. “I cannot wait for them to lose this game, so you never have to deal with this bullshit again.”
Dr. McEwen approached. “Everything all right?”
“Just some tension with the defensive line,” I said, clinging to my professional restraint for dear life, refusing to crack as Alijah walked away, widening the distance I’d tried so hard to maintain between us.
Staring at my phone, I decided to change tactics.
My group message was carefully worded, teetering on the edge of violating my NDA. I sent it to all the guys, Joaquin and Wyatt included.
Garvey just mentioned pheromone bombs in front of a bunch of players. They’re asking questions. There’s press hanging around. Please take appropriate action. Alijah heard everything. Can you fill him in?
Owen was a workaholic of the highest magnitude and the only other person I knew who sent more emails after midnight than I did. But he was their head alpha.
Surely, he’d put the interests and needs of his committed packmates first. No one, not even Redwing’s Vice President of Research and Development, could bethatbusy.
Could they?
***
My internal alarm went off at its usual time the following morning, unbothered by the three-hour time difference. When it’s time to work out, you don’t resist.
You hit the hotel’s gym, get sweaty—and glare at your inbox, while trying to drown out the echoes of Alijah’s wounded laugh.
Owen hadn’t responded to my texts or emails, any of Cal’s overtures, or Joaquin’s repeated emoji spamming of the three wise monkeys: see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.
I was willing to overlook the misunderstanding about my heat and shoulder most of the blame. But this was different.
His youngest pack member needed reassurance. Just one or two sentences explaining the pheromone spike situation. Nothing more. A mere five minutes, less time than it took to make a cup of his horrid black coffee.
Ignoring my request was just plain rude. Not to mention unbecoming behavior for a pack leader.
Had it been a mistake to sign the consulting agreement?
If Owen couldn’t prioritize his packmates, people he’d made lifelong commitments to, how would he treat his direct reports? Would I be stuck cleaning up after him, finessing his poorly articulated ideas for the next two years?
Frustration surged within me, stoking my temper, until it came pouring out in a series of texts to Owen as I continued walking on the treadmill—and I didn’t hold back.
It’s not like he’d bother to read them.
