Page 98 of Altius
“There’s no use fighting it.” Joaquin rested his arms on the tabletop. “If Owen’s handled this personally, the terms will be too good to pass up. And just think…” He took a leisurely sip of coffee. “Won’t it look amazing on your resume?”
Wyatt sucked in a sharp breath, chest inflating so much it propelled him upwards in his chair. “She already has an amazing resume!”
“He’s right, though,” Cal interjected with a casual stroke of his stubble, leaning against the back of the couch. “It’s a stronger draw than Northport.”
“But not for sports medicine.” Morgan gestured at herself. “Doctor, remember? Not a bioengineer.”
I nodded. “Your medical expertise is the reason we want to hire you.”
“We?” she asked with pointed emphasis.
“Yes, Tabitha and me.” The mention of my aunt’s name produced the look of controlled surprise I’d been waiting for—much to my dismay. “Isn’t it obvious this would all require her approval?”
“Very willing approval, too, I bet.” Joaquin laughed and leaned toward Morgan. “Do you know how long Tabby’s been trying to get her claws in your big ol’ pheromone stud?”
“Years,” Wyatt said with a huff.
A spark of indignation lit up her gaze. The first flicker of her usual fire was so distracting that I couldn’t stop her from launching an offensive strike.
“I see. So, I’m just a tagalong, am I? A helpful little bonus that does all the data mining for you?”
“Of course not,” Cal said, taking a tentative step forward, reaching for her shoulder. Morgan stopped him with a glare. “You’ve got the wrong idea, sweetheart.”
“Do I, though?” she asked, fingers clawing at the pillow.
An electronic beep cut through the tension. Someone had just unlocked the front door.
Morgan froze, brows furrowed in confusion.
The door swung open.
“Kels!”
A short, solidly built man with curly brown hair walked in. He wore sunglasses, an oversized leopard print scarf, a long gray coat, and black leather boots with block heels. A sleek gold suitcase rolled in behind him.
“My flight was early, so I decided to—” His head reared back. Pulling off his sunglasses, he stared at us with something close to horrified wonder. “The fuck’s all this?”
“Oh my god—Jacobi!” Morgan shot up, abandoning the throw pillow as she hurried toward him. “What are you doing here?”
“Surprise,” he said with a defeated flourish of his hand. “I came home early to spring you from horny jail.” Dark brown eyes perused us with great interest. “Not that you needed my help, as it turns out.”
As Morgan approached, arms outstretched to embrace him, Jacobi scurried back a few steps.
“Nuh-uh. Stay away. Stop right there.” He dodged behind his suitcase. “To put it politely, you smell like an overfilled cream donut, and while I’m thrilled for you—elated, in fact, congrats on all the sex, I’m dying to know every single filthy detail—don’t come any closer.”
He toed off his boots, shaving a few inches off his height, and started up the stairs with his suitcase, then came to an abrupt halt. “Wait. WhereisKelsey? Her scent’s gone cold.”
“At a hotel until tomorrow,” Morgan said.
Pressing a hand to his chest, Jacobi let out an exaggerated gasp. “A set-up! She wanted me to walk into this—thismess—while you reek of grumbly alphas and other sensory delights.”
Morgan’s phone began to vibrate at the far end of the table. Only Wyatt noticed, unfazed by our unexpected guest’s dramatic flair. He swooped in to grab the phone and take it to Morgan.
“Oh,” Jacobi continued, voice increasing in volume with each word, “I’ll make her pay for this, starting with—”
Morgan held up a hand to silence him, then accepted the phone from Wyatt with a curt nod of thanks. Taking a deep breath, her spine straightened, and her neutral mask fell into place. A seamless shift into her professional persona. She cleared her throat and answered the call.
“Hello, this is Morgan Van Daal.” Her amber gaze sharpened as something in the caller’s opening salvo caught her interest. “I’m doing well. How are you?”
