Page 37 of Nursing the Alpha
13
SETH
The office was quiet, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning and the muted click of a clock on the wall. Sunlight slanted through half-open blinds, pooling in stripes across my desk, where I sat idly flipping my pen between my fingers.
The last client had left fifteen minutes ago, an executive nervous about installing security cameras in his vacation home without “compromising the aesthetic.” I’d given him my recommendations, billed him, and sent him on his way. Now I had two hours to kill before my next appointment.
Two hours felt like forever.
Unless I was with Flynn. Then it was never enough time.
I set the pen down and unlocked my phone. The screen flared to life, and there he was.
Flynn.
The photo I’d snapped yesterday still made my chest ache in the best possible way.
He hadn’t known I was taking it. He’d been perched cross-legged on the sofa, hair damp from the shower, wearing an old T-shirt that hung loose enough to flash thepale curve of his shoulder. He’d been focused intently on the paperback cradled in his lap. The cover was some lurid alien romance, a hot pink planet with suggestively arranged tentacles.
And his expression.
God.
His face was etched in soft concentration, the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth, his bottom lip faintly pink from chewing on it. The tiniest crease bridged his brows like the fictional alien prince’s mating ritual was serious business.
Adorable didn’t begin to cover it.
I lovingly touched the screen.
I couldn’t wait to see him later.
Dinner at the new little bistro downtown. A table in the corner already reserved. I’d even requested their best wine, though Flynn claimed he couldn’t tell the difference between a merlot and a malbec.
He’d looked so shy when we said good-bye yesterday. T-shirt wrinkled, cheeks flushed, lips kissed raw. Like he’d only just realized how deeply tangled up we were becoming.
Good.
I wanted him tangled. Tied so tight he couldn’t pull away, even if he tried.
I’d gotten one last taste of his milk standing right there in the doorway. It wasn’t enough.
The phone vibrated in my hand, cutting through the haze. An unfamiliar number flashed across the screen.
I answered. “Seth Moreau.”
“Mr. Moreau. Good afternoon. This is Walter from the Nourish Collective.”
The name tugged at my memory, though my mind was still half-full of Flynn.
“I’m calling about your contracted omega,” Walter said, voice brisk and professional. “Flynn Peterson has requested to terminate his employment effective immediately. I’m sure you understand that per his contract, he’s required to give a two-week notice period. If you’d like, we can pursue legal action to enforce that clause.”
He’d actually done it.
“No need for legal action,” I said, calm but firm.
There was a pause on the other end. Walter was clearly caught off guard. “Ah… well, that’s very generous of you, Mr. Moreau. If you’d like, I can begin sourcing another omega to fulfill the remainder of your contract. I understand you were very satisfied with Flynn’s services, so we can ensure the replacement matches his production profile as closely as possible.”
Matches his production profile.
