Page 38 of Nursing the Alpha
Like Flynn was a set of numbers on a chart. A commodity.
I stared out the window, jaw tight. My reflection in the glass was calm as ever, but inside the old familiar heat stirred—territorial, certain, unflinching.
“I won’t be needing a replacement,” I said flatly.
“Sir?” Walter’s voice flickered with polite confusion.
“I already found my omega.”
And he wasn’t theirs anymore.
Another awkward silence. “Understood, Mr. Moreau. We’ll process the termination paperwork immediately. Thank you for your business.”
The line clicked dead.
I set the phone down and leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling, drumming my fingers lightly against the armrests.
This was good. If Flynn resigned, we could put himhiring out his pecs behind us. He would never have to know about my deception. But how could he not? Eventually, I would have to take him home with me.
I have to sell the house.
If Flynn found out that I’d watched him nurse, and worse, drank from him without his permission, I would lose him. I could be fined millions if he reported me to the authorities. Omegas had few rights, but they would make me pay a fortune in restitution for my actions. I didn’t mind losing the money.
But I sure as hell would mind losing Flynn.
A knock at the door broke through the hum of my thoughts.
I glanced up, irritation flickering briefly, but I schooled it away. “Yes?”
The door cracked open, and Robbie, my secretary, poked his head in. The sharp line of his jaw was tight, his scent faintly bitter with annoyance. “Mr. Moreau,” he said crisply, “there’s… someone here to see you.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Someone?”
“An omega. Says his name is Flynn.” Robbie wrinkled his nose ever so slightly, as if the name itself offended him. “Do you want me to send him away?”
My chest tightened. Flynn. Here?
“No,” I said firmly. “Send him in.”
Robbie hesitated for half a beat, pressing his lips into a thin line. Then he nodded and disappeared, leaving the door ajar.
I rose to my feet, smoothing a hand over the front of my shirt as a low current of excitement threaded through me. Flynn hadn’t texted. Hadn’t called. Something had to have happened.
Was he okay?
The moment the thought landed, the scuff of sneakers in the hall grew louder. Then he was there, filling the doorway, soft and bright and completely out of place in my austere office.
And god, he looked good.
He was wearing a pale green lightweight sweater that clung delicately to the roundness of his chest, dark jeans that hugged his thighs, and a small, shy smile that hit me harder than a fist. His curls were a little mussed, like he’d run his fingers through them on the way over.
But beneath it all…
His scent.
Thick. Sweet. Creamy.
My mouth went dry.
