Page 20 of Pack Choice
“No, I’m fine. Feel free to grab yourself a coffee from the pot.”
“Thank you,” he says and I hear his heavy footsteps retreat down the hallway.
Ten minutes. Nine now. I cannot be late. Not on my first real day in the job. But I’m also not prepared to spend the day with Mr. Red Flag with scruffy hair and a rushed make-up job. Not when there are the likes of glamorous Simone and her colleagues in that office. Not to mention the clients. Supermodels, actresses, influencers. Each more stunning than the last.
I wonder how many Mr. Red Flag has slept with.
Urgh, I’m getting distracted. I rush over to the outfit I had the good sense to choose yesterday and thank my lucky stars I showered last night too. I didn’t have much choice; my dreams were crazy enough as it was. I can’t imagine what they’d have been like with the scent of both those alphas lingering on my skin. Scents that were–
Shit! I’m doing it again. Focus, Molly, focus!
I strip out of my sleep shorts and vest, change my underwear – avoiding scrutinizing my intentions when I pull out a lacy pair of panties and bra from the drawer and not my usual cotton briefs. Then I slip back on the pencil skirt from yesterday and a fresh blouse. I add a necklace, completely not aware of the way the pendant draws the eye to my cleavage. It’s not glam like the outfits in the office yesterday – I haven’t exactly had the need for glam outfits these last couple of years – but it does hug my curves. I spin this way and that in front of the mirror, before tackling my hair and make up.
I hurry down the stairs thirty minutes later, coming to a screeching halt in front of the large alpha waiting for me at the bottom.
He has a flask in one hand and a toasted bagel in the other.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes,” I pant, on the verge of freaking out. “I’m going to be so darn late!”
“No, you won’t.”
I glance at my watch and squeak. “We have less than thirty minutes to get there.”
“It’ll be fine,” he says, handing me the flask and bagel, the rich aromas of coffee and melted butter making my stomach grumble. Then, with his palm resting on the small of my back, he guides me out of the house and to the car, and even though I know there is no way in hell we’re going to make it there on time, his scent, his warm hand, his formidable presence somehow calms the racing blood in my veins.
I practically glide into the car and snuggle into the back seats, sipping my coffee in a strange cloud of bliss. How did he do that?
However, sipping coffee and munching bagel becomes near impossible as he screeches out of the driveway and hits the roads so quickly, I’m forced back into my seat.
“You don’t have to drive quite so fast,” I yelp, trying my best not to spill my coffee.
“I do if I want to get you there on time.”
I sink lower in my seat; I can’t really argue with that. I don’t fancy showing up late on my first day with Mr. Red Flag. I predict that wouldn’t go down too well. He seems the type of uptight alpha that likes punctuality, obedience and discipline. I gulp a flashback to last night’s dream whooshing through my mind.
It must cause my scent to spike because Ford’s eyes dart to the rearview mirror.
I concentrate on thinking about unsexy things – like how much traffic there is on the roads at this time of morning – and not on the way his eyes seem to darken.
But even concentrating on the traffic proves unhelpful. The man is a really good driver. He’s fast, assertive and although my adrenaline is pumping, I have no doubt he’s going to keep me safe. The man can handle a car. That is not something I would consider attractive, but it’s possibly helped by the fact he’s wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt today and his arms are all hard muscle and raised veins as he grips the steering wheel.
It feels like some kind of bizarre foreplay.
I take another gulp of my coffee and try to regain my focus.
I’m a little nervous about how today will play out. Can I really handle a job like this? Maybe I can’t. Maybe I’m the pampered princess everyone suspects. Maybe I’ll fail miserably. Maybe I’ll be handed my marching orders before the day is out.
“Molly?” The car has stopped in the same space as yesterday. “We’re here.”
“Oh.” I down the final dredges of coffee and shimmy out of the car.
The sky’s still a murky gray and, although the sun is now up, you could not describe this as morning. Why anyone would choose to be up this early is beyond me.
“Ready?”
“Oh yeah,” I feign, managing a smile. “Let’s go.”
