Page 76 of Feeling the Heat: Part One
I expect River to argue with that proclamation, but he nods. “If that’s what it takes, I’ll do it. I’ll do anything for you two.”
As much as I want to believe him, little alarm bells go off at his words. That’s what I’m afraid of—River will give up anything and everything to make us happy, including his own happiness.
25
Monday morning comes,and it takes all my willpower to force myself into the office.
Well, all my willpower plus one of my anti-anxiety pills.
I try to ration them out for when my anxiety becomes unbearable and I’m not able to function. But after a weekend of spiraling following the disastrous first date with Ambrose’s pack, I’m at that point.
I’m not proud to admit that I spent the past two days vacillating between being curled up in bed under my weighted blanket, and pacing around my place giving impassioned speeches to the universe about how unfair it is that my scent match is in a pack with my boss, and how I’m already sick of being an omega.
By this point in my life, I should have better coping mechanisms. I honestly thought I did, but then these damn omega hormones came barreling into my life, and now I’m like a moody teen again.
It doesn’t help that I have no one to talk to about what happened.
Telling Astrid would require me to explain why I didn’t let her know about the date in the first place. While I know she’d be supportive, she’d also try to convince me that things could still work out with the pack. She’s a romantic at heart, and I don’t need that kind of false hope right now. It’ll only make this hurt more.
My dad and brother would be happy to listen to my woes, but they’d be even more lost than I am about what to do and how to handle anything involving being part of a pack. The phone call I had with them after my heat, letting them know my new designation, was awkward enough. I think there’s a part of them that thinks this is all a temporary thing or a mixup, and some day I’ll go back to being my normal beta self.
If only that were the case.
The only person I know who could give me helpful advice to deal with my omega is Lauren, but asking her is out of the question. River is her boss, too. I won’t put her in the middle of my drama.
With everyone ruled out, I’ve only had myself to deal with my stress about work and River.
My gut clenches unpleasantly as I ride the elevator up to Pulse PR’s floor, the enclosed space too stuffy even with only one other passenger. The doors slide open and I struggle to get myself to move, my heart pounding as adrenaline surges through me.
So much for the anxiety meds.
The beta woman who rode up with me gives me a quizzical look as I linger in the elevator. My smile as I force myself to step out is more like a grimace. Our receptionists give me a friendly wave, which I return as best I can, hoping they can’t see the sweat beading on my brow or sense my terror.
I came in early today, hoping to catch River and get thingsover with since he’s always at work before everyone else. It’s both ominous and a relief that the glass walled offices are empty as I pass them in my shaky march down the hallway.
I make a quick stop at my office to drop my purse off, barely able to force myself to leave and continue on to River’s office. It’s on the other side of the floor, and every step toward it makes the roiling sensation inside me intensify.
Shit, I’m going to be sick. Everything is too warm in here and my head is pounding in time with my rapid heartbeats as my stomach churns.
Turning away from my destination, I race into the restroom nearby, wincing at the loud clang as the door slams against the wall in my hurry. I wobble over to the sinks on shaky legs, gathering my hair back with one hand and using the other to splash cold water onto my face.
The water helps the nausea abate, so I grab a paper towel and wet it, bringing it to the back of my neck as I hunch forward and attempt to slow my breathing.
In through the mouth, hold for four, out through the mouth, hold for four.
When I don’t feel in imminent danger of throwing up, I let out a sigh and look up, then cringe at what I see in the mirror. Rivulets of mascara run down beneath my eyes, making me look like I’ve been sobbing. My skin has taken on a deathly pallor. I’ve gotten water all down the front of my thin cotton blouse, rendering the fabric transparent enough to see hints of my bra through it.
I lean forward, attempting to wipe off my raccoon eyes with the damp paper towel, jolting as someone opens the stall behind me.
Not just someone.River.
He’s more than a little imposing standing there, despite thebright bathroom fluorescents and the backdrop of a toilet stall. It doesn’t help that he’s in his standard all-black work attire—the well-tailored pants and button down showing off his leanly muscled body. Tattoos peek out from under his collar and rolled-up sleeves, lending even more to his intimidating aura.
There’s a flicker of shock in his eyes that hardens to his usual stern expression a second later.
My chest squeezes with panic, feeling ambushed and unprepared. He wasn’t supposed to see me like this. I was supposed to clean myself up, gather my nerve, and talk to him calmly in his office. Goddamnit.
River’s eyes drop down to survey my waterlogged shirt, then snap back up to lock on my face. He pushes his glasses back up his nose. “Ms. Clairmont.” My name sounds like a chastisement rather than a greeting.
