Page 4 of Holly Jolly Heat
"Of course," I said, forcing my voice to stay steady and professional. "That's what I'm here for. So, I wanted to walk through the December content calendar and the new sponsorship opportunities?—"
"Before we dive into business," Lucas interrupted gently, "are you okay? You look... stressed."
Because I could still smell him. Even through a video screen, even back in my apartment, I could smell cedar and vanilla like it had seeped into my skin.
"I'm fine," I lied. "Just a busy morning. Now, about the GamerGear sponsorship?—"
We spent thirty minutes discussing content strategy, sponsor integration, and his New Year's stream plans. Lucas wasprofessional and engaged, asking good questions, trusting my expertise.
But his eyes kept searching my face like he was trying to figure something out.
Like he could sense what I was desperately trying to hide.
When the call ended, I sat in my silent apartment and stared at the blank screen.
I'd built my entire business on one simple principle: professional boundaries were sacred. No dating clients. No personal complications. Keep work and personal life completely separate.
It was the rule that had made Rodriguez Influence Management successful. The rule that let me compete in an industry that already looked at omegas with skepticism. The rule that proved I could be objective, professional, untouchable.
And in one catastrophic morning at Pike Place Market, that rule had become impossible to keep.
Because how do you maintain professional boundaries with your fated mates?
How do you pretend three alphas didn't recognize you as their omega?
How do you go back to normal when your entire world had just rearranged itself?
My phone rang. Mom.
I almost didn't answer, but ignoring Janet Rodriguez-Williams was impossible. She had a sixth sense for when something was wrong.
"Mija," she said the moment I picked up. "What happened?"
"Nothing happened. I'm fine."
"You sound like you're about to cry. Try again."
I looked around my minimalist apartment, all clean lines and neutral colors, everything precisely organized. My desk faced the window overlooking Elliott Bay, my filing system color-coded,my schedule mapped out in fifteen-minute increments. This was my domain. My carefully constructed world where I was Michelle Rodriguez, successful entrepreneur.
Not some omega who'd fled from her fated mates like a frightened rabbit.
"Mom," I heard myself say, "can I come home for a few days?"
Silence. Then, carefully, "Of course, baby. Always. What's wrong?"
"I just... I need some space. From the city. From work. From everything."
"Michelle." Mom's voice gentled. "Did you meet someone?"
I laughed, and it came out slightly hysterical. "You could say that."
"An alpha?"
"Three alphas. A pack." I rubbed my face with my free hand. "My newest client's pack. All three of them. At the same time. This morning."
Mom sucked in a breath. "Oh, mija."
"Yeah."
