Page 34 of Heat Hesitation

I try to explain this to my brothers, but they're adamant. If only Enzo were here to take my side, but he's been spending his workdays holed up in an SUV parked outside Queenie's like a proper fucking stalker, and I know that's where he is now.

"It's going to happen sooner or later. Why keep putting it off?"

"It's her decision," I say with finality.

"I agree," Theo smiles. His teeth have been looking awful fucking sharp lately, which is a whole new concern. Now that he's on board with Ophelia, he's been pushing for her to join harder than the three of us have since we've been trying to give her space, and as the pack leader, it's like corralling fucking toddlers if I'm being honest.

"Good," I say, thinking we're in agreement, but given that smug fucking face Theo uses to charm the pants off, literally almost any female he comes across, I get the feeling we're not in agreement.

"I have to get to work," I tell them, done with the conversation. It takes me half an hour to get out the door, pretending I don't hear my brothers conspiring. When I get to the office and up to the thirtieth floor, I've barely loaded up my computer before my assistant comes across the intercom.

"Mr. Constantine, I have Bowen Bradford on the line for you."

"Put him through," I reply, flipping open to the Bradford Pack file. We absorbed their company, agreeing to keep them on as CEOs so we didn't have to restructure their company or lose any employees. Enzo has long-term plans for their business, specializing in AI and 3D-printed household items. We often deal in tech, but it's usually more of the data mining variety. Still, it was a good investment, and we're happy to have the Bradfords on board, even if we did dismiss their daughter Imogen a few months ago.

Since Asher threw a fit, it took some smoothing over, but we've worked alongside each other seamlessly ever since.

"Mr. Bradford, how are you this afternoon?" I ask once he picks up.

"I'm doing well, thank you Sullivan."

“Did everything go well with the last transaction?" I hedge. As one of our investments, we gave the company an initial cash injection, hoping the flow would help streamline some of their Research and Development projects. I shouldn't be hearing from Bowen or any of the Bradfords for quite some time unless there was a problem.

"Yes, yes, everything is great. We've had an excellent month and made a lot of progress on some air stabilizers we've been working on. Anyway, I apologize; this is actually more of a personal call. Business has been great," he assures me.

"Alright… What can I do for you, Mr. Bradford?"

"Well," he sighs. I can almost hear him cleaning his glasses. "My wife asked me to call. Listen, I know you said Asher was going through something a few months ago, and your pack was taking a break from looking for an omega. Surely, at your age, you're looking to settle down?"

The insult, whether intended or not, doesn't go unnoticed. We may now own their company, but the Bradfords have years on us, and most wellbred packs love to pass advice like it's their most valuable currency.

"Bowen," I drop the formalities. "My pack is—" I pause. Wasn't I just telling Asher and Theo to give Ophelia space? I can't out her now, with someone I barely know, without talking with her and coming up with a plan. We need to figure out what we're telling people considering how closely we work with the OFA—not because we're particularly fond of the organization, especially not now after learning more of their sordid history, but because it was expected of us by our colleagues and peers. When you have money, you become a philanthropist; it's just a given. The OFA loved to work with us since we were a bachelor pack they could use to flaunt at all their parties, helping up attendance. The more omegas that came, the more alphas, the more money. It's just the way of things.

But I'm not telling Bowen Bradford I've found my scent-matched omega, not like this. "We're still taking a break," I settle on.

"Well, I know you're hosting the OFA luncheon this Saturday, and I wanted to tell you my Imogen will be there. I know Asher wasn't ready to meet her, but you seemed to get on well. My wife asked me to be sure you saved a dance for her, and I agreed to pass along the message. You know what they say, happy wife…"

If he expects me to complete the idiom, he will be waiting a while. I clear my throat, "Yes, well, we'll see. Thank you, Bowen. Now, if that's all…?"

We say our goodbyes, and I stare blankly at my computer for a few minutes. Imogen was a nice girl. A bit soft, but then again, next to Ophelia and her steadfast ideals and strong opinions, anyone would look weak beside her.

I dismiss the nagging guilt that I didn't outright claim her and that the Bradford Pack and the rest of Arrow Cove high society believe Constantine Pack is free and single, and get back to work.

Chapter 15

Ophelia

Frantic cleaning has always been a thing for me. Alma was messy as hell. Demure, classy, sure, but damn messy. I'd obsessively clean our shared room after she'd plow through all our stuff like a hurricane, and it kept the anxiety of her going out to hang out with boys at bay. I was nervous about alphas, even then.

Over the years, cleaning has been a way for me to channel my anxiety. When I'm stressed or nervous or trying to work through a problem, I clean. Plus, if I was ever out of scent-blockers and didn't feel like walking down the street and getting verbally accosted by random strangers, I'd stay in, and I had to stay busy somehow.

The banging on my door is a familiar one, and I'm surprised at my disappointment that it's not the heavy fist of Theo, Sully, or Asher. Enzo only comes in when he's with his brothers. Otherwise, he hangs out outside and just watches me. It should feel creepy, but all it does is turn me on, being the center of his focus.

I swing open the door, revealing Mel shaking a bottle of white wine in time with her shoulders, like she's doing a bad conga line.

I snort, I can't help it. Stepping back, she dances her way into my apartment, singing some song about big butts. I let her dance through my apartment, and while she cracks open the wine and pours two glasses, landing on my lumpy couch, I finish my cleaning tirade and join her.

"Okay, what's the occasion?" She sets the bottle on my coffee table, which wobbles since I repaired it with duct tape after Enzo broke the leg while confronting Red. Asher tried to replace it, but I refused.

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