Page 52 of Captive Omega

“Who’s trying to steal your job?”

“An ambitious beta.” He nods at the computer. “You should ask Garrison for help.”

Uh, no thanks.

At least he knows better than to suggest I ask Blaine.

“Not you?”

He snorts. “Desk work doesn’t just put my ass to sleep, it puts me to sleep. Garrison can help. If you’re still stuck when I get back, I’ll give you a hand.”

“You haven’t actually asked why I want to speak to him,” I remind him.

“You want to speak to him. That’s reason enough for me.” He leaves with a cheery salute, and I return to my task.

There’s only so many times you can Google someone’s name or call up the number for his building and have someone tell you he’s not there or just hang up on you.

I could ask Garrison, but after the scare Blaine gave me, I’d rather spend today pretending alphas are an endangered species trapped on a world filled with lava and man-eating beasts.

“Maybe that’s the problem,” I mutter. “Dexter Pieter is an alpha and you’ve wished him into a lava pit.”

When the door swings open, I assume Vaughn forgot something, so I don’t immediately reach for my knife.

A mistake.

It isn’t Vaughn.

Blaine fills the doorway. He’s in a black turtleneck this time, holding a thick file with papers peeking out of the edge. The second he spots me, he immediately turns to leave as I grab for my knife. “Sorry. I thought it was empty.”

“It’s okay.” I get to my feet but keep a firm grip on my knife. “I was leaving. You can have the room.”

It’s not like I’m getting anywhere.

I’d hoped to avoid him, creeping down the stairs and slipping past the kitchen despite my growling belly. But there he is, walking around his own house. I’m an idiot for thinking I could pretend he didn’t exist.

He hesitates.

Strangely, he seems as uneasy as I am to be sharing such a small space. It’s only when I round the table to leave that he enters the room going the other way, so we have a table between us.

I get to the door first and push it open, determined to get out as soon as possible. Other than a brief glance at the knife I’m clenching in one fist, he doesn’t comment on it.

I’m slipping out of the room when he clears his throat. “So, how is your search going?”

“Okay,” I lie. “Well, I’ll see you around.”

“Try his assistant.”

I catch the door before it slams between us. “What?”

He takes the seat I was in, keeping his body half-twisted toward me. Left side only, so I can’t see his right side. He accused me of staring at his scars before, got so angry I couldn’t wait to get away from him. Is that why?

“A man like Dexter Pieter will have one, maybe two, executive assistants whose job it is to keep all undesirables away from him,” he explains in his raspy voice. “If you’re not having any luck finding him, you might have better luck with the assistant.”

I’m reluctant to leave when he’s offered up more useful information than I’ve had so far. “I tried calling the building he supposedly works out of. Secretaries hang up on me.”

Repeatedly.

“There’s an investigation going on into free heat clinics and wealthy alphas abusing omegas,” he says with his back to me. “I imagine you’re not the only person they’re hanging up on.”

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