Page 107 of Rut Bar

The offer is tempting. Brendan’s presence makes me feel safe. Taken care of. There’s something about the warm comfort of his scent and his large, cozy body that makes me want to snuggle with him under a mound of blankets and shut the world out forever.

“I don’t need a sounding board, I need a clone,” I whine. “But I’ll settle for an assistant. I can’t get ahead on my paperwork enough to work on this proposal for the New York investors I found. I realize it’s not for another two months, but I really need it to go well and Ireallyneed this audit to be done by then.”

“It will.”

His deep purr is a low rumble that makes my body want to melt into a puddle. Brendan’s massage hits the focal point of all the pressure in my neck giving me a raging headache. I didn’t notice how bad it was until all of his rubbing got it to release. The chair creaks as I settle back so he’s not straining over me.

“You don’t know that,” I sigh.

“I do. Because I know your books are fine. That you’ve built an amazing business from the ground up. You’ve flipped the entire rut bar scene on its head. You’re also helping the omegas who need it most. And you’re going to pass your audit with flying colors. Those New York City alphas are going to be fighting each other for the right to fund your new location.”

His gentle, sincere confidence makes me smile. He believes what he’s saying. That we can do this. That I’m not making a huge mistake and stretching the club, the finances, and myself too thin.

Setting up the new rut bar will have to come first. Once we’ve settled in and learned the lay of the land and made the right connections, we’ll switch focus to the nonprofit side of things. And one day we’ll have a foothold in all fifty states. But one thing at a time. I’ve got to get through this audit first and not stumble at the finish line.

Brendan’s thumbs work their magic on the knots in my shoulders and the tension melts from my body. My sigh turns into a moan as I turn to putty underneath his hands.

“There you go, sweetheart. That’s it. Let that tension go. You’re going to do fine. You know what you’re doing. You simply need confidence.” He brushes my hair over my shoulder and leans down, his nose sliding against my jaw as he drops a kiss onto my neck.

For the first time in a long time, I wonder what it will feel like for teeth to cut me there. Instead of the fear such thoughts used to inspire, now I’m filled with curiosity. Instinct makes me yearn for a bite which does more than bruise. The love marks they suck into my skin are a rough approximation of something my dynamic craves. How can you so thoroughly desire something you’ve never known?

I have no personal frame of reference for this strange need. It’s like dreaming about something you’ve seen in movies or read about in romance novels, but have never experienced for yourself. You understand the mechanics of it. You know what it looks like, but when it happens in your dream or daydream, there’s no feeling. No sensation or emotion behind the act. Only blankness. The mind can’t conjure a memory from nothing.

His kisses are tender and his palm cradles my face as Brendan rubs his cheek along my scent gland. Scent marking me. Claiming me. At least until the next time I shower.

Liquid heat pools in my center from the way he nuzzles me. His distraction worked—I’m no longer panicking—but now it’s created a worse situation. The death knell of my productivity. I’m horny.

Not that it takes much to get me going right now. My libido’s been kicked into overdrive ever since my heat. If we make it quick, I can get back to finishing payroll before a dinner break. If we don’t bother with taking our clothes off, we can get it done in about fifteen minutes.

“Ms. Taylor, is this a bad time?” a stranger says from the open doorway.

I startle upright, my eyes flying open and my head clipping Brendan on the nose. He grunts in pain as I gasp. There’s a man in a tailored suit standing on the threshold of my office. He holds a brown leather briefcase in one hand and a paper to-go cup of coffee from a chain store in the other.

“I’m a little early,” the stranger says. “My previous appointment was canceled, and I was already in the area. I can wait downstairs if you’d like.”

What. The. Fuck?

He’s not another auditor. There’s no IRS badge visible and his hair cut, suit, and shoes are expensive. His suit is custom made or tailored well because it fits his broad shoulders and the taper of his slim waist like a glove. He’s a handsome beta.

“Can we help you?” Brendan asks, stretching to his full height.

“I have the papers I was asked to draft.”

That explains absolutely nothing.“Someone asked you to draft papers? What papers? Who?”

“Shit, Nicky. You’re early,” Anthony says as he joins us. He wipes his hands clean on a black bar towel, then shoves the tail back into his pocket. “It was supposed to be a surprise over dinner. Well… surprise! This is my cousin, Nicky. He’s a lawyer. Comes in real handy to have him around.”

Stunned, all I can do is blink. After a moment, I recover. “Nice to meet you, er… Nicky.”

Nicky isn’t fazed by the awkward tension or blank staring. He grins, and then I see it. The family resemblance. His eyes are brown, not blue like Anthony’s, but there’s something familiar about his smile. Nicky sets his briefcase down on Nate’s-turned-Brendan’s desk and cracks it open, pulling out a paper clipped sheaf of papers.

He hands them to me. “Most of it is a standard boilerplate pre-pack agreement, although I added a nondisclosure agreement as well because of your pack’s more sensitive, private matters. I’ve tabbed and color coded where everyone needs to sign and initial.”

Frowning, I take the papers from him and skim through the first few paragraphs before deciding to actually read through it carefully. It’s like he said, a pre-pack agreement that protects Rut and its related assets in the event of a pack dissolution. The NDA part covers the nonprofit work we do with the omega safehouses. I read each page, skimming through the thickest of the legalese until I get to the final page.

“If everything’s in order, we can start the signing process,” Nicky says. “But I’ll need to take a photo of everyone’s IDs for my records first.”

I look at Anthony, who’s been observing me while I read. “You asked him to draft this?”

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