Page 3 of Seduced By the Werewolves

I was at my desk all day, even during lunch. I usually pack some leftovers or order in so I don’t have to leave the phone, because Mr. Bosley despises it when I miss a call, even on my lunch break.

“I was here,” I answer meekly. Archie West must be lying, but there’s no way I can tell my boss that. “I promise, I was here for the entire day, and I checked voicemail as soon as I came in.”

Mr. Bosley sniffs the air like he’ll be able to smell my dishonesty, and I doubt myself. Did I walk away from the desk yesterday? I suppose I did use the restroom, once in the morning and once in the afternoon, but I didn’t see any missed calls.

“Now I have to call back and apologize,” he snaps, surveying me from top to bottom. “Your makeup is smudged. Go clean up and come back when you can look a little more professional.”

With that he returns to the office, and my face heats with shame. I must have been flustered this morning when I was getting ready for work. I run to the bathroom as fast as I can to fix it up, but when I get back to my desk, there’s a missed call: ARCHIE WEST.

“God damn it,” I whisper, ready to smash the phone into oblivion. Maybe I can still salvage this.

I quickly call back, and Archie’s assistant answers.

“I’m so sorry I missed Mr. West’s call,” I tell her frantically. “Can I connect him to Mr. Bosley right now?”

There’s a pause before she answers. “Yes. I’ll pretend the line got disconnected.”

I sigh with deep relief. “Thank you.” I announce to Mr. Bosley that Mr. West is on the line, and the assistant patches me through.

That afternoon, as badly as I have to use the restroom, I don’t leave my desk. I know it’s not healthy, but I can’t risk losing this job.

By the time it’s closing time, I snag my purse and sprint to the bathroom as fast as I can, clenching every muscle so I don’t pee myself.

I’ll have to start drinking less water, I guess.

Chapter Two

I pledged to spare myself the humiliation and avoid the landscapers, but the next morning, I’m simmering with frustration and ready to pick a fight. I may not be able to say what I really feel to Mr. Bosley, because he controls my paycheck, but I don’t owe those shirtless fuckers anything. I deserve to run wherever I want without fearing harassment. And if they howl at me again, I’ll call them out. Maybe, if I confront them, they’ll back off and shut up. Most men have big mouths but turn into weak little puppies when someone actually stands up to them.

Taking my usual route, I reach the house with the torn-up front yard and find the landscaping truck parked outside again. All four men are digging in the dirt. Once more, the tallest one is shirtless, his tanned body shining in the early morning light with sweat. In addition to the hair on his chest, today I notice he has thick, dark stubble on his chin, too.

Fuck me, he’s hot. It’s not fair that he’s also an asshole.

I focus my gaze straight ahead as I approach, maintaining my normal jogging speed. From the corner of my eye, though, I notice all four of them look up when I pass, and their mouths drop open.

Shit. Here it comes.

“Awoo!” one calls out. When I glance over, they’re all staring at me intently. Each of them howls again. “Awoo! Awoo!”

I halt as angry heat spreads from my chest into my head. How dare they? Don’t I get to exist in the world, to go for a simple jog, and not be afraid of some strangers making fun of me?

I turn around, letting that ferocity fill me up, and stalk over to them. The tallest of the landscapers smiles as I approach and drops his shovel.

“Hey!” I snap. “What the fuck is your problem?”

The grin falls from his face.

“Problem?” he asks, glancing over at the other three men with confusion. “We don’t have a problem.”

One of the other guys—shorter, with a wide, beefier chest—tips his baseball cap at me. “Well, we have one minor problem,” he chimes in with a sultry voice. “There’s a beautiful woman distracting us while we’re on a deadline.”

His gaze travels from my collar down to my waist, then my shoes and back up again. He looks almost... hungry.

I cover myself reflexively, realizing just how much of my big boobs my sports bra shows. Suddenly I feel incredibly exposed, which makes me angrier.

“You’re disgusting,” I tell him, and he flinches with surprise. “I’m out here just minding my own business, and you think it’s okay to harass me?”

The short one’s brow furrows. “I’m sorry,” he says to me, holding up his hands. “We didn’t mean to?—”

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