Page 60 of Seduced By the Werewolves

Something weird was going on. He didn’t seem to care about me at all

There’s a pause before I see the three dots.

Maybe he knew we could beat him up before he had time to call the cops ;)

I laugh outright at this, imagining Jace, Leon and Quinn roughing up Mr. Bosley. It brings me immense joy, actually, so I continue imagining it as I head off to bed.

Chapter Twenty-Two

I’m not awoken by my alarm, but by a phone call. When I groggily open my eyes and fish my phone off the bedside table, I find it’s Mr. Bosley.

“Hello?” I ask sleepily. It’s only six in the morning, and I’m not even due in for another three hours.

“Ms. Dockett!” His frantic voice nearly blows my ear off. “I need you to go into the office right away and call the police!”

I sit up in bed. “What?”

“Did you not hear me?” he roars. I pull the phone away from my face and cringe. “Go and call!”

“O-okay,” I manage. “I’ll get dressed right now and head over.”

I throw on my nearest clean clothes and quickly neaten myself up, using some dry shampoo on my hair, and hurry out the front door. I wonder what happened that Mr. Bosley needs the police?

He could have just called them himself. I groan as I get into the car, still trying to shake off sleep.

By the time I get to the office, there’s only one or two other cars in the parking lot. Neither of them is the black Escalade, thank goodness.

Once I’m inside, I call the police phone number. Since it’s before business hours, though, I get sent to a non-emergency line, which then goes to voicemail.

“Damn it.” I guess I’ll need to call 911 if I want real help—but is whatever happened to Mr. Bosley serious enough for that? He didn’t sound like he was injured or in immediate danger.

Then the office door bangs open, and the devil himself steps inside. Mr. Bosley’s not wearing a tie, which is highly abnormal, and his shirt is wrinkled with the sleeves halfway pulled up. He sees me on the phone and stops dead.

“Put it down, Ms. Dockett!” he hisses, and I just stare at him, unsure if I should obey his previous order or his current one. Do what he says. “Ms. Dockett!”

I slam the phone down. “What’s going on? What do you need the cops for?”

Mr. Bosley closes the door and locks it behind him, then creeps over to my desk.

“There are people after me,” he says quietly. “That woman isn’t named ‘Mrs. Smith.’”

No shit, Sherlock.

“When I woke up, half of my beautiful yard was torn out, like someone went on a rampage with a tractor.” He leans in closer and whispers, “It’s a message, I’m sure of it.”

Instantly I think of the black car. Was that a message from Mrs. Smith, too?

“Fuck,” I hiss, and Mr. Bosley gives me a surprised look. “They’re the ones who have been following me!”

“Following you?” He shakes his head. “You couldn’t possibly interest them.” He stands up straight again. “I’m not going to let this slide, though. That bitch can’t intimidate me. But we’re not going to involve the police, either. If it’s who I think it is, then we have to resolve this ourselves.”

We? I’m not sure what part he thinks I play in this, but I want to get as far away from it as possible.

“Okay,” I say, leaving the phone. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to fight back.” Mr. Bosley glares at me. “I’m not going to let myself be bullied by some… some…” He splutters as he searches for an insult, but he must not be able to think up anything good because without another word, he spins around on his heel and storms back out the way he came.

That was strange and unusual. Now I’m at the office and it’s not even seven o’clock.

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