Page 83 of Chosen Beta

That decision made no sense.

He’s obviously just an asshole.

A lot of Alphas tend toward that kind of behavior.

It’s a stereotype for a reason, and his picture could be next to Alpha-hole in the dictionary.

Of course, it could also be next to hot, and sexy, and basically any other physically pleasing attribute.

Yeah, he’s a walking, talking stereotype.

It bugs the crap out of me that I have to put up with him in my office while I’m already kind of horny and finding it practically impossible to concentrate.

If I were an Omega, I’d think I was going into heat.

I sit back in my chair and try to figure out which of my tasks are the most urgent, because it’s easier than picking one and starting it.

I’ll need a calculator for the accounts stuff, but it’s not taxing on my brain, it’s just kind of boring and I’ll have to make double sure the calculations are correct before I sign off on the sheets.

It’s simpler than working on my speech, for sure.

I’m looking for my calculator when there’s a knock on the door.

I look up and find Owen’s gaze on me.

He raises an eyebrow, and I shrug.

I have no idea who it is, or what they’re here for.

He pulls on a scowl as he yanks the door open.

I recognize the skinny girl who’s standing there as kitchen staff immediately.

It’s obvious by the apron she’s wearing over her plain black clothing.

She looks up at Owen, and I hear the silverware shaking on her tray.

I get up and move swiftly toward the door.

“Hi Marianne,” I greet her quickly, hoping to dispel the shock Owen clearly gave her. “What can I do for you?”

“Oh, um …” She looks past Owen. “Dr. Clarke called the kitchen and ordered a roast dinner for you, and your guest. He said you might tell me you’re not hungry, but that I should leave the food anyway.”

I can’t help the smile that springs to my lips. “Dr. Clarke did this?”

She nods. “Um, can I bring it in? The tray’s kind of heavy …”

Owen takes it out of her hands. “You can go. Thanks.”

That last word is given grudgingly, but at least he gave it.

He kicks the door closed and sets the tray down on the coffee table.

“Did you have to do that?” I ask, folding my arms under my chest.

He looks up at me. “Do what?”

“You scared Marianne, and it was rude to kick the door closed like that.”

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