Page 142 of Citius

“Yes. I’m currently a sports medicine fellow reporting to Dr. Sethi. She’s the one who suggested I work with Owen—and Cal—on my research project.”

“Well. How…nice to meet you.” Heather took a measured step backward, a business-like mask sliding into place. A poor imitation of her mother’s unforgiving poise. “Pardon me.”

I observed her retreat with mild interest, though she may as well have never existed in the first place as far as Owen was concerned. He didn’t even wait until she was out of earshot before he turned to face me.

After yesterday morning’s elevator encounter, I preferred experiencing Owen’s dominance when he directed it at someone else. It allowed me to savor the oddly soothing pressure lingering in the air—like a weighted blanket made from sheer superiority.

“Status check. What does that mean?” he asked.

“It’s a discreet way for Kelsey to ask how I’m feeling.”

“Your accident had sequelae?”

“In spades,” I drawled, taking another sip of water. “Not a fan of Heather?”

“No.” Owen flicked a microscopic piece of confetti from his sleeve. “My aunt has a philosophy—entitlement deters optimization. Heather could have been a major player at any other shipping or logistics company, given her pedigree. She has no one to blame for her current situation but herself.”

He crossed to the edge of the balcony, resting his elbows on the railing, and regarded the crowd below with distant disapproval. I sat on the closest bench—more out of necessity than comfort. My ebbing adrenaline had left me weak.

“Heather mistook her grandfather’s tolerance for willingness,” he continued. “Foolishly believing that if she proved herself, he’d take her seriously. Designation equity is an abominable notion for someone of his ilk.” He looked at his smartwatch, a gaze that deliberately shifted to me—and lingered. “How much has Cal told you about his grandfather’s stipulations?”

“Enough, but I suspect he left a few details out. Care to fill me in?”

“The last draft of the will was particularly draconian.” Owen pressed the tips of his elegant fingers together. “Every year Cal remains unmated, he loses a percentage of his potential inheritance. He loses more if his mate is anything other than a female omega with a finishing school diploma and a fertility guarantee. If he joins a pack, Cal must be the head alpha, and all members must take the surname Carling—or he loses everything.”

I exhaled, trying to tamp down on my resurgent irritation. “Well, that explains a few things. I’d wondered why he was so worried about Spencer.”

“Yes. The threat of Cal vying for succession rights is the most effective method to deter Roddy. He’s a bankruptcy waiting to happen.”

A chill rippled up my arms, and it wasn’t from the ice water. “He’s that bad?”

“Worse.” Owen adjusted his glasses. “Enough for us to try adhering to the pack requirements, but my dominance…proved to be non-negotiable.”

“You—too dominant?” I teased, earning a deep frown. Grinning, I held up my thumb and forefinger, separated by about a quarter inch. “Just a teensy bit.”

“There’s some truth in that when it comes to you.” He studied my face. “Most people can’t maintain a conversation with Tabitha for more than a few minutes. Yet you captivated her for almost an hour the other night.” He paused, jaw tensing momentarily, then added, “And I find you to be a pleasant conversational partner, as well.”

Owen’s compliment might be polished to the point of beingimpersonal, but it was still a compliment.

“Talking to smart people is always enjoyable,” I said with a shrug, “regardless of their designation.”

“Do you find our work collaborations similarly enjoyable?” he asked, his expression unreadable. “Redwing can offer you far more stability and room for advancement than any academic institution or hospital.”

Disbelief rattled the chains of my control. The water in my glass trembled. I wasnotqualified to work at Redwing BioTech.

“Is that an offer?”

“An idea. One which I suspect you aren’t fond of.” His long, deceptively charming fingers toyed with his silver cufflinks. They had the same cold metallic sheen as his eyes. “Or am I mistaken, Dr. Van Daal?”

My phone buzzed with a new text from Kelsey.

Final warning.

As if I needed to be told twice.

Thirty-Nine

Morgan

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