Page 58 of Citius

“Even if I ignore the ethical quandaries of my professional relationship with her, I can’t do the same for Alijah and Wyatt. If they were found to be pursuing an omega co-worker without the proper paperwork, all of them could lose their jobs. Morgan for certain. I cannot condone such an unnecessary risk.”

“Fine, whatever, but…” He raised a triumphant finger, wagging it in my face. “Youdoagree that she’s pretty fucking outstanding, right?”

This particular devil never hesitated to advocate for his own interests.

I nodded.

Our dinner conversation was more than enough justification to strengthen our professional relationship. Her vibration therapy concept was beyond even my considerable realm of developmental possibility.

But as for a personal connection…

If Wyatt and Alijah had expressed interest in a different woman, I would have considered the prospect—but they were interested in a mutual work colleague, and Wyatt wasn’t even an official pack member.

My brother was too much of a rogue element to base decisions on anyhow, as liable to stay forever without joining the pack as he was to move out tomorrow.

However, there was one thing I knew for certain. If I didn’t forbid Joaquin from pursuing his self-anointed complete package, he would be relentless—because he always wanted the best for Alijah. For better or worse.

An instinct I championed when it came to new bedroom furniture or upgrading Alijah’s camera as a birthday present, but I had to draw the line at Morgan Van Daal, regardless of any brilliance or beauty she may possess.

Unleashing my dominance only long enough to take a deep breath, prompting a wince from Joaquin before his eyes dropped to the floor, I delivered my verdict.

“She’s off-limits. That’s final.”

Joaquin nodded in agreement, with just enough conviction to satisfy my alpha, and then slunk off to pester his mate.

“How vexing,” I muttered, putting my glasses back on and returning to my inbox.

Cal’s email from Friday night—marked important with a reminder toREAD ME!every six hours—sat at the top of my unread messages. Deciding it was better to judge its contents for myself rather than rely on Cal’s hyperbolic ramblings, I opened the attachment and flipped to the overview.

“Let’s see what all the fuss is about.”

I resurfaced two hours later.

Leaning back in my chair, I pressed my steepled fingers to my lips and stared out the window, watching the antenna lights crowning the Northport skyline flash on and off.

I reached three conclusions.

First, I underestimated Morgan Van Daal.

Her thoughts echoed my own with uncanny precision. It was a heady realization, evoking the same sense of potential I’d felt upon meeting Cal years ago—a connection that changed the course of my life. Such synchrony was rare and valuable, and I couldn’t afford to ignore it.

The presentation was impressive, to say the least, and included everything in my original scope of work. She was far better at constructing persuasive arguments than I was. And perhaps better suited to designation biosciences than sports medicine.

However, I couldn’t ignore Cal’s influence on the rough draft. His perspective was invaluable. If the three of us worked together, the executives might buy into PheroPass’s potential.

Ergo, decision number two—I would no longer accept that PheroPass was doomed to failure.

After reviewing my lengthy list of feedback, corrections, and questions, I sent it to both Cal and Morgan, along with a message stating that I expected a prompt response to my inquiries and that my assistant would be in touch to schedule a conference call.

All of which emphasized the importance of my third and final conclusion: Cal was interested in Morgan—he hadn’t even tried to hide it during dinner at Arlotti’s—and Joaquin couldn’t find out. If my two oldest friends joined forces to pursue the same woman, I had little doubt they’d succeed.

Doing so before the end of her fellowship might prove calamitous for all involved, not just for their careers but also my own. Morgan was essential to PheroPass—which made her indispensable as far as my plans were concerned—and, by extension, essential to me.

Tapping my knuckles against my desk, I hardened my resolve. Yes. We would work together as colleagues. Nothing more.

Eighteen

Morgan

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