Page 46 of Citius

“Owen Redmond.” He nodded rather than offering to shake my hand.

How nice. Cal had at least one friend who shared his old-fashioned alpha sensibilities—no scent exchanges with omegas at the first meeting.

Thank goodness. I couldn’t shake hands without betraying he’d unnerved me. Owen’s dominance was potent, befitting the head alpha of a pack, and he made zero effort to rein it in. Maybe he couldn’t.

At least I’d had the foresight to slip on my emergency blazer before we left. It might be paired with a Narwhals t-shirt and jeans, but you couldn’t argue that my outfit wasn’t at least business casual.

Owen was about six feet tall with a solid build and powerful quads. I wondered what he did to keep fit—running or biking.

The only feature he seemed to share with Wyatt was a full head of black hair, cropped short on the sides, with natural waves brushed away from his face. There were a few gray strands along his temples, but they felt well-earned rather than premature—an acknowledgment of his relentless pursuit of scientific advancement.

“Pleased to meet you.” I sat down, only needing one genteel yet powerful nudge from Cal to push in my chair. “I work for Cal on PheroPass.”

“Morgan workswithme.” Cal dropped into the free seat beside mine, facing Owen across the table. “She’s the brains of the operation on our end.”

Owen raised his glass with a dismissive snort. “My condolences.”

Impervious to Owen’s negativity, Cal carried on with a smile.

“Remember how we treated the kicker before he went into heat early? She’s the one who noticed his hormone spike. And she’s doing the expanded capabilities pitch at our quarterly meeting.”

“Is that a polite way of saying she’s your scapegoat?”

Cal had warned me that Owen believed PheroPass was doomed to failure, but I hadn’t expected him to be so…blunt.

“Right, right, you’ve already resigned yourself to go down with theship, captain,” Cal teased. “It’s just that Morgan has an idea that might interest the execs, but we weren’t sure how it’d go over.” He continued to smooth the way for me, a genuine show of good faith that I couldn’t help but find endearing. “Figured it wouldn’t hurt to discuss it off the record first. You know what they want, and you won’t steer us wrong.”

The server arrived to take our drink orders. I was content with water. Cal ordered a local ale.

“You wound me,” Owen said with a subtle stab of sarcasm after the server departed. “After I went through all the trouble of ordering your favorite drink.”

“The joke wasn’t funny the first time you did it.” Cal nudged the cocktail into the table’s middle, leaving a condensation trail along the white tablecloth.

I still couldn’t tell what the contents were. “What is it?”

“A Godfather. Equal parts amaretto and scotch.” Owen drained his glass. “I’m sure you can appreciate the joke, even if it’s obvious.”

Except I couldn’t. If anything, I was even more lost. I snuck a glance at Cal. He didn’t look all that amused—until he winked at me.

Ah, the boys were playing a game.

Cal drummed his fingers on the tablecloth. “How about I deliver a dozen London Fogs to your office every day next week?”

The café at Tolliver Yards made an amazing London Fog latte—Earl Grey tea with vanilla, milk, and honey. Maybe Kelsey and I should go out for breakfast tomorrow and take advantage of the football team’s away game.

“If you have nothing better to do, be my guest.” Owen reached for the abandoned drink and raised it in Cal’s direction. “Cheers.”

Their pheromone profiles must match the drinks.

Alcohol wasn’t something I would have predicted for Cal. Comfort food, sure, like a stack of pancakes with quality maple syrup. Or a walk through the woods in autumn—evergreen boughs, allspice—something natural yet masculine. More lumberjack, less poker night.

Earl Grey made an odd amount of sense for Owen, though—strong first impression, not to everyone’s taste.

I could see Owen and Joaquin having a similar sense of humor. Heavy on the satire, a touch manipulative.

But Earl Grey also had an elusive hint of sweetness under the more robust flavors, and Wyatt’s so-called dictator brother must have a heart. Or at least a decent facsimile of one. Otherwise, he wouldn’t let Wyatt crash with him for an unspecified amount of time.

Plus, Alijah trusted him. That had to qualify him for a few bonuspoints. Unredeemable and useless bonus points, but bonus points, nonetheless.

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