Page 18 of Fated to the Enemy Alpha

“Hamilton’s already got all his skin in Valace and Platel. He’s not going to be up for funding us,” Stephen replied from his side of the room.

I knew he was basically rolling his eyes by the note of impatience in his tone. Something I was mostly screened from, thanks to the leafy and tall plants I’d gotten for my desk. I had placed the leafy tall plants on my desk as a buffer, hoping they would screen me off from Stephen and reduce the resentment bubbling up every time I caught sight of him. They formed a living wall that helped me maintain some semblance of focus. Yet, even with the greenery encasing me, I couldn’t help but notice how the lush color of the leaves evoked the shade of Stephen’s eyes, sending a shot of frustration through me.

“Hamilton’s pulled out of Platel. The animal trials didn’t pass.” I informed Stephen.

“What’s your source?” Through my living wall, I caught his look of suspicion. Thanks to my shadow company, Platel was old news, but I had doubled down on finding a source I could share and came up with a small journal article on the drug trial that Platel hadn’t managed to hush up.

“I’ll forward you it.” I attached the article to an email.

Stephen’s suspicious look only deepened, and he shot up. “I need to stretch my legs, anyway.” In a moment, he was beside me, leaning over to read the article on my screen. “The high levels of cortisol encountered in the test subjects show the drug requires more testing before it can be approved for human trials.” I’d highlighted the scientist’s name, the lead on the trials currently running with our competitor.

“This is…brilliant,” Stephen said.

“Thanks—” I managed, disoriented by the compliment. His eyes continued to run over the line in the journal I’d highlighted, still engrossed in checking my findings. He leaned closer to read the article on my screen, his fingertips brushing against my forearm where I leaned on the desk. It was just a fleeting touch, yet it sent an electric current coursing through me.

I caught the subtle change in Stephen’s complexion, a flush creeping across his cheeks as he tried to maintain his composure. Just as quickly as it had happened, he withdrew his hand, but the warmth where our skin had connected lingered.

The next moment, Stephen’s lush green eyes fell on me, and the heat in his stare had my head spinning. But before I could dwell on the familiar pull between us, Ella, our assistant, stepped into the room. My stomach bottomed out as disappointment flooded me. My wolf whined, pacing within me, eager for the connection that was slipping away.

“I have the final details for Friday’s presentation,” she announced.

Stephen snapped out of the moment. “Thank you, Ella.” He took the papers before returning to his desk. His voice was lower, almost scratchy, and sent a shiver down my spine.

As he sat down, he said, “I’ll call Hamilton and invite him to the investor’s meeting.”

I nodded, not trusting my voice. But I was still reeling from the look of desire in his eyes.

It doesn’t mean anything.

Then why do I feel so warm?

Stephen was looking at me through the wall of leaves. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, fine.” Why was my voice so husky? “I need a water,” I said, my tone clipped as I stood up. I turned my back on Stephen, forcing myself to walk with purpose toward the door. As I exited, I took a deep breath, grounding myself in the reality of my mission.

From the break room, through the glass wall, I watched Stephen reclining back in his chair, his handsome profile silhouetted against the afternoon light filtering in through the window, and my traitorous heart beat a frantic rhythm. Sipping my water, I reminded myself that I mustn’t let our past history distract me. Returning to work, I kept my focus razor-sharp and poured all of my effort into the upcoming investment presentation we had in two days.

A couple of evenings later, Stephen and I wrapped up our report in the conference room after a very successful meeting in which we’d secured all the investment we’d wanted.

“I think that’ll do for the night,” Stephen said as he closed his laptop. Likewise, I was slipping my laptop away. The vibe tonight was almost amicable as we walked out of the conference room, which set me on edge.

Stephen hit the button to the elevator. “You were great in there today, Lina,” he said.

“Thanks.”

My fingers tapped nervously against my thigh as I watched the shifting numbers above the doors light up, the elevator ascending.

Tension swooped through my stomach. The oppressive thought of being in the small, enclosed space behind those doors grew heavier—a dread I knew all too well.

It’s just an elevator ride. You’ll soon be in your car.

But the mantra felt hollow. Just thinking about the confined space already had my breath shallow. But it wasn’t just the small space that was setting me on edge. It was Stephen’s compliment. A mix of confusion and conflict threaded through my veins as I thought of how brilliant Stephen had been in the conference room today, too.

During the presentation, Stephen spoke with a magnetism that ensured everyone was captivated. I swallowed, my throat tightening as I admitted to myself how drawn I’d been to him, whether I liked it or not. It was something in the way he carried himself—confident and assured—that made it difficult to concentrate. Every time he spoke, the authority in his voice cut through the room, but it was the quick flashes of warmth in his eyes when they landed on me that ignited a longing I struggled to ignore.

“Lina?”

Shit. He said something again.

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