Page 164 of Altius
“Sometimes, I think that you forget I’m a Carling, too.” Her characteristic laugh, all sinuous wiles and obscure motives, poured out of the speaker. “Just like the university. But they’ll remember who I’m mated to when your father’s donations dry up.”
“Fair enough.”
Chaz saved his meager expressions of loyalty for situations like this, when ye olde Carling pride was on the line. He’d make the university sorry for forcing Anya out.
But not as much as I would make them regret trying to buy Morgan’s silence instead of listening to her valid concerns about pheromone intimidation in the first place.
“So, you’ll tell her?” she asked hesitantly.
“Yes. But instead of the paperwork approval, do your best to have her back at work. And make sure Heather leaves her the fuck alone.”
“You have my word.”
The line went dead.
Slumping down on the couch, I let out a self-deprecating laugh. “I just got played, didn’t I?”
“Masterfully,” Owen said, straightening his cufflinks. “Your father mated Anya for her tactical prowess, after all. But it’s not a bad deal.”
“Even though I just gave up our best bet of getting Morgan to agree to a proper courting before July?”
Owen’s laugh was cruel and sobering. “I’d be more concerned with getting her to agree to the settlement without getting dumped in the process.”
Groaning, I ran my hands over my scruff. “I’m fucked, aren’t I?”
“Well and truly, old friend.” Owen got to his feet. “My condolences.”
The couch was too deep to get up without making my knees pop. “Fuck everything about today.”
“Pace yourself.” Owen shot a wry glance over his shoulder. “It’s going to be a long week.”
Thirty-Nine
Morgan
Owen stepping out to take a call from Redwing’s legal department didn’t register as anything to worry about—until he immediately sequestered himself to talk with Cal.
Even so, I tried not to worry. The situation was evolving, and we all had to be prepared to adapt.
That’s all.
I focused on answering Quinton’s questions. Forwarded pertinent emails. Provided contact information for my superiors, Reyhan, and other witnesses. Sent them the voice recording of my run-in with Garvey in the taping area. Anything that would help nail his ass in the most legally excruciating way possible.
Meanwhile, I never stopped rubbing the back of Wyatt’s hand. It was an outlet for my nervous energy, which also helped keep his protective urges at bay.
I couldn’t fault the guys for their anger. I’d left for what should have been an exciting, once-in-a-lifetime work opportunity, in perfect health—well, as perfect as my health gets—and came back covered in gashes and nasty bruises.
The force of Wyatt’s embrace almost smothered me to death in bed last night. At least he was a light sleeper and eased up after I nudged him a few times.
Thankfully, Cal left me some breathing room.
Or did it only feel that way because we were no longer crammed into a queen? The ginormous bed that Kelsey and Jacobi installed during my absence deserved its own zip code. There was plenty of room for three people and two clingy cats, plus—
Nope. Not doing the math.
Because then I’d know for sure if it was a pack-sized bed, and that would lead to other troublesome thoughts.
The front door opened. Joaquin walked in, holding a stack of pizza boxes, with several plastic bags full of salad and breadsticks hanging from his forearm.
