Page 97 of Altius
Joaquin stood frozen by the sink, holding a dirty plate, water running in the background, his mouth set in a grim line. “Tell me you didn’t.”
“He didn’t,” Cal said, skimming through the paperwork. “They approved a PheroPass trial for gymnastics.”
“I don’t understand.” Morgan hunched forward, fingers digging into her scalp as she stared blankly at the legalese.
I rotated my glass of water on the tablecloth in disappointment. This wasn’t the reaction I desired. Maybe I should have waited another day. She was still recovering, after all.
“As you know,” I said, “our data is skewed due to the football team’s overabundance of alphas. And their trial period ends in a few weeks.”
Wyatt picked up his copy of the proposal, regarding it with sudden interest. “They actually agreed?”
“Yes, although it took a bit of persuasion.”
“Sounds like a good thing to me,” Joaquin said, dropping back into his seat with a fresh pot of coffee.
“Of course it is,” Alijah answered in my stead, nibbling on the last piece of toast. “PheroPass should go where Morgan goes because she understands it best. Obviously.”
Cal chuckled but didn’t look up from the paperwork. “Yes, obviously.”
“Works for me.” Wyatt dropped the agreement and looked at Morgan. “So long as it helps you.”
His words were diplomatic, but his gaze was anything but.
Rather than acknowledge Wyatt’s overt expression of desire, Morgan angled her back toward him as she sipped her water, shifting her attention to the second set of paperwork, and almost choked.
“A consulting agreement—withRedwing?”
“For twenty-four months,” Cal said, having already finished reviewing his matching offer. “Minimum commitment of four hours a week during your fellowship.”
“And you’re paying our girl what she’s worth, right?” Joaquin asked, draping his arm over Alijah’s shoulders, adding a hint of casualness to what was likely a legitimate threat.
“Of course,” I said, prickling at the insinuation that I’d allow Redwing to undervalue Morgan’s contributions.
“I—I don’t know about this.” Morgan leaned back in her chair, pulling her knees against her chest, fingers plucking at the woven pattern of the sweater’s sleeves. Devoid of her usual ambitious fire. “Where am I supposed to find four extra hours in my week?”
Her breath hitched, words all but tumbling out as her body began to rock from side to side.
“I’m already maxed out as it is, between clinic appointments and football playoff games. Gymnastics overlaps with basketball, and I had to take time off for my seizure and heat, not to mention the holidays.”
Stress soured her pheromones and sharpened the lingering metallic edge. A blade pressed against our throats, warning us to keep our distance.
How badly had I miscalculated?
Cal rose from the table, pushing off on the worst of his two bum knees, causing him to stagger. He limped over to theliving room sofa, where he collected a pair of throw pillows with different textures and offered them to Morgan.
She grabbed the closest one, pressing it between her knees and chest, and buried her face in the navy blue chenille. After a few deep breaths, the rocking stopped. Two more and her shoulders relaxed.
“Are you okay?” Alijah murmured, hand frozen halfway between them, concern etched into his face.
She exhaled and sat up, running her hands through her hair, then straightened her glasses. “Surprised. Worried. I can’t afford to fall behind.”
“Or,” Cal said with a delicate touch, tossing the unchosen pillow back on the couch, “you could get paid for the work you’re already doing.”
“Everyone knows you put in way more than four extra hours on PheroPass every week,” Alijah added.
“It’s your decision.” I tapped the edge of my plate. Just once. Without exuding a shred of alpha influence. “Think it over.”
Morgan shook her head. “But—”
