Page 13 of Waiting for Fate
“No,” he grunts.
That’s it? Just no? This is going to be a rough eight weeks if he only knows how to communicate with grunts and huffs.
Ignoring him, I turn to walk onto the bus. When Lex’s gray eyes narrow over my shoulder, I glance back to see Shiloh stalking toward us.
Omen and Nexus, lead singer of the band she’s working with, appear before my stubborn boss can. They’re cute together. My shy, troubled bestie and the fashion-forward lead singer from Primordial Covenant. The way his eyes track her every move tells me there is definitely something between them. He has moons in his eyes and hers are shimmering with stars. Perhaps Fate wanted her on this tour for more than just a killer career opportunity.
My head whips their way when Nexus jokingly offers for Omen to ride on their bus. There is no way she’s leaving me to deal with these two for the first leg of this tour. I will have an absolute meltdown.
Thankfully, she sees the promise of suffering in my eyes and declines his offer. I’m hopeful she will stick around long enough to help me deal with the bodyguard duo and Mr. Acherley, but she is quick to dip onto the bus. I can’t blame her, though. If our situations were reversed, I wouldn’t want to land in the middle of her drama.
Okay, I would dive headfirst into her issues, but facing my own is a completely different story.
“Miss Powell,” Shiloh bites out as he pulls to a stop a few feet away. His deep, cold eyes cut to where Lex and Ridley stand entirely too close to my body. The jealousy briefly flashing through his eyes must be a trick of the light.
“Mr. Acherley. Meet Omen’s and my bodyguards, Ridley Hale and Lex Ferguson.”
Both men grunt out a greeting, their eyes narrowed on the other man. The toxic masculinity in the air among these three alphas is suffocating. A whine catches in my throat from the weight of it, but I shove that bitch back down. There is no way I’m going to let any of them know they are affecting me.
“Did you need something?”
Shiloh’s eyes turn back to me, the dark roast coffee-colored orbs shining with an intensity that feels like he can see each of my insecurities and imperfections clear to the center of my soul. It’s a struggle to not look away. “You left before we finished.”
“My tasks are complete, unless you have additional work outside of the checklist you provided me?” I raise one eyebrow, daring him to admit he made an error and forgot to put something on his overly detailed list of things for me to do this morning.
Men like Shiloh Acherley don’t handle admitting their mistakes well. When his jaw ticks and the vein on his temple pulses heavily, I have to bite back a laugh. They’re easy to rile. My omega hums in satisfaction, wanting to break the arrogant alpha’s cool confidence. Apologies to my instincts, but there will be no secret office romance in my future. Especially not with a man who refuses to call me anything but my full birth name.
“Next time, you are to check in with me before running off to flirt with your bodyguards.”
Clenching my fist, I’m seconds away from telling this asshole where to shove his haughty attitude, but he turns and stalks away before I get the chance. “Fucking asshole,” I murmur under my breath.
I’m so fucking glad we are leaving Starburgh for the next two months. Maybe I will have cooled off enough by the time we return to not storm in Acherley’s office and tell him to go fuck himself.
“You good, sunshine?” Ridley asks from way too close. I jump, nearly knocking my head against his. He chuckles, reaching out to steady me, but I rip my arm from his grasp and take a step toward the bus.
“They’re giving us the signal to leave,” I tell him, pointing to where the lot staff are directing trailers and buses through the gates. Without waiting for his response, I skip up the steps to my home for the next eight weeks.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SOMETHING ABOUT THElabel’s new omega band manager has me on edge. Her allure is a danger I hadn’t expected. One I am quickly trying to evade.
My newfound obsession is why I have taken to calling her Sabine instead of Bea, as she prefers. Each time her name spills from my lips, fire burns in those endless, dark blue eyes. Two deep pools of oceanic turbulence during a hurricane.
It’s antagonistic of me, I know, but I can’t seem to stop myself from pushing her buttons. I want her ire. Perhaps if she grows to hate me, this pull between us will snap.
When she is around, I feel out of control of my instincts, leading me to take my frustration out on her. Like my last comment. It was uncalled for and unprofessional. I owe her an apology, which I will send via email. We both know a phone or video call would only escalate things.
Standing at the back of the parking lot, my fingers drum against the back of the clipboard I brought for Miss Powell’s pre-tour training, attempting to quell the emotions still wreaking havoc in my mind. Whatever interest I have in Miss Powell cannot go anywhere. Not only am I twenty years her senior, I am her boss. It would be inappropriate to let this go any further. I must squash the draw I feel toward her while she is away for the tour.
The drive back to the office is quick. Starburgh, New York, is a mid-sized city just a short drive away from the chaos of New York City. A mixture of modern brick and dated stone make up most of the commercial property here. Including the multiple story, red brick building housing Soulbound Echo Studio’s East Coast office.
Our secretary, Jane, an older beta woman, greets me with a wave. “You have a call waiting on line one.” She hands me a stack of file folders to review later. With a murmured ‘thank you’, I beeline for my office. The door is barely closed behind me before I’m in my chair and pressing the buttons to accept the call.
The meeting takes longer than I expected. By the time we hang up, my stomach is gurgling, reminding me I skipped breakfast this morning. Yet another reason I need to curb this interest in Miss Powell. I cannot afford to have her presence derail my carefully crafted routine.
Slipping from my office, I plan to ask Jane and the other staff what they’d like to order for lunch today, but the faint scent of Piña Colada distracts me. I hesitate outside of the band manager’s shared office, peering through the cracked door to the darkened room beyond. No one is inside to witness me crossing to Bea’s desk and stealing the soft, blush pink knit cardigan she left hanging over the back of her chair.
My door clicks shut, the lock sliding into place louder than my frantic heart as I bury my face in the fabric, deeply inhaling to pull as much of the beachy, tipsy scent into my lungs as possible. Desire lances through me, hardening my cock to the point of pain where it digs into the zipper of my slacks. I can barely focus through the haze as my hand drifts down to grip myself.
