Page 8 of Bonded By Christmas
There’s no way I’m ever going to let this omega escape. I just have to find a way to gently ease her into my lifestyle.
Oh yeah, and have a serious conversation with my boss about getting his shit together.
Chapter Four
Lacey
Saying goodbye to Grim hurts as much as it does following every visit. The only thing that gives me comfort is that he’s a lot mentally clearer on his way out than he was on his way in.
I take another ten-minute shower and dress in a new pair of pajamas. I only have one set left after this, but that works out perfectly with the hours I’m scheduled.
Doing laundry every night after work is annoying. It’s probably time I break down and buy a few more sets. They’re a tax write-off, anyway, since I need them for work purposes.
My current obsession is jersey cotton matching sets, and this one is especially cute. It’s Christmas themed, with little Santa’s sleigh designs mixed in with The North Pole signs and reindeer in Santa hats. It even has matching socks and a headband with antlers.
I shove the thing onto my head, hoping it helps tame my flyaways. I didn’t fully wash my hair this time. I’m supposed to, so I might end up regretting my decision, but it’s a real pain in the ass. Not to mention the havoc it wreaks on my hair and scalp. It also might have something to do with not being mentally ready to be completely rid of Grim’s scent.
Heading down the hallway to the office, I frown when I spot the light above my door. It indicates I’ve already got another appointment waiting. I could head to the front desk, just to get the client info, but that would mean I’d have to walk out into the waiting room.
Damn, I’m supposed to do session notes for each appointment.
I haven’t done Dan and Mark’s or Grim’s.
That makes it sound more official than it really is.
Basically, the receptionist will shove an appointment note form at me. I’m responsible for filling in their name, the date, and time of the appointment. Half the time, I don’t even know their legal name, but I figure the front desk handles all of that when they add it to the patient’s file.
I’ll scribble in their temperament upon entering the session and document if there was any improvement upon ending the appointment. Then I write a few sentences about how we snuggled and check the box if I’m willing to see that particular client again.
Some clinics accept insurance, but we don’t. I’m sure if we did, everything would be a lot more official.
I glance between the door to my room and the front desk. I never enjoy leaving clients waiting. I’ll handle my notes after this appointment.
I’m dead on my feet as I trudge up the stairs to my apartment. My night wasn’t even particularly hectic, but I had four appointments this evening with five total clients.
I’ve done research, and I think pheromone therapy is a little like massage therapy in that there’s an energy exchange between the massage therapist and the client. The same thing happens to me when I spend time with an alpha that’s having a particularly bad day.
My last client seemed frustrated, and for whatever reason, his energy left me in a funk. I showered after his session and dressed in warm clothes for the hike home, but it did nothing to help me shake off the weird vibes.
I’ll probably plop down on my sofa, watch some TV, and order dinner. There’s no way I’m cooking at eleven o’clock at night. It’s just not happening.
I shove my key into the top lock before moving to the handle. Once they’re both unlocked, I twist the knob and push the door open.
“Mmm, can I come in?” a playful voice asks from directly behind me.
I jolt and shriek, even though the voice is familiar. “Jesus! Callum, you scared the hell out of me.”
“Sorry, Lace.” He chuckles, wrapping his left hand around my middle as I stumble inside my apartment. He almost never calls me by my full name, which I don’t mind a bit. “I brought Chinese.” He shakes the bag in his right hand, and my nostrils flare, breathing in the combination of the delicious fried food and Cal’s smoky campfire scent. He always smells delicious, but the greasy food makes my stomach growl.
Cal releases me once he’s sure I won’t face-plant, and I spin around.
“You’re like a freaking ninja. I didn’t even hear your door open.”
“You barely missed the delivery guy, and I don’t want to eat alone.” He laughs, shaking the bag. “If I feed you, will you forgive me?”
My lips push together, and I nod. “You unpack the food. I’ll meet you at the coffee table. I need to turn the heat on and get out of my coat.”
Callum moved in directly across the hall a few months ago. He’s gone a lot. I’m not sure if he travels for work or if he just has a very active social life, but he’s almost never home, at least compared to me.
