Page 22 of Laurels and Liquor

My stomach drops at his casual mention of the details of the plan, eyes flying to gauge the reaction from the others. But there’s not a single batted eyelash or raised brow, like committing several felonies is par for the course for them. It has been several years since I last saw them, and while I do keep general tabs on my father and his business dealings, I certainly don’t have dossiers for everyone on his payroll. I can’t imagine how the tattooed band of miscreants loitering in my office could possibly help me.

“I run a funeral home, and am a board-certified medical examiner,” Hunter comments softly, arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the bookcase he’d been examining.

Of the three alphas, Hunter Navarro has always been the enigma. His dark eyes and black hair, along with his tan skin, speak to his Colombian roots, but the jovial light I remember in him is gone. He’s dressed in all black, mourning attire, except for the glitter of a gold chain at his neck. But I don’t have time to ponder what could have happened to turn the human personification of “life of the party” from a decade ago into a somber undertaker.

“And here I thought you were still learning to read,” I snipe, rolling my eyes and leaning back in my chair, crossing one leg over the other.

Hunter doesn’t take the bait, but instead gives me a smile that doesn’t quite reach his obsidian eyes. I turn my attention to Gideon and Delano, both now lounging on my furniture, and raise a brow in question.

“I happen to have a contact who is willing to misplace a box or two and not ask why I need bond-breakers,” Gideon comments, holding his glass up to the light.

“How fortunate. And what’s your excuse?” I drone, glaring at Delano as he takes another long pull from my bottle.

“I’m just here for the destruction, dollface. What is this, by the way?” he replies, swirling the liquor before sniffing it appreciatively.

“Smells like Omega, if you ask me. Something… floral?” Hunter says, and I realize he’s moved on silent feet across the room and is now standing a few paces away from my desk on the opposite side as my father.

I blink once in surprise, the only reaction I’ll allow, before I shut down my emotions completely, slamming the door with practiced ease. They’re fishing for a weakness, and I won’t let them find it. Especially not in front of my father.

“Or maybe it’s the bouquet I have on my desk,” I say with a bored sigh, motioning to the fresh arrangement Lydia made for me.

“No, it’s sweet. Honey and… roses? Hmm, not quite—” Hunter breaks off as he breathes deep, closing his eyes. When he opens them, his stare pierces deep, and it’s a struggle not to move or blink or react. “Lilacs,” he finishes.

“Thought you would have had your fill of omegas, Lexi,” Delano says, casual and almost sing-song.

The pause as I stare down Hunter is heavy. I can feel multiple pairs of eyes on my face, but I can’t look away from the challenge in the large alpha’s expression. But the longer I look, the more sadness I see. There’s heartache in the way his forehead creases, and the downward pull on the corners of his mouth. Even his scent is melancholy, the amber and patchouli notes dull with dry, bitter ash. There’s a story here, but I don’t have the luxury of trying to find out what it is.

“We’re meeting with Mr. Douglas today to advise him of his options. I want this over before the weekend,” I say, turning back to addressing my father.

“It will be. Make sure you see to it that there aren’t any distractions or complications,” Leopold replies, still looking out the window.

His posture is imperious, hands clasped behind his back, chin raised so he looks down his nose all the time. A carefully sculpted image of a powerful man, carved from ice. Too bad the artist forgot to include a heart in his creation. But his mention of distractions makes my eyes flick to the letter, a corner of it barely poking out from the folder I’d placed it in. My phone screen lights up, Ted’s number flashing as he calls. I reach for it, but my father clears his throat. When I look back, Leopold has turned to look at me over his shoulder.

“Once this is concluded, I expect your behavior to improve.”

“My behavior stopped being your concern when I left,” I snap before I can stop myself.

“So long as you carry the St. Clair name—”

“I would drop the St. Clair name like a bad habit if I could. But as it stands, you’ll just have to put up with your legacy being associated with my philanthropic causes and charitable giving. What a shame,” I retort, letting my temper get the better of me.

Delano lets out a cackle from the couch, but I don’t look away. Leopold’s eyes narrow slightly, and it doesn’t take much to imagine what sort of diatribe he’d be spitting at me if we were truly alone. But I lift my chin, daring him to try to hurt me. I’ve come to terms with my own self-worth, and it isn’t based on his opinions anymore.

“We’re done here,” he says at last, turning on his heel and marching out of the door without another word.

The Trio of Trouble doesn’t immediately follow, much to my annoyance. Instead, Gideon gets up and strolls over to my desk. He sets his now empty glass down before reaching into his jacket and pulling out a matte, charcoal gray business card. As he extends his hand, a little wave of his scent hits me, pushing out the florals I prefer. It’s like someone set a grove of orange trees on fire, using brandy as the fuel.

“My number. Your assistant gave me your card while we were waiting. I’ll text you when the meds are in,” he says softly.

I nod once, jaw clenched. I take it, barely letting my skin touch the paper, and dropping it on my desk as soon as I can. His eyes stare into me, and I don’t like how he’s trying to use his not insignificant height to tower over me. So, I sit back in my chair and cross one leg over the other, chin high. He’ll have to try much harder than that to intimidate me.

“If what I read was right, you’re going to want to find somewhere to hole up in while the drugs do their thing,” Hunter says, walking a little closer, but stopping short of crowding me.

“And you’re going to want a box of condoms,” Delano says with an ironic laugh.

I’d done my own research into the side effects of bond breaking drugs, and all of them have some sort of variation of “increased sexual appetite” listed. Something about the drugs messes with hormone production, and anecdotally at least, it makes some people go insane with lust. We’ll be fine. Mateo’s made it clear that he’s not looking for that sort of thing with me. So why does my mind suddenly replay the times I’ve caught him looking at me with heat in his eyes, and Lucas’s snarky comments about us just needing to “fuck until we don’t hate each other?” I push that little, irrational voice away.

“That won’t be necessary. Mateo and I don’t have that sort of relationship,” I answer coolly.

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