4. Chapter 4

Chapter four

Connor

T he harsh sunlight glares angrily through the dusty windshield, casting sharp rays of light into the car as I pull into the crowded parking spot in front of the bustling coffee shop that’s only a few minutes walk from Rogers’ office. The hum of car engines and the distant chatter of people fill the air, creating a cacophony of sounds that pierce through the quiet morning of the small town.

The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the open car window. Cool metal brushes against my fingertips as I reach into my pocket to retrieve my phone. The LED screen illuminates a bright glow, confirming I am fifteen minutes early for the meeting. The anticipation weighs heavily on my shoulders, causing a knot to form in my stomach.

This deal going through would greatly impact my pack, my family—even if they didn’t know it.

With a deep breath, I straighten the gold moon-shaped cufflink on my shirt sleeve, its intricate design reminiscent of my pack’s emblem. The touch of the smooth metal against my skin sends a shiver down my spine. I glimpse my reflection in the rearview mirror, remembering the same golden hue of the small hoops adorning her delicate earlobes.

A surge of heat rushes through my body, making my skin tingle and my senses heighten. The urge to embrace my inner wolf—to rip the skin from my bones and lose myself in the primal instincts—becomes almost overwhelming. In a fit of frustration and pent-up energy, I slam my fist against the hard edge of the steering wheel, the impact reverberating through the car and momentarily drowning out the surrounding sounds.

Maybe you should take out some of that pent-up frustration with a certain pink-haired witch.

"Where have you been?" I growl.

You turned down my offer to go for a run.

"You've been throwing a temper tantrum?" My brows furrow as I grab my wallet and open the car door.

When was the last time you let loose your control and just had fun? I bet that ray of sunshine could teach you a thing or two.

"I don't have time for fun. You know we have responsibilities. The clan comes first."

The clan you left instead of claiming your rightful place as alpha?

"That's not what happened, and you know it. I don't have time for this." I slam the car door shut and press the lock on the digital keypad. "Plus, she did something to those scones. They were supposed to help me focus, to ensure this meeting goes perfectly. We can't afford one misstep or to lose this deal. But I can't seem to concentrate on it or anything else."

Except her.

I grunt in response, pushing open the door to EnchanTea for the second time today.

"Mr. Abernathy. Welcome back. Was there something wrong with your coffee this morning?" The barista calls from behind the counter. The air was still and quiet in the nearly empty coffee shop, except for the occasional murmur of the lone patron—a tall, lithe man in black who sat in the back corner sipping his coffee.

Vampire.

I feel the rumble of a growl from deep in my chest, but I shake my head at my inner wolf before I proceed further.

"No, just back for a fresh cup before my meeting," I reply, but a flash of pink catches my eye. I whip around, but it's only a small child holding a pink balloon bouncing behind her, clutching the hand of her mother.

"Is everything okay? Do you want a decaf?" she asks, pausing as she holds out the paper travel cup in her hands, pen poised and ready to scrawl my name. As I observe her handwriting, so different from Netti's looping scrawl on the box of scones, I can’t help but wonder what that witch has done to me. Even women I've dated have not been on my mind as much as she has. I shake off the thought and respond, "No, just a house black to the brim, please."

"You've got it," she says, turning around to fill the paper cup with coffee. As she works, she continues the conversation, asking, "How's your time in Rusthollow been so far?"

"Fine," I reply, keeping my response brief.

"Have you been to Magickal Morsels yet? They make the most delicious pastries," she suggests. "In fact, some of our goods in the glass display are from them."

"Yes, I have, and no, I do not want any," I answer curtly, not interested in adding another baked treat to complicate my day.

"Is there anything else I can get you, then?" She smiles brightly at me, her short, curly blonde hair bouncing around her face.

"No. Just the coffee." I glance down at my watch and tap my foot. My veins throb with the intense heat, a fiery torrent that makes my skin feel like it's about to burst. I can hardly take it anymore. I need to leave this building and find some fresh air. "I need to leave. I have a meeting."

"Oh well, have a good day then!" she says cheerfully, placing a lid on the cup and handing it to me. I lay the bill on the counter, take the hot cup from her hands, nod, and leave the cafe.

The heat radiating from the coffee is nearly scalding as I gulp down a mouthful, but I need something—anything— to clear my head. Until the lingering flavor of French vanilla buttercream hits my tongue, and I groan. Had I had less restraint over my wolf, I would have tasted more than frosting last night.

"No, this can't be." I rip off the lid and peer down at the inky black surface. Perfectly normal house roast, no cream or sugar, just how I like it. Then, why was the taste of frosting so intense?

I take another sip. Normal. Not a hint of vanilla.

Maybe Daisy was right. After this deal went through, I'd find some time for myself.

As I approach the building, the sunlight reflects off the mirrored windows, creating a dazzling display. The sleek, white facade of the office building exudes a sense of modernity and professionalism. A quality I both respect and utilize in my architectural designs. The copper sign near the front door catches my eye, adding a touch of elegance to the overall design bearing the logo of Summit Contracting Group. The sounds of traffic and city life buzz behind me, blending into a familiar urban symphony. The town of Rusthollow may be quaint, but in the short time I've been here, the atmosphere was addicting.

"It's now or never." I crush the last of the coffee, but before I take a step, a bat swoops before me.

"Sorry! The bats get a little brave this time of year. Mr. Abernathy?" A plump, middle-aged woman waves from the tall glass door, her brown hair pulled into a bun at the top of her head.

"Yes, it is quite unusual. Trash?" I lift my empty cup.

"Oh, here, let me take that. Mr. Rogers is particular about recycling." She holds open the door with one hand and gestures for the empty cup with the other. "I'm Mrs. Willows, his assistant. If you'll just follow me."

I store that bit of information, as it could come in handy later. Abernathy Incorporated kept up pretty standard recycling standards, but policies could be updated to be more proficient if it meant a partnership.

I follow her through widely spaced hallways covered in large abstract paintings, sunlight filling the room from the sunroof window tiles, giving the place an overall cheerful, cozy atmosphere.

"Does Mr. Rogers work remotely from here all the time?" I ask as we turn to the left and up a flight of stairs.

"Recently, he's been working more from here. Since his wife passed, this was their favorite office to come visit."

"I'm so sorry to hear that."

"Life is fleeting. You must take charge of it while it's fresh in your hands." A tall gentleman with salt and pepper hair steps from the office at the end of the hall and opens his arms wide in greeting. "You must be the infamous Connor Abernathy. Taking the industry by storm."

"Yes, sir. I am incredibly grateful for your acceptance of my invitation to discuss this proposal in person. I'm looking forward to our meeting." I extend my hand toward him. He grips it firmly, giving a small shake.

"You've made quite a name for yourself in a short period of time, Mr. Abernathy. I'm not usually impressed by much being in the industry as long as I have, but you are a rarity. Come, let's discuss this further," he says as he gestures to his office. "Trish, could you get me a vanilla chai latte please? Abernathy, would you like anything?"

"Just water, please." I nod before following him.

He gestures toward a wide table, situated in front of a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of a lush plot of pines and maples that stretch out behind his office.

"Have you ever lived out in a small town, Abernathy?" he says, sitting on the chair at the head of the table and swiveling to face outside.

"Growing up, but not for a long time. I've mostly stayed in Port Nicholes for the last few decades." I sit at the table and place my folder and notepad on the polished wood surface.

"That's too bad." He drums his fingers on the table.

"Why’s that, sir?" I'm anxious to discuss the proposal to unite our companies on this project.

"There is something... magical about towns like these. You really get to feel your inner nature." He turns and stares directly at me with his solemn brown eyes, and the knot in my stomach tightens. Was he talking about my wolf?

"Here you go," Mrs. Willows says, her gentle voice reaching my ears as she places a cool glass of water on a coaster before me and a cup before him. The aroma of the steaming vanilla chai wafts toward me, enveloping my senses and causing my nostrils to tingle, reminding me of the scent of... her. Thoughts of Netti consume my mind, her presence lingering in the air like a sweet and alluring fragrance. My body reacts, a subtle tightening in my trousers, as I imagine her curves beneath her apron, my fingers tracing every inch of her silky smooth skin.

Suddenly, a warm hand lands on my shoulder, jolting me back to reality. I flinch away, momentarily startled. "I'm so sorry. Jet lag," I stammer, my mind still lost in the depths of desire. What was going on with me? I glance weakly between Mrs. Willows and Mr. Rogers, attempting to regain my composure.

"You look a little peckish," Mrs. Willows remarks, her voice filled with concern. "Are you sure there isn't anything I can get you?"

"No, thank you," I reply, my throat feeling parched like a desert. I reach for the glass of water, its coolness soothing against my fingertips. I take a sip, feeling the dryness dissipate, but the heat still lingers, an unspoken tension in the air. The urgency builds within me, the need to escape, to run, as if we are engulfed in flames.

Can't you feel the magic, the raw energy coursing through our veins?

Ignoring my inner wolf, I gulp down half the glass of water, desperate to quench the burning sensation within. I meet Mr. Rogers' gaze; his disappointment is evident in the pursed frown upon his lips.

"Have you traveled much?" He raises an eyebrow quizzically at me.

"I have. Although never to Rusthollow." I use a finger to loosen the collar around my neck. "I had some pastries at the bakery down the street from where I'm staying. They must not be settling."

"At Magickal Morsels? Their baked goods are to die for. Not to mention, they employ the most cheerful bakers I've ever met. My Chloe loved to visit them any chance she got." A wistful look crosses his face, but is gone as soon as it comes.

Suddenly, I'm overwhelmed by the lingering scent of her, the ghost of her touch on my fingertips, and the burning ache in my chest. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, feeling the soft cushion beneath me. "Yes, they had quite the variety," I reply, opening my notebook and turning to the first page. The sound of the pages rustling mixes with the low hum of conversation down the hall in the background. "As the CEO of Aber--"

"A lone wolf," he interrupts, sipping from his cup. I can hear the delicate clinking of the porcelain against his lips. He observes me intently, and I feel like a pup caught sneaking out past curfew, the weight of his gaze pressing on me.

"Yes?" My ears start buzzing and all I can hear above it is the memory of her repeating my name when she took my order. I finish the rest of my water and straighten out my cuffs. "I do have a team that works with me, but I like to make meetings like this more personable."

He strums his fingers together and leans over the table. "A quality we share, but that's not what I was inferring to. Why did you leave your pack?"

"Excuse me?" His question momentarily stuns me. I knew Rogers was very particular about who he worked with, but I wasn’t expecting him to bring up that past. Pack business stays in the pack.

"Clearly, you're alpha material," he continues, gesturing to me. "I've been watching your company—you—over the years. Watching how you navigate. You've got a smart head, but an alpha never leaves their pack behind. So tell me, why did you leave?"

Sweat beads along the back of my neck. Why I left wasn't a secret, or cowardice. Twin wolves born to the pack leader both developing Alpha traits. We would have been at each other's throats, neither of us backing down. I didn't want the pack to tear in two, and I wasn't kneeling so I did what I thought was best. I left.

I always left. I never made attachments. That's why I couldn't understand why I couldn't get the witch out of my head. She had to have done something. Was she secretly working for a rival company, trying to sabotage this meeting? I have to know. I have to confront her.

As the thoughts race through my mind, my heart pounds against my chest, a physical manifestation of my growing anger and frustration. The adrenaline surges through my veins, causing a tingling sensation that spreads from my fingertips to my toes. My muscles tense, ready for action, as a surge of energy courses through my body.

With each passing second, my breathing becomes shallow and rapid. The air feels heavy, as if I were suffocating under the weight of my emotions. Sweat begins to bead on my forehead, trickling down my temples as my body's temperature rises in response to the intensity of my anger and the desire I was burning up for her.

"Do you have a bathroom I can use?" I push up from the table, pulling out a napkin to dab at my forehead. "The scones..."

"Yes, down the hall and take a right before the stairs." He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest.

I turn and book it down the hall as professionally as I can manage. This was not going according to plan, and it was all her fault. I never should have tempted fate and just relied on myself. Pushing past the bathroom doors, I move to the sink and splash my face with water, trying to cool down the burning sensation inside me.

"Fuck!" The fear, like icy tendrils, coils around my stomach, causing it to churn and knot. My hands tremble involuntarily, betraying the anxiety that consumed me. Yes, I could go with another company, but it would mean greater costs, an extended timeline, and products of a lesser quality. There was a reason I was going to such lengths to secure Summit Contracting Group. My pack and my company deserved no less. Even if they were clueless about where the support was coming from.

Emotions have a profound impact on the body, influencing our physiology in ways both subtle and overt. The surge of anger, fear, and determination I’m experiencing are like a storm raging within me, affecting my heart rate, breathing pattern, muscle tension, and even my facial expressions. I need to cool down before I face Rogers and try to pull this all back together. Then, I will deal with the witch.

What if she wasn't doing it on purpose?

"How would you know that?" I growl, straightening out my tie and tugging at my cuffs.

Do you remember how tired she looked? The faint dark circles under her eyes.

Guilt coils in my gut as the image of her flashes in my head, followed by the strong urge to protect her.

"It doesn't matter. She needs to give me a counterspell, but first I need to fix this."

Inhaling deeply, I open the bathroom door and am startled to find Mrs. Willows standing, holding my notepad and folder, and looking anxious.

"I'm sorry, but Mr. Rogers had to step out for the rest of the evening. He said he'd be in touch about rescheduling."

Fuck!