Page 27 of The Alpha's Forsaken Vow
I didn’t show it, but I was proud.
Hell, I wanted to tilt my head, pull her into my arms, and kiss her in front of everyone because—fuck, baby, you were impressive.
“Alaric? Are you even listening?”
The perfume-smothered voice drags me back to reality.
Amanda Brighton.
The last woman I want in my office.
Yet here she is, standing in front of my desk, lips painted red, lashes fluttering.
I should have shoved her out the second she followed me here. But in my haste to avoid Lila after the meeting, I let her stay.
“You were saying?” I ask dryly.
She smiles. It’s the kind of smile meant to make men worship at her feet.
I’d rather declaw my wolf than do that.
“It was a little hitch,” she says, feigning innocence. “Back there, in the meeting…I wasn’t prepared, but I can assure you, I’m better than her. I can do this job better than she can. I know this company inside and out. I know you better than anyone. And, well, my daddy assured me he’d spoken with you about me getting this job. I’m not meant to be some secretary to an assistant manager, Alaric, I’m meant to be—”
I exhale sharply, my patience razor-thin.
I remember her father all right. Albert Brighton is one of the respected elders of the pack.
A few weeks ago, he pulled me aside at a pack meeting, scotch in hand, and told me Amanda would be a valuable asset to H Industries.
I gave him a curt nod and said I’d consider it.
That’s where my consideration ended.
“Does your father own my company?” I ask, my frustration bleeding into my voice.
Amanda stiffens. “No, but I—”
“Then let me handle the inner workings of my company.” My tone is sharp. “You and Lila Winter underwent the same interview. She passed. With flying colors. If I decide that you belong under an assistant manager, then that’s where you’ll work.”
Her lips part, eyes wide, like she can’t believe I’m saying this to her.
Maybe I’ve finally snapped.
Maybe I’ve spent too much time watching my secretary, pretending the Mate bond isn’t pulling me toward her like a damn gravitational force.
Locking my fingers together on my desk, I dismiss her. “If that’s all, you can leave.”
I see the anger flicker across her face, hear the sharp inhale of breath before she storms toward the door.
But just before she steps out, I give her one last warning.
“My secretary tolerated your nonsense today,” I say, voice low, steady. “But try to humiliate her again, and you’ll be cleaning my office floors whether your father is a respected pack elder.”
She slams the door behind her, but the fear is there.
She knows I don’t make empty threats.
I barely have a second to breathe before my phone buzzes.
