Her bony fingers are hurting my arm, and I have to resist the urge to slap her hand away. “I’m delivering a message to a guest.”
“This is thelaststraw!” she hisses, her furious gaze landing on my neck. It’s hotel policy for employees to keep their hair tied back, which means I have to hide my unbonding scar under a Band-Aid. I try to make it as inconspicuous as possible, but Mrs. Gladstone, who’s an alpha, has accused me of flaunting it on more than one occasion and making guests uncomfortable.
“The last straw?” I repeat numbly, my exhausted mind growing hazy with anger. It’s like a mocking echo from my appointment with Dr. Green, and I can’t stop myself from glaring right back at her. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Gladstone, but you have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Malice tightens her mouth, her scent bitter in my nose. “You need to clean out your locker and hand in your building pass. We won’t be requiring your services again…”
I don’t wait for the remainder of my marching orders, turning to the security guard and saying, “Can you please tell Mr. Janssen that I have an urgent message from his date? If you’re able to step out of the ballroom with me, I’ll pass along the details.”
Mrs. Gladstone’s face has gone an alarming shade of puce. I only catch a glimpse of it out of the corner of my eye, because a tall man in a tuxedo is turning towards me. His platinum hair gleams like winter sunlight under the chandeliers, but his fingers have carved deep furrows through it, and his icy blue eyes flash with concern. He casts a quick glance at the security guard before extending a hand in my direction. “I’m CorbusJanssen,” he says in a lightly accented voice. “You have a message from Dash?”
I stare at his hand like it’s a snake about to strike. “Yes.”
It’s the most I can manage, because as stunning as this man is, I’m tempted to turn around and run for my life.
“Is he alright? Please, I’ve been trying to call him…”
“He lost his phone,” I murmur, watching as his hand goes straight to his own pocket and comes up empty. “He slipped and hurt himself, which is why he asked me to find you.”
I sense the security guard stiffening beside me, and even Mrs. Gladstone has gone silent, but I can’t tear my eyes from the alpha.Dash’s walking dream.Of course I can see what he means, given the aura of authority swirling around him, not to mention those piercing eyes that seem to look directly into my soul…
But I’m not sure that’s a good thing. In fact, it might be very, very dangerous.
Because if my messed-up senses aren’t playing a wicked trick on me, Corbus Janssen isn’t just Dash’s date.
He’s alsomyscent match.
CHAPTER THREE - KATE
A sweet, alluring scent is something most omegas take for granted. As soon as I presented in high school, I became known as the orange blossom omega, and guys who’d never paid me any attention before were suddenly taking note. One of the first compliments Lee gave me was about my perfume, and even though my dark hair wasn’t particularly memorable, and my eyes were a washed-out gray, I always felt like the most beautiful omega in the world when he leaned in and took a deep sniff of my orange blossom fragrance.
Losing my scent – and having it replaced with something as repellent as bitter coffee – is one of the most devastating parts of my unbonding. Since our perfume is strongest at our scent gland, the reminder hits me every time I look at the physical scar on my neck. Not only is it an ugly mess, but itsmellsrepellent, and that cuts deep into my omega psyche.
As for alpha scents, most of them barely register anymore. Exposure, I guess, since I clean their rooms and fit their bonding suits, their pheromones always lingering in the air – or soaked into their bedsheets. I’ve got used to tuning them out - in as much as you can when you’re measuring their inseam - and sinceI now wear a scent suppressant, the chalky scent coming off my own skin works as an additional buffer.
But now and then I’ll encounter a scent so potent, it brushes up against me like a fingernail on a raw nerve.
As I stare at Corbus Janssen, I wait for my senses to shut down in panic. His scent isn’t just intoxicating – it’s almost like it’s tailor-made for me – which means my body should be rejecting it before it can hit my hindbrain. Self-preservation demands I get as far away from it as possible. But instead of making my skin crawl and my stomach lurch, his pheromones caress me in a way that’s both exciting and familiar.
Familiar?
Why does it feel like this complete stranger is suddenly a safe haven?
It takes a moment for my overwhelmed brain to make sense of it, and then it clicks into place.
Cedarwood.
A warm, slightly spicy aroma, exactly like the hand-carved cabinets in my closet at home.
“Mr. Janssen…”
“Corbus,” he corrects me, and the next moment he’s drawing me towards the ballroom door, my hand somehow tucked in the crook of his arm. I don’t know how it gets there, only that I can feel the ridges of muscle through the crisp fabric of his tuxedo jacket. His body heat is startling – maybe from his panic about Dash – and I have to stop myself from rubbing against him. It’s bad enough that I have to bite back a whimper, but all that does is lodge his cedarwood scent deep,deepin my lungs. As my heart takes up a frantic beat, I’m suddenly grateful for the heavy fabric of my uniform. If I was wearing a gossamer silk gown like so many women in the ballroom, I’d probably burst into flames.
I shake my addled head and try to focus on the security guard who’s a step ahead of us. His broad shoulders are carving a paththrough the crowd, and all across the ballroom curious heads are turning our way. Normally, I’d hate the attention, but I bite back a hysterical giggle at our strange procession. With the giant alpha out front and the specter of Mrs. Gladstone right on my heels, they must be wondering if I’m being escorted to dance or thrown out on my ear.
It's pretty clear how my supervisor views the situation.
“I’m so sorry she interrupted your evening, Mr. Janssen. I will get this matter cleared up immediately.”
