“Bailey. Thorn. You can call me Bay, if you like.”
“Where’s Mrs. Morton?”
“I think she moved to a different department, Mr. Kwatch. Sir.” I swallow, trying to wet my dry throat. “I just started today. I’m your new assistant. Well, a temporary assistant technically, but I’m totally capable of handling whatever Mrs. Morton did for you. I’m sure?—”
He dismisses my words with an easy wave of his large hand, and stands to a truly impressive height, eight feet at least. Probably. I’ve never been good at judging things like that, but this dude definitely has to duck going through standard-sized doors. Then, he steps around the desk and I see them.
His feet.
They are bare. His leathery toes dig directly into the dark gray carpet. More long red hair sticks out from beneath his pants. The feet are large. Big would be an understatement, but it feels like the appropriate moniker.
“Are you a Bigfoot?” I ask before I have a chance to stop the words from coming out of my mouth.
2
BE POLITE. BE CIVIL
Sacha
The unfamiliar woman’s mouth makes a small, adorable ‘o’ shape, and her hand flies in front of her face as if to block the words that have already emerged.
“Is my species a problem?” I ask.
“Oh shit! Sorry, no! So sorry. Dammit, I didn’t mean to curse,” she blurts. “No. It’s not a problem at all. I just didn’t realize. I mean, it’s pretty obvious that you are. A Bigfoot, I mean. I just didn’t know before I came in here, so it kind of surprised me.” Her mouth is twisted into a charmingly awkward smile now. “Sorry. It’s not a problem. And I won’t cuss anymore. Sir.” She finishes the last sentence in a hurry.
“It’s fine,” I grumble, surprised that I actually mean it. I’m used to some of this behavior since the Decrypting. When technological advances and deforestation made hiding our existence more and more difficult, the urban legends started to reveal themselves to the humans, and cryptozoology became zoology. Not everyone has reacted well to our entrance into human society. Some people are shocked by my existence. Some even deny it to my face. I’ve spent half my life fighting tooth andnail for people to see me no different than a human and treat me as a serious businessman, not a monster.
However, Bailey genuinely seems more nervous to be talking to her new boss than she does about meeting a Bigfoot.
Her hair is dyed bright pink and styled in a short pixie cut that compliments her round face. She’s wearing a yellow skirt and a pink blouse that highlight the impressive curves of her body, wide hips, thick thighs, and the roll of her stomach. I try not to notice how many curves my employees have, but she’s like a vibrant flower in this desert of an office. I ignore the urge to dwell on that, though.
“Can you log in and update the Iliad account, Mrs. Thorn?”
“I’m—not sure, sir; I just started today. Like, I literally just sat down at my desk a couple of minutes ago. I don’t know how to do anything yet. So I don’t actually know if—” She wrings her hands.
I release an exasperated sigh. “Let me show you.” I start to move past her, walking toward the office door. One step closer lets her scent hit my nose, and it nearly knocks me over.
Moss, mushrooms, and fresh rain; it’s like the forest has invaded my office in the form of a shapely woman. She’s perfect. She’s meant to be mine. I need her. My whole body goes rigid.
“What are you wearing?” I ask, fighting the urge to hold my breath.
She glances down at her bright pink chest, broad and tempting. “Is it inappropriate? I’ve never worked in an office this nice before.”
“The outfit is perfect—” I almost choke on my words, “—ly acceptable.” I try to recover. “Are you wearing perfume or something scented?”
“No, sir. Just deodorant, I think. Is something wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” I mutter.
Something is horribly wrong.
She’s the one, the woman I am meant to be with, and she doesn’t seem to know it. Another irritating aspect of humans. If she were a Bigfoot, she’d have known as soon as I did, but humans don’t have fated-mates. My hand twitches with the desire to touch her; I clench it tightly into a fist. “Maybe you could switch to an unscented brand. The Bigfoot nose is very sensitive.”
“Sorry, sir. I didn’t know.” Her nose scrunches.
But I know it isn’t her perfume, it’s all her that I am smelling, my mate. She’s completely clueless about the bond.
I breathe through my mouth as I pass her, catching from the corner of my eye as she surreptitiously sniffs her underarm. I bite back a grin and step into the alcove that holds her desk. The space is bigger here, there’s more air, and I can think a little easier. The deep desire to claim her fades a fraction.
