“I have a social life.”
“Of course you do, ma puce, but it isn’t the type of social life you should have. You’re young, and very beautiful. Go out and meet people. You would be able to do this if you weren’t working for that man.” A long sigh greeted the proclamation. “Why don’t you let your father ask around and see what he can find? I’m sure there are other firms looking for legal assistants and they wouldn’t work you as hard.”
Vivienne shook her head. Except for the money, the other main reason that she kept her job with Hastings was because she’d gotten it on her own. Her father, the now-retired federal appeals court judge, hadn’t pulled any strings to get it for her. She’d applied, interviewed, and impressed them with her GPA and personality.
“It really isn’t that bad, Mom.” Okay, that was a lie, but what was she going to say? You’re so right, Mommy. The man works me like a slave. Please tell Dad to find me another job? No way in hell was she doing that.
“Are you lying to the woman who labored long, hard hours to birth you?”
Vivienne chuckled. “No, ma’am. It’s not that bad, and the benefits are pretty good.” They were. She had a gym subscription from Equinox she couldn’t use because she worked so much, oh, and free babysitting services she couldn’t take advantage of because she had no kids. Vivienne was living the high life.
“If you say so, ma puce.” There was a pause and then she heard her father’s voice in the background. “Oh, yes. Your father and I sent you a card for your birthday. Did you get it?”
She remembered the card well. It had arrived days before. A card that called her one of the best daughters they could have hoped for, and contained a check for five thousand dollars.
“Yes, thank you for the card, but I really don’t need the money, Mom.”
“Hush, sweetheart. Just put it into your bank account for rainy days. Parents exist to help their children. We just want to help you and Cassandre, yes?”
She was about to respond when the secretary suddenly motioned to her. “Ms. Carson will see you now.”
Nodding, Vivienne told her mother that she had to go.
Always intuitive, Evelyn asked, “Are you still working, ma chère? You work too hard—”
“I will call you later tonight, promise.” With that, she ended the call and stood.
“Just down the corridor. It’s the door at the end. She’s expecting you so just go right in.”
“Thank you.”
She turned and headed as directed. After knocking and awaiting a response, she and stepped through the door, her smile halting as her eyes came in contact with the tall man standing before a mini-bar in Ms. Carson’s office. Even from behind, in what was no doubt a suit whose caliber met or exceeded Arnold Hastings’, she recognized him.
***
It was by pure chance that Conall Athelwulf was in Rachel Carson’s office that evening. She was his Vice President of Acquisitions, and one of the few humans who sat on his executive board. The reason: she was very good at her job. After an hour-long conversation with her over his recent purchase of a hotel chain, he’d opted for a stiff drink of scotch before he headed back to Cedar Creek. Human-made alcohol did not inebriate werewolves unless downed in excessive amounts, and he’d liked the taste of scotch since the early twentieth century, when Sloan had introduced him to the stuff in the Scottish Highlands.
He’d just drained the glass when Rachel’s latest appointment entered, and with her, the scent that had haunted him for the past days.
After returning to Cedar Creek that night, Conall managed to run himself into exhaustion, and even succeeded in keeping her from invading his thoughts every second. But he still thought of her, of the things he would have done to her had she been were. And when thoughts like those struck him, it was hard to keep his focus off of her, off of those long legs he could picture locked around his waist as he took and gave her pleasure, off of that full bottom lip of hers he would bite while intimately locked to her.
And so, Conall tried another method that night: Samia. It hadn’t worked. As she tried her hardest to please him with tongue and hands, he’d grown bored, and dismissed her. Briefly, the thought of finding another female crossed his mind, but that too was dismissed. Conall didn’t want any other female; he wanted the human. And that was dangerous.
The glass clinked as he placed it beside the mini-bar and turned. Her eyes were wide, and he could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest under the unflattering white cotton blouse she wore. Similar black pants graced her legs, and short, stumpy heels were on her feet. Her face was devoid of makeup and although her hair was pulled back from her face, strands had come loose and framed her face, almost like a halo. She shouldn’t look sexy but she did, and he felt the urge to take her just as strongly as he had in the club. His irrationality was back.