Chapter Six

Alexander’s POV

Silence.

Heavy, choking, sharp-edged silence.

Brandon’s voice still echoed in my head, cold as the damn thermostat he kept set to Arctic Torture.

“I don’t pay you to gossip about me, do I, Mr. Alexander Kingsley?”.

I hadn’t even turned around yet. Couldn’t. My entire soul had fled my body.

Mia looked like she wanted to throw herself out the window. Jake had visibly paled, and for a second I thought he might actually pass out.

Then, slowly—like he was savoring every syllable—Brandon spoke again.

“And what about you two?” he asked, his voice deceptively smooth, like silk pulled over the blade of a knife. “Do I pay you to stand around someone else’s desk and waste time? Or is it Bring Your Gossip To Work Day and no one told me?”. This has to be the first time I was hearing Alpha Brandon Cole speak so many words.

Jake stiffened beside me. “Uh. No, sir. Just—uh—passing by.”

“Passing by,” Brandon repeated, like the words physically offended him.

Mia set her mug down like she was defusing a bomb. “We—we’ll get back to our departments, sir.”

Brandon’s eyes slid over to her, slow and measured. “That would be wise.”

She bolted. Jake gave me a look of pure regret—equal parts “good luck” and “I hope you survive”—before following her down the hall.

And then it was just me.

Still standing. Still staring at my screen like it could save me. Like Excel would suddenly open up and swallow me whole.

I could feel him looking at me. That quiet, lethal stillness of his.

I slowly turned around.

He was standing with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable—sharp jaw, unreadable eyes, and not even a hair out of place. The man was carved from marble and rage.

“Is that what you think of me?” he asked, low. Dangerous.

I swallowed hard. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“Oh, I think you did,” he interrupted smoothly. “Moody. Grumpy. Rejected by my mate. A… what was it? ‘Dickface’?”

My soul left my body again.

“I was just—joking,” I said weakly.

He raised an eyebrow. “Was that before or after you imagined me shirtless?”. He asked, making a gesture with his long-fucking smooth finger.

I stared at him. Absolutely stunned. No words. Not even a sound before it finally sinks in.

Oh god.

He heard everything.

“I… didn’t know you were there.”

“No,” he said, voice dropping even lower, “you didn’t.”

He stepped forward, close enough for the scent of his cologne to short-circuit my brain, I bit the urge to let out a groan—moan because why does he have to smell like a fucking pastry—such delicious scent. His eyes flicked down to my mouth, then back to my eyes.

“For someone who claims to find me so unbearable,” he murmured, “you spend an awful lot of time thinking about me…. Shirtless”.

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Just air and regret. The room felt suddenly too small, the walls closing in as his words hung heavily between us.

I swallowed hard, my pulse pounding in my ears. “It’s not like that.” If he doesn’t step away soon, I might end up getting myself fired just to get a sniff.

“No?” He pulled back just enough to search my face, his gaze intense. “Then tell me, Mr. Kingsley, what is it like?”

I opened my mouth, but words failed me. How could I possibly articulate the tumultuous mix of frustration, attraction, and confusion that he evoked in me?

He leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper.

“My office. Now.”

And with that, he turned and walked away—perfect, infuriating, and completely in control—leaving me with a racing pulse, a throbbing… problem, and the cold, hard realization:

I was in trouble.

Big, Alpha-sized, suit-wrapped trouble.

I took a moment to compose myself, drawing in a shaky breath before rising on unsteady legs. The walk to his office felt interminable, each step weighed down by apprehension.

His door stood ajar, a silent invitation—or perhaps a challenge. I pushed it open fully, stepping inside.

Brandon stood by the expansive window, hands clasped behind his back, gazing out at the cityscape. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the room, bathing it in a warm glow that contrasted starkly with the chill emanating from him.

“Close the door,” he instructed without turning.

I did as told, the soft click of the latch echoing ominously.

“Sit.”

I perched on the edge of the chair opposite his imposing desk, feeling like a schoolboy summoned for reprimand.

He finally turned, his piercing eyes locking onto mine. “Do you enjoy working here, Alexander?”.

The use of my first name sent a jolt through me. He rarely, if ever, used it.

“Yes, sir,” I replied cautiously.

“Good.” He moved to his desk, leaning against it, arms once again crossing over his chest. “Then I trust you’ll refrain from indulging in such… unprofessional conversations in the future.”

I nodded, shame washing over me. “It won’t happen again.”

A tense silence settled between us. I shifted uncomfortably under his unwavering gaze.

“Is there something else, sir?”.

He studied me for a moment longer before speaking. “This business trip. I expect nothing but the utmost professionalism. Understood?”

“Of course.”

“Good.” He pushed off from the desk, moving to stand directly before me. “Because I won’t tolerate distractions.”

I met his gaze, the intensity there sending a shiver down my spine. “Neither will I.”

A flicker of something—surprise? Amusement?—crossed his features before he schooled them back into impassivity.

“Very well. You’re dismissed.”

I rose, inclining my head slightly before making my way to the door. As I reached for the handle, his voice stopped me.

“Alexander.” Oh fuck!

I turned, heart pounding.

“Change of plans. We leave first thing tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

I stepped out into the corridor, exhaling a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.