Department of Paranormal Creatures & Activities. Present Day.
“Are you shitting me?” I muttered under my breath.
I just finished adding some new figures to the computer program I had Davian build for my latest research project. But nothing was adding up. People always said numbers don’t lie, but this couldn’t be right. No way.
“Miss Harbor,” a youthful voice interrupted, and I noted Steve, the new intern on his rounds to deliver lunches.
“Doctor,” I said, correcting the young man.
“Huh?” Steve squeaked.
“Dr. Harbor is a stickler for rules,” Gabe told our intern, and I rolled my eyes at him.
“He’s not wrong, Steve. Call me Dr. Harbor. Not Miss. I hold several doctorates on top of being a certified MD.”
“Wow. So you’re a real doctor?”
“Yes. I am a real doctor. I am also your boss. So, when you address me, call me Dr. Harbor,” I said, enunciating clearly.
Poor Steve just stared at me, unblinking, and I swore I could hear his heart beating a mile a minute. Where did they find these guys? I stopped myself rolling my eyes in his face, not wanting to give the kid a complex, but what the heck?
“Sandwich,” I said.
“What?”
“Steve, she ordered a roast beef sandwich for lunch. You are here to deliver it, right? Give Dr. Harbor her sandwich,” Gabe said, gently patting Steve on the shoulder.
“Yeah, Miss Doctor, um, I mean, Dr. Harbor,” he mumbled.
I would have felt bad about embarrassing him, but he’d interrupted my work, and I was a very busy woman. His cheeks were a burning bright pink color as he dug through the enormous cardboard box, he had balanced on the top shelf of a utility pushcart, with dozens of drinks stacked below it. It took him a minute, but he found my sandwich, wrapped in paper, and labeled with the obnoxious nickname the guys in the cafeteria gave me.
The Face.
“Tell that jerk Eddie that unless he wants me to slip something in his water supply that will make all his hair fall out to use my actual name and not this BS next time, got it?” I growled.
“Oh, boy. Okay, Steve, let’s leave the doctor alone now,” Gabe said, tugging on the kid’s arm.
Steve nodded, swallowing audibly as his gaze roamed over me in my fitted black pants and lab coat. It was hardly sexy attire, but if at thirty I wasn’t used to being ogled, I guessed I never would be.
Sigh.
“Thank you,” I said, waiting for the gangly young man to back the cart out so I could close and lock the door. “Gabe, can you please?”
“I am trying,” muttered my lab assistant. “Steve?”
“Huh?”
The intern was just standing there. His eyes had that daydream quality to them, all shiny and bright like he wasn’t even aware of his surroundings as he stared at my tits, or really, the place where my tits were, since I wore my lab coat buttoned practically to my throat. There was absolutely nothing provocative about my attire. Neither Steve nor anyone else could see a damn thing. Even so, he was staring as if I were laid bare like a goddamn centerfold.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“Steve!” I yelled his name, and he squeaked, and finally, his eyes met mine.
“Yes, Face. I mean, Miss, er, I mean Doc—”
“Get. Out.” I said through clenched teeth, and he nodded, taking off like a bat out of hell.
“Sorry, Dr. Harbor,” Gabe muttered, following Steve and mumbling something about having to chase his own lunch down the hall.
My stomach growled as the scents of rare roast beef and sharp cheddar cheese with coarse mustard, lettuce and tomato on a French baguette filtered through to my nose. Yum. I was starving. I hadn’t eaten anything all day and after being in the lab since four am working on my research, I was definitely ready for a break.
“Well, I see some things never change,” a growly, familiar, not to mention irritating, voice said.
I froze in the act of closing the door, wanting to slam it shut. I recognized the speaker. Of course, I did. It was him. The bastard who’d basically accused me of earning my job on my back and my knees rather than because of my brains and hard work.
Sure, I was the youngest person to lead a laboratory in the whole history of the DPCA, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t qualified. Something Asher Donnelly had to learn the hard way. Like when I broke one of my framed degrees I had hanging in my office over his fat Lion head.
Seriously, didn’t his neck get tired of having to hold that thing up? Never mind the added weight of all that ridiculously long, flowy, golden hair. Stupid sexy Lion Shifters and their stupid sexy manes.
He must go through a ton of conditioner a week.
“Scientists and philosophers would argue everything is always in a constant state of flux,” I quipped.
“Then why do they still call you the Face, Hotshot?” he asked in that same voice I wished I didn’t find so damn attractive.
I would never let him know how much that voice got to me. And I meant that in every sense of the word. Squeezing my thighs together whenever he was around had become a habit. Thank fuck for the Emotoblock spray I used every day before coming into work.
It was a little invention of my own. A spray that could block the particular scents Shifters and other supes identified with certain emotions. Really, how would it look if every male in the office knew how much I was repulsed by them? And on the flip side, this sexy as hell, totally infuriating house kitty was never going to find out just how much he turned me on. Not if I could help it.
“Did you need something, Donnelly? Or did you just come to stare at my big brain like the rest of your cohorts?”
Okay, I was being hella snarky, but the bastard brought it out in me. Really, it wasn’t all my fault. The man ruffled my fur like no one else ever could.
“Now, Hotshot, we both know that ain’t what they’re staring at,” he said with a pointed look at my legs.
“What? I’m wearing pants,” I balked, looking down at my slate gray ponte pants, and ignoring that fucking nickname.
For someone who’d basically accused me of being inappropriate with colleagues, he had no problem calling me whatever the fuck he wanted, as long as it wasn’t my actual name. Like Nova was hard to remember.
“Yeah, you’re wearing pants. They’re just painted on like a second skin,” he grumbled, followed by something that sounded like woman’s got legs a mile long, but maybe I imagined that.
Having him in my workspace was bad enough, but having him witness that little exchange was downright humiliating. I wanted to be taken seriously, and that was difficult when everyone looked at you like they were surprised you could speak and stand at the same time. What was it about pretty people that everyone expected you to be dumb?
This asshole.
“Oh, please. Like you should talk with your man-jeggings,” I retorted, secretly loving the way he filled out his jeans with super thick thighs a professional rugby player would envy.
I was through with allowing men to dictate how I dressed. I’d changed myself once for a man, and there was no way I was ever doing it again. So yeah, even after the whole bar incident when I’d just started at the DPCA, I dressed the way I always did. I liked fashion. Sue me.
But I always steered clear of leggings and skirts, finding they caused way too much unwanted attention in the lab. Paired with my white lab coat, I saw nothing wrong with the thick, stretchy material of my fitted yet stretchy pants. They were professional and comfy. A total win-win in my book.
“What the fuck is a jegging? These are Levi’s,” he growled, staring down at the denim straining to contain his enormous legs like he couldn’t figure out what I was talking about.
“Oh, um, you got a little,” he muttered, looking back at me and I squeaked as I grabbed my napkin.
Fucking. Squeaked.
My inner Fox hung her head in shame as I hurried to clean myself up. What the hell was I doing?
Drooling, Nova. You were drooling, my Vixen seemed to say from that space inside my mind’s eye where she existed until I swapped skin for fur.
Shit. I wiped my mouth and cleared my throat, looking back at my sandwich. I really didn’t want to get caught ogling his man parts in all that dark denim, but good lord, I had eyes, dammit. How was I supposed to ignore all that smexy?
The man was seriously built. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he spent all day at the gym, but nope. That magnificent body of his was just another perk of being an apex predatory Shifter. Lions were top of the food chain everywhere, and there was no doubt in my mind Asher Donnelly was king of his jungle.
Why that irked me, I didn’t want to know. I had some sense of self-preservation to keep my feelings guarded even if from myself. Animal attraction I could handle. It wasn’t like I was in charge of my body’s natural reactions to a person. I could only be held accountable for my actions in response to those reactions. So I made sure I didn’t act. Not ever.
Anything having to do with Asher Donnelly in a non-work scenario was strictly off limits. The man hated me. He could not stand me at all. The one and only time we interacted outside of the office, I’d barely asked him to have a drink with me and not only had he shot me down cold, but he did it loudly and in front of the whole damn office.
That stuck up pussy cat went so far as to report me to human and non-human resources department. Nothing happened, really. But I was given a warning about the inappropriateness of workplace romances. The research department was drooling for my input on their projects, so they let it go. Chalking it up to me not having had any knowledge of the DPCA’s policy on interoffice dating.
Since the supernatural world ran on magic and mates could pop up literally anywhere, there was no official ban on office romance. Apparently, you could date a co-worker as long as he or she or they were not in a position of power and only if both parties consented—which was weird to me because how did you date someone without their consent?
Anyway, I was also told I couldn’t flirt or even talk to a co-worker about anything other than work if he or she or they did not want to. Also, if she or he or they was an unbelievable asshat.
Guess which one Asher was? Did you say asshat? WINNER WINNER!
Seriously though, I was humiliated one month into this job and for the past three years, I did my work and went home. The end. No more after office hours drinks. No parties. No socializing. In fact, I did everything I could to avoid any interaction with DPCA officials, but mostly, I just wanted to steer clear of the big, stupid pussy.
“Did you have anything else you wanted to talk about or was it just pants? Perhaps you’d like to criticize my shoes or my blouse?” I asked, picking up my sandwich and taking a large bite.
“Anyone ever tell you to take human bites?” he asked, eyebrows raised.
“Not really, since everyone around me is supernatural,” I replied with my mouth full of meat and cheese.
Normally, I had better manners than that, but screw him. He didn’t deserve my manners. In fact, I doubted he’d recognize what they were.
“I didn’t come to talk fashion, Hotshot, though I’m sure you’re more than competent.”
I sucked in a breath at the insult. Was that all he saw when he looked at me? He knew damn well how qualified I was for this position. But it wasn’t enough. Some people thought being pretty meant everyone handed you everything, but they didn’t realize there was a dark flip side to that little quirk.
You see, people don’t forgive pretty people for not being perfect. They tend to judge and criticize. When you are under a microscope, everything you do is ridiculed. I recalled the pressure of my younger days. High school and college were the worst.
Being smart wasn’t enough, and it did nothing to ease the social pressures of looking the part. Asher Donnelly should understand. He should be more sympathetic. He was born a Shifter, and not just any Shifter, but a Lion Shifter, and I knew what that meant. He was a prince among his people.
The fact I only grew curious about Lion Shifters after I had met Asher Donnelly was a secret I would take to my grave. I knew all about their Prides and politics. Talk about barbaric. Sure, like wild lions, Lion Shifters lived together in groups called Prides, but unlike their wild cousins, they allowed multiple males to remain under one group.
The need for diversity in order to breed healthy young was a must. Arranged pairings for the sole purpose of making cubs was a practice that still occurred in the 21st Century, and I shuddered to think how many times he’d been put out to stud.
My magic hummed in my veins, but I closed my eyes, willing it away. I kept my Witch side under wraps, force of habit from back when I was a child and the local Wolf Pack had put a ban on magic. No one at the DPCA asked about my status as a hybrid, and that was fine by me. I wasn’t exactly bosom buddies with anyone there, and some stuff was simply personal.
“Come on, Hotshot. Let me at least see that face when I talk to you—”
That was it. I’d had enough. This judgy motherfucker had an entire Pride full of females taking care of his furry ass and he was going to give me shit for something I had literally zero say in. He could fuck right off.
“Well, since all I am is glitter, it makes me wonder why you’re even here. You know what? Scratch that. I don’t give two shits what you’re doing here, it’s my lunch break, Donnelly. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out!” I growled.
“Look, I came here for a reason—”
“Too bad, so sad. Out to lunch.”
“You’re not out,” he corrected, and I rolled my eyes.
“My body might not be, but my mind is.”
I’d opened my reading app on my phone and scrolled, doing my best to ignore him, while I pretended to be engrossed in the book I was currently reading. Of course, I’d stopped the deliciously smutty billionaire romance book at the precise moment the hero had the heroine naked and writhing beneath him. I tried not to let it affect me as I took another massive bite of my sandwich.
Fuck. It was good. But not even the perfectly balanced culinary delight could make me unaware of him.
“What are you reading?”
Asher’s spicy male scent grew stronger as he moved closer to me. The rumbling hum in his chest sent vibrations through the air, but I’d learned to school my features not to react. He was just so big. So much. So everything. It wasn’t fair that he had this kind of effect on me, but life was rarely fair. Asher Donnelly was a real man’s man. All the men wanted to be him. All the women wanted to fuck him. Come to think of it, half the men wanted to fuck him, too.
I had no idea what his personal life was like, and it kind of bugged me I didn’t. I mean, was he one of the guys who got asked to go for drinks with the crew every weekend? Probably. Did he take dates to those bars? Maybe. I wouldn’t know. Aside from the occasional invitation from a few acquaintances, I was one of those people no one wanted as a friend. Especially not my peers. Gabe said it was because I intimidated people. But whatever.
The sound of him clearing his throat reached my ears, and I paused in the act of taking another bite and looked at him slowly. My face was devoid of emotion, and once again, I thanked the gods for giving me the brains to come up with Emotoblock. It was the best damn invention I’d ever made, allowing me to hide my emotions from super sniffing Shifters.
“Look, I know you have something important to do, so can you say what you have to say and leave? I only take like ten minutes to eat.”
“Dammit, Hotshot,” Asher grumbled, wiping a hand over his face. “I didn’t mean to start an argument—”
“And yet you always do,” I replied.
“Can’t figure out why yet?” he asked, golden eyes glowing with his beast.
“What are you talking about, Donnelly?”
“Why don’t you ever call me Asher?” he asked, canting his head.
“What are we friends now or something?”
He stood a moment longer, just looking at me like he was disappointed or waiting, but I had no idea why or what for. I refused to put my sandwich back down. I had no appetite left and was really just using it as a bread wrapped meat and cheese shield.
“No, Hotshot. We aren’t friends,” he whispered, and his words cut like a blade. “But I need you dressed and ready tonight at 8.”
“What?!” I yelled, but he just kept walking away.
“8 o’clock, Hotshot. On the dot.”
And poof, the fucker was gone.