Chapter 3 3

Nobody survives a room like this by flinching first. That's the only rule that matters.

I feel him before I look   Jeremy Silverhowl, sizing me up like a problem he hasn't solved yet. Six men at this table, six suits worth more than my old rent. He's the only one who looks like he lost a fight with his own shoulders.

"Coffee, sir? What would you like?"

Black eyes. A beard trimmed too deliberately to be casual. Faint creases at his eyes are the only proof he's in his thirties and not something ageless wearing a man's face.

He doesn't answer right away. The silence stretches. Something flickers gold in his stare   there, then gone.

Lighting. Has to be.

"Triple espresso." His voice drops low enough that I feel it in my chest.

I nod, filing it away, still catching up to the fact that I'm standing in front of Jeremy Silverhowl. Technically I answer to Lyra, his assistant   though "assistant" is generous for someone three weeks into a job she inherited by accident when her boss got fired on a Friday.

Right now Lyra's circling her desk like a woman drowning, digging through folders with zero idea which "financial reports" he means.

She doesn't have them. I can tell.

This is a test.

Fine. We'll pass it   right after I survive six coffee orders. Nobody's losing their job on my watch.

Not today.

I memorized all three hundred and fourteen pages of the employee handbook on the train ride here. Every name. Every title. Know your order before you walk in the room.

The Brit goes first. "Large red-eye. Extra cream. No sugar." Damien Hayes   everyone calls him Ryker.

Silas doesn't look up from his laptop. "Flat white. Tall."

The dimpled one leans back, testing me. "You're seriously not writing this down?"

I smile instead of answering. "I've got it."

"Okay then." He drags it out, savoring it. "Caramel ribbon crunch, extra whip."

I nod. Move to the next chair. He stops me.

"Wait   change that. Two pumps of chocolate, nothing more."

Two orders later, he does it again. "Actually   large latte breve, extra shot." A wink, uninvited.

"Got it." I finish the round and get out before anyone else decides to play.

Lyra's still at her desk, mouse clicking like it owes her money. "IT's resetting my old boss's login so I can pull the reports," she says without looking up. "Coffee run   can you? Café's right outside."

"Go. I've got this."

The line eats ten minutes I don't have. I keep my face calm anyway. Panic never solved anything.

I balance two overloaded trays back through the lobby, kick the conference door open, and walk in right as Lyra's handing out folders.

I start setting down cups.

Kieran frowns at his. "This isn't my flat white."

For one second, I actually panic. Did I mix something up?

Then I catch it   Silas's mouth twitching, losing a fight not to smile.

Setup. Obviously.

"Should've written it down," Kieran says, tossing a look toward Silverhowl like he's presenting evidence.

I'm the evidence.

"I'm good, actually." I tap two fingers to my temple. "Caramel ribbon crunch with whip. Tall decaf mocha, two pumps. Large latte breve, extra shot. In that order." A beat. "Happy to redo it if I got something wrong."

There might be an edge in my voice. I let my hip rest against the mahogany.

"Or was the coffee never really the point?"

Someone snorts. Silas gives up on the smile entirely.

I reach over and turn Kieran's cup so the label faces him. "Guessing this isn't your first time bullying someone smaller than you."

The whole room shifts   six polished executives collapsing into something closer to a dorm common room. "Ohhh, she bites," someone laughs. Ryker grins. "About damn time somebody handed it to him."

Kieran rounds on Silverhowl. "You're not going to say anything?"

"Say something?" Silverhowl crosses his arms, and unfairly, it draws my eye straight to the muscle in his forearms. His gaze lands on me. "Why would I stop her from putting you in your place?" A pause. "You. Corner, with Lyra. That memory's wasted pouring coffee."

I roll a chair next to Lyra, tucked in the shadow by the door. "For a second I thought that was punishment," I mutter.

She bites back a laugh.

Silverhowl's gaze flicks toward us   probably nothing   and my stomach does something entirely inconvenient anyway. Not nerves. Not fear of losing this job on day one.

Just the strange thrill of being noticed by him at all.

Jeremy POV

Telling her to stay had no good reason behind it. None I'd admit to out loud.

But that murmured "punishment" comment went straight through me.

I picture it instantly   her bent over my desk, palm print blooming pink across her skin, that voice of hers breaking into something needier.

Not happening. I don't touch humans. Full stop. Staff are off the table, no exceptions. You don't hunt what you can't keep.

I force my eyes back to the report in my hands. Lyra I need in the room   questions might come up. Her assistant? No functional reason to keep her here. The only reason I can name is that she's entertaining, and that scent of hers has taken up residence in my chest like it's paying rent.

It's the eye contact that sticks with me. I don't lower my gaze for anyone   not since the first shift, when my wolf came out already too dangerous to test.

But she held it like she didn't even know what I was.

And that's when I smell it underneath the coffee and the nerves and the cheap hotel soap on her skin  

Something that isn't human at all.