Chapter 1
492words
"Mr. Kingsley?" A thin woman with glasses that cost more than my rent appeared. "Mr. Lawson will see you shortly. HR paperwork first."
Two hours of signing my life away later, I was being led to the CEO's office. Morris Lawson. The business magazines called him "brilliantly boring"—twenty-seven, obscenely wealthy, and about as exciting as unseasoned chicken.
"He's in a... meeting," the assistant said, hesitating at his door. "Wait here."
She scurried off, leaving me alone in the hallway. The door wasn't fully closed. Just a crack, but enough. I'm not proud of what I did next, but curiosity is my fatal flaw. I peeked.
What I saw defied explanation.
Morris Lawson—the epitome of corporate restraint—was hunched over his desk, breathing heavily. His suit was messy and his tie loose.
But it was his face that froze me in place. His face was bright red, sweat dripping down his forehead, and his eyes looked unfocused. His eyes glowed amber, actual fucking amber, with pupils blown wide with need. What appeared to be... fur?... was sprouting along his jawline. He seemed to be in pain, fighting against some powerful urge.
His lips parted, revealing the hint of fangs, each breath ending with a soft whimper that hit me straight in the gut. The way his muscles strained against his shirt as he gripped the desk made my mouth go dry.
This wasn't the cold CEO everyone feared. This was raw, primal need in human form. And despite every rational thought screaming to run, I felt myself drawn to him like a moth to flame. I wanted to see more. And I know this is my Alpha instinct.
He growled—not metaphorically, an actual animal growl—and slammed a fist on his desk, cracking the wood.
"Control it," he muttered to himself. "Control. It."
I must have made a sound because his head snapped toward the door with inhuman speed. Our eyes locked. His pupils contracted to pinpoints.
I did what any rational adult would do. I pretended I saw nothing and knocked loudly.
"Mr. Lawson? Noah Kingsley, your new Marketing Director."
By the time he said "Come in," he looked normal. Almost. A slight tremor in his hands, a sheen of sweat on his forehead.
"Kingsley." His voice was controlled, deep. "Welcome aboard."
I smiled my most charming smile. "Pleasure to finally meet you, sir."
"Don't call me sir," he said flatly. "Morris is fine."
As I sat across from him, I noticed scratch marks on his desk that hadn't been there in the photos from last month's Forbes profile.
"Are you feeling alright?" I asked innocently.
His eyes narrowed slightly. "Perfectly fine. Why do you ask?"
"No reason," I lied. "Just being polite."
What the hell had I just witnessed? And why was I more intrigued than terrified?
