Page 187

A LITTLE MOORE

CONNOR

I’m at work,neck deep in payroll and wishing I could learn to fucking delegate when my phone buzzes on the desk. Again and again and again.

Son of a bitch.

Don’t even need to check to know it’s Moore. Since the build started, he’s been up my ass daily. Despite our conversation and thethreeemails I’ve sent to remind him, he refuses to call Sawyer. Instead, he wastes my fucking time at all hours of the day, as usual.

I haven’t gotten more than four hours of uninterrupted sleep since the project started and I’ve started hallucinating him chasing me around with my cell.

I pick up the phone, knowing I can’t put this off. “Connor Morgan.”

“Why did it take so long to answer?”

“Because I’m working, and you’re not supposed to be calling me at all. What do you need, AJ?”

“I don’t like your tone, and I don’t like your little errand boy. If I wanted to deal with a peon, I’d go somewhere else. I come to Morgans tospeakto a Morgan. Am I clear?”

“Crystal,” I grit, wishing for the millionth time I could just punch the kid and get it over with. “What do you need?”

“I was thinking, what if we did NOS and, like, some flashing lights on the roof?”

Jesus wept. “Those lights are for emergency vehicles only. As for the NOS, are you planning to race the Cheveau?”

In Pacifica, speed boosts are illegal unless they’re used on the track. The old muscle car is a little heavier than most racers, but we could probably make it work.

Moore oozes impatience. “No, I just think it would be fun to have.”

Shocking. “Are you thinking short shots of nitrous oxide or long ones?”

“Definitely long.”

Of course. Shorts would work with the car as is, but anything more will require reinforcing the engine and potentially reconfiguring the fuel setup. “Well, that’s not something we can give you. Shorter bursts would be an option, but they’re only legal?—”

“I don’t give a shit about legal, Connor. I want NOS in the car, exactly how I asked for it.”

“That’s not possible,” I try again. “It’s illegal unless?—”

“Why are you bothering me with something that’s your problem?” he snaps and my patience snaps with it.

“If you want NOS, we’ll give you what’s legal and only that.” If the cops pull him over and he tattles that we did the nitrous system, Morgan Restorations is over. The fines they’d level on us would be catastrophic.

“I could take the car to someone else after,” Moore wheedles.

“Then you can put them out of business instead of me.”

“You’re such a pussy, Connor. Just get it done.”

I quote him for the new change—including a surcharge for how fucking stupid he’s being—and try not to throw my phone when he hangs up on me.

Seems like every day, I wonder his bullshit is worth it and every day, I’m leaning closer tono.

Tuesdays and Thursdays, I tell Daph I’m working late when I’m really meeting my therapist.

Bridget Ellis is maybe five feet tall, red-haired and absolutely littered with bonding marks. I learned in our first meeting that she’s part of a pack of seven, with two omegas and a fuck ton of kids. Her alpha, Felix, stands in the corner as her legally required security. He’s also a therapist. The two say they see people together, but really, it’s so that confidentiality laws can remain in place while the omega is safely guarded by her pack.

As someone whohadan omega and is courting another, I can appreciate the creative solution. I still keep to one side of the room, just to ensure Felix doesn’t think I’m getting too close and rip my fucking throat out.