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“I received your email and I’d like to meet you today if that’s possible.”

Today? I wondered if I’d made a mistake. Who had enough spare time that they would schedule a meeting in a few hours? Maybe they were crap at their business and were desperate for clients.

“I have a lunch meeting close to your office and could see you around two?”

That he was going to be working close by gave me a little more confidence that maybe he was booked and busy. But this was so quick, I wasn’t ready. I wanted to ease into it, like a swimmer getting into cold water, rather than diving in head first.

But I heard two voices in my head. Dad telling me to trust my gut and Booker sneering at me for dithering. My gut was empty and needing breakfast, so I didn’t trust it to give me guidance. Instead it was Booker in my head telling me I was destroying Dad’s legacy that spurred me to accept a two o’clock meet-up.

The conversation ended, and instead of driving straight to the office, I stopped for coffee and a croissant, eating them in the café rather than getting takeout. I took my time nibbling and sipping my latte while people-watching. Whenever I wasn’t at work during the day, I’d study passersby, wondering why they were out and about rather than being cooped up in an office. Maybe they were thinking the same about me.

“You’re late.” Of course Booker had to be hovering when I arrived, brushing pastry crumbs off my tie.

I ignored him, because if I gave an explanation, he’d continue badgering me.

“Sleep in?” He was pushing to find out why, and I wasn’t giving him anything.

I shoved him out of the way and closed the door, delighted at his folded arms and slack-jawed expression. Maybe I should ignore him more often.

The hours sped away as I prepared what the business consultant would need before making a decision. I flipped through my notes and found his name. Harold. After printing out reams of information, I skipped lunch and regretted it because my tummy grumbled just before two. I made do with a stale cereal bar I discovered at the back of a drawer. Yuck. But if the meeting went well, I’d celebrate with Chinese food.

My assistant buzzed that Joss McLain was on his way up. Who? I got on the phone, telling him to put off Mr. McLain because I had a prior commitment.

“He says he has an appointment. He’s from Denmarke Solutions.”

“Oh.” Perhaps Harold couldn’t make it or he thought I wasn’t worthy of his time and had sent an underling. Damn! We hadn’t met and already there was a sinking feeling in my belly. Thank gods no money had been paid.

I got up and opened the door. Yikes. So many thoughts demanded my attention while my body swayed and my legs buckled. I leaned against the door, thanking it for making me not look like a fool who fainted. I’d probably make an idiot of myself later, but at least I was still standing. Or sagging.

My fox, who’d been bored by my earlier frantic activity, pricked his ears and urged me to shift.

No! Not in the office. Our employees were mostly shifters, but there were humans in the warehouse, not that our first meeting would likely include a visit to where we housed our goods.

“Joss McLain.” He stuck out his hand, and I stood there, not shaking it but staring at his jaw, his parted lips, and how he wore the heck out of his suit rather than the suit wearing him.

“You were expecting me?”

“Yes.” I recovered enough to get one word out. “Yes.” But I messed up by repeating it. I was making the worst first impression, and if he tried to leave, I’d grab his coat and beg him to stay.

“Garner.” I had a family name, but it was just out of reach. It’d come to me, hopefully in the next few seconds. “Come in. Coffee?” Please say yes because that would give me an excuse to step outside while instructing my assistant.

You can’t let him leave. My fox was prepared to take his fur and leap on the guy.

He’s human.

Why did my life have to be so complicated? Not only was the business at a crossroads but I’d just come face to face with my mate and he had no idea who I was and that I had a fox secreted inside me.

“No, thanks. I’m hyped up on caffeine from my lunch.”

I steeled myself not to glance at his crotch to see if a part of himwasup.

“You weren’t expecting me.” It was a statement, not a question. “I can tell by your face.”

I was glad there was no mirror in my office because I expected I’d worn a multitude of expressions in the seconds since we met. I imagined them as a great melting pot, swirling over my face and confusing Joss.

“Harold. I thought it was Harold I was meeting.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Mmmm. Maybe Harold introduces himself as Joss on the phone just to mess with people’s heads.”