Page 22 of Grin and Bear It (Enchanted Falls #2)
TWENTY-TWO
T hree hours and four meetings later, Thora’s patience had evaporated completely. The tether linking her to Artair forced her to trail him through Maxen Enterprises headquarters like some kind of corporate plus-one. Every time they entered a new conference room, the whispers started again.
“That’s the sabertooth who tackled him in the square...”
“She’s actually quite pretty for a bounty hunter...”
“Do you think they’re really tethered, or is this some weird mating ritual?”
Thora gritted her teeth and ignored them all. She’d spent her life being whispered about—first as the orphaned shifter child, then as the woman sabertooth in the male-dominated bounty hunting world. Gossip couldn’t touch her.
Still, by the time they reached a mercifully quiet corridor, Thora’s bladder had other priorities besides her reputation.
“I need a bathroom break,” she announced, interrupting Artair’s conversation with a department head.
He glanced at her, momentarily pausing his discussion about marketing strategies. “We’ll finish this later, Marcus.”
The other man nodded and retreated, casting one last curious glance at the golden tether between them.
“There’s an executive washroom down this hall,” Artair said, gesturing to an unmarked door. “It should give us more privacy than the main facilities.”
Privacy . As if that word had any meaning when magically tethered to six-plus feet of bear shifter.
The executive washroom resembled a high-end spa more than a toilet. Marble countertops gleamed under soft lighting, fresh flowers sat in crystal vases, and plush hand towels were stacked in artistic pyramids.
“Do bears need luxury to pee?” Thora murmured, scanning the opulent space.
Artair’s lips twitched. “No, but it impresses the human executives.”
The unexpected humor surprised her. She’d pegged him as all business, no personality.
The awkwardness of their situation was suddenly very uncomfortable.
“This is ridiculous,” Thora muttered.
“The tether won’t stretch more than ten feet.” Artair ran a hand through his dark hair, disturbing its perfect arrangement. “I’ll... stand outside the stall.”
Heat rushed to Thora’s face. “Absolutely not.”
“Do you have a better suggestion?” His tone remained practical, though she noticed a muscle twitch in his jaw. “The magic isn’t giving us many options here.”
He was right, damn it. “Fine. But you turn around and face the wall.”
“We’ll manage like adults,” he agreed, stepping into the bathroom behind her. “I promise I won’t look.”
“You’d better not,” she growled, backing toward the nearest stall, keeping her eyes on him until the last possible moment before ducking inside.
Even with the door closed, she knew he stood just outside, perhaps five feet away. Thora had faced down werewolf gangs and rogue vampire covens without flinching, but this—this uncomfortably intimate situation with a man she barely knew—made her want to crawl out of her skin.
“This is mortifying,” she hissed through the door.
“Think of it as an unconventional team-building exercise,” he replied dryly.
A startled laugh escaped her. “Is that your corporate training talking?”
“Would you believe my sister used almost the same tether spell on our family’s cats when they wouldn’t stop fighting? They became best friends within a week.”
Thora snorted. “Are you comparing us to feuding cats?”
“If the claw marks on my antique chair are any indication...”
She rolled her eyes even though he couldn’t see her. “That was different. Your Peterson guy was undermining you in front of your entire team.”
A moment of silence followed. “You noticed that?”
“Hard to miss. Corporate politics has a scent all its own.” Thora finished and wished desperately for a way to avoid the next awkward moment. “I’m coming out. Keep your back turned.”
“As promised.”
She opened the door to find Artair dutifully facing the wall, his broad shoulders tense. Thora hurried to the sink, washing her hands with unnecessary focus.
As she reached for a hand towel, a strange shimmering sensation ran through the tether. The golden cord, normally flexible between them, suddenly contracted with a violent jerk.
“What the—” She stumbled backward as an invisible force yanked her away from the sink.
Artair, caught by the same magical contraction, lurched toward her. His reflexes were impressive—hands shooting out to catch her arms as they collided.
For one suspended moment, they froze. Thora became acutely aware of everything at once: the solid wall of muscle beneath her palms, the heat radiating through his expensive suit, his woodsy scent mingled with something sweet like honey.
His heartbeat pounded against her fingertips, strong and rapid. This close, she could see flecks of gold in his dark eyes, widened with surprise and something deeper, more primal.
Her sabertooth stirred, muscles relaxing into his hold even as her human brain screamed at her to pull away. Their faces hovered inches apart, his breath warm against her cheek.
“I—” Whatever Artair meant to say died on his lips as their eyes locked.