Page 12

Chapter 12

Harlow

I straighten my skirt and remove my jacket as I walk into my office, the smell of the leather chair wafting through the air.

I hang my jacket on the hook on the wall before taking a seat behind my desk. My eyes scan the now familiar space, taking in the neatly organized files and the framed photos of the entire LA Raiders team on the walls, holding up the Stanley Cup from a few years ago.

Just as I’m settling in, my colleague, Emily, pokes her head into my office. “Hey, Harlow, want a coffee?” she asks, holding up a cup.

I smile, grateful for the caffeine boost. “Yeah, thanks, Emily. That would be great.”

As she hands me the cup, I ask, “Hey, do you know if Carver Sinclair signed up for the team? ”

My stomach flips just thinking about him. I haven’t seen Carver for three days—since Friday evening. He called me but I stayed home the entire weekend, consoling Freya, who’d had a run in with a dick of an alpha at Club Midnight.

“Oh my god, that man is gorgeous. You dated his brother, didn’t you?” Emily’s eyes light up.

“Yeah.”

Her face turns a shade of pink as she mumbles, “Sorry. I forget he did the dirty on you.”

I try my hardest not to grimace, and change the subject back to Carver. “I’m surprised the team managed it. He always told me he’d never leave New York.”

“We were surprised. The owner, Pierre, has had private meetings with Carver since he was a rookie, and offered him deals that would’ve broken records. I heard he’s the best. Not that Oliver Bradley enjoys hearing that, but he’ll get used to it. They’ll make the perfect team.”

I nod as I listen.

“And then, out of the blue, he contacted us a couple of weeks ago. Pierre met him at a secret location and the next thing he’s agreed to sign up, but New York refuses to release him early.”

A couple of weeks ago. Before we started texting.

“Can he change his mind?”

“He hasn’t officially signed on the dotted line yet. The club is still finalizing the details with him, but it’s looking good.”

I take a sip of my coffee, trying to process the information. A couple of weeks ago? That means he knew where I was pretty quick.

I do the math in my head, and a smile spreads across my face. He must have made arrangements as soon as I left New York.

“I wonder what changed his mind,” Emily muses as she opens the door. “Or who? ”

Me.

I bite my bottom lip as the thought sends a flutter through my chest.

He’s willing to upend his life for me, to follow me across the country, when he claimed he’d never leave his beloved Bears. It’s a lot more than his brother ever did for me. But can I really have a relationship with Carver?

I push the thought aside, focusing on the warmth spreading through my chest. For now, I just let myself feel happiness, and the sense of being wanted. I take another sip of my coffee, savoring the taste, and let out a contented sigh as I type his name into the database.

I scroll through the details of Carver’s contract, my heart racing as I read the details. The numbers blur together, but one thing stands out—it’s the largest contract ever offered to a hockey player.

My breath hitches. He was offered money like this before and he refused to leave New York.

He’s doing this for me.

As I scan the perks, I notice they’re paying for a rental in the Hills for him for a few weeks. My fingers hover over the keyboard as I click on the address, and the screen fills with images of a stunning modern house perched high above Los Angeles.

There are floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Pacific Ocean, and a shimmering pool bathed in the afternoon sun.

I lean closer to my screen, captivated by the view and everything that comes with it—the city glimmering in the distance, that sprawling expanse of blue stretching endlessly.

I scroll down further and pause at the security features listed. “24/7 surveillance,” “gated community with guards,” and “secure perimeter.” It’s like something out of a movie, too extravagant for everyday life .

My chest tightens; he must feel overwhelmed by all this change.

An unusual warmth spreads through me, tinged with an ache deep in my core that feels unsettlingly familiar. I brush it off, trying to focus on the screen in front of me, but it’s hard to ignore.

Then my phone buzzes on my desk, breaking my train of thought.

It’s Carver.

I answer quickly, feeling a rush of anticipation wash over me.

“Hey,” his voice comes through, smooth, like pina colada drizzling down your throat in the Caribbean. Strangely, like he smells.

“Hi!” I try to sound casual, even though butterflies flutter in my stomach.

“Are you looking at my contract yet?” he asks without preamble. He chuckles. “I know you won’t be able to help yourself. Do you know about the deal?”

“I do.”

“What do you think about the house?” He sounds both eager and uncertain. "Do you like it?"

“It’s...a lot.” My heart races again as I wonder how much he really wants this life.

“It is,” he admits quietly. “But it could be worth it.”

“Do you really want to leave New York?”

“I’ll follow you anywhere.”

His words send another jolt through me; warmth pools in my belly, mixing with that odd ache again.

“Would you follow me anywhere?”

“To the end.” He is quick to answer.

My heart pitters against my breastbone.

“Have lunch with me at twelve. I’ll pick you up,” he says.

“Carver—”

“Harlow. You know we’re going to be together. ”

“We can’t. Colton—”

“Fuck Colton. He stole you from me when we were kids. I told him you were mine, and he took you, regardless. And I stood back all these years and waited for him to fuck up, and he did. Now—”

“Okay,” I murmur.

He sighs down the phone. “I’ll be there at twelve. But make sure you look at the whole contract, including my agent.”

He hangs up, and I quickly scan through the contract and press my hand over my heart, and gasp.

My name is in black and white next to his.

At 11.57 am, there’s a low purr of an engine outside. I push out of my chair and stroll to the window, and my heart stutters as Carver steps out of a sleek black sports car with that confident swagger he has.

He walks to the front of the car, leans against it, and checks his watch. He wears black trousers that cling to his muscular thighs and a matching shirt, the top button undone, revealing a hint of his collarbone. My gaze wanders to a tattoo peeking out from under the sleeve, bold and striking against his skin.

I can’t help but bite my lip as he looks up at my office window and curls his finger at me with a big smile on his face.

I return his smile. I can't help it.

I grab my purse and leave with much quicker steps than I imagined I’d have .

“Thank you for agreeing to have lunch with me,” he says, his voice smooth as silk. He smiles as he opens the passenger door, a flash of surprise hitting me. Not sure why, Carver has always been a gentleman. That only seems to change in the bedroom.

I slide into the seat, feeling the plush leather hug my body. As he moves to buckle me in—my cheeks heat with irritation—I snap, “I can do it myself.”

He just chuckles softly, leaning in closer than necessary as he clicks the belt into place. “Not today. I’m going to take care of you.”

My pulse quickens at his possessive words. Something that makes my insides twist with excitement, but also with confusion.

I feel eyes on me.

But not Carver’s—the feeling comes from my right.

I glance around for a moment, expecting to see someone else in the vicinity. Then I glance upward and see Asher standing by his clinic window. His gaze pierces through the glass, locking onto me like a hawk eyeing its prey. The intense way he stares makes my stomach twist.

“What’s wrong?” Carver asks, noticing my shift in demeanor.

“Nothing,” I lie too quickly.

Carver raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press further. He starts the engine and we disappear from Asher’s sight.

But Asher’s look lingers in my mind—the concern mixed with something else I can’t quite place—and it gnaws at me as the city whizzes by outside my window.

“Do you like the house?” he asks.

“It’s beautiful,” I tell him.

“Good, I picked something I thought you’d love to live in.”

The restaurant buzzes around us, but all I can focus on is Carver. He leans in closer, his warm gaze never leaving mine as he reaches for my hand. The moment our fingers touch, a spark jolts through me, and I can’t shake the warmth pooling low in my belly.

“How’s work treating you?” he asks, his thumb gently stroking the back of my hand.

I swallow hard, trying to concentrate. “It’s going well. Coach Parker is…interesting,” I say, a laugh escaping my lips.

“Interesting how? Does he scare you?” Carver smirks.

“No! Not like that.” I can’t help but smile back at him. “He just takes his job seriously.”

“Do you want to stay there? Or get back into sports management,” he replies with a grin that makes my heart flutter.

“Why did you do that? Why did you put me down as your agent? You could’ve saved yourself a fortune. You negotiated your own contract.”

His fingers wrap around mine more tightly, and a shiver runs down my spine. “You deserve it.”

Tears coat my eyes, feeling not only flattered but overwhelmed by everything he gives me.

“Are you okay?” Carver’s voice drops low as his brow furrows with concern.

“Yeah,” I say too quickly. “Just—”

My breath hitches as he leans closer to whisper something only for me .

“I’ll never push you about your omega status again,” he says softly, holding my gaze steady. “I can wait until you’re ready.”

His words hang between us like a fragile thread that could snap at any moment. It is terrifying that Carver thinks I'm an omega. His omega. I would love that. I could have what he wants to give me, but the moment he finds his true omega, I'll be left alone once again. Because I'm not an omega.

But what if he is right?

I shake my head. I can't be.

“If I’m an omega, I’ll need a pack.” I test him. Carver has never sought a pack, nor found other alphas who I could imagine him being in a pack with. Not like Colton did. I know Colton and Jenson will form a pack in the end–or already.

His gaze never wavers as he leans in, the warmth of his body radiating towards me. “If you’re an omega, and you need a pack,” he says, his voice steady. “I’ll find one for you. But first, you need to present as an omega.”

“Present?” My heart races, confusion swirling in my mind.

“Yeah. Until that day happens, it doesn’t matter.” He brushes a thumb across my knuckles, and I can feel the weight of his words sink in. “Until that day, you’re all mine.”

I pull my hand away instinctively, though my body yearns to keep his contact. “How do I present as an omega if I don’t know if I am an omega?”

He sighs softly, frustration flickering across his face. “I don’t know. Give in to your instincts.” He shrugs.

“I’m not an omega.” The words come out sharper than I intend, and are laced with acceptance.

“Then why do you smell like one?” He raises an eyebrow, leaning closer as if he can see into my very soul .

My breath hitches again as his scent wraps around me—the pineapple and vanilla are light today, but the coconut and rum are so intoxicating and powerful it’s hard to think straight.

“I just don’t aspire to be defined by some label,” I say, trying to hold on to my resolve.

“Labels matter when it comes to instincts and packs, to omegas and alphas,” he insists gently but firmly. "You know that."

“You think I’m pretending to be an alpha?” I whisper.

Carver’s eyes soften as he says, “No, I’m starting to believe you think you are one. But did you have any medical procedures when you were younger?”

I glance around the bustling restaurant. Hearing the clinking of glasses and murmur of conversations fading into white noise as I focus on him and shake my head. “None that I remember.”

His eyes narrow as his cross his arms, and he leans back slightly but keeps his eyes locked onto mine. “Then we figure it out together. But you took my knot, Harlow. You took it like you owned it. And I know you were always too scared with Colton.”

I press my legs together, thinking about how that felt. How my body sang as he locked himself inside me. I’ve thought about it often. Imagining his dick so deep inside me, he locks his knot and keeps us together for hours.

One side of his lip turns up in a smirk. “You want it again, don’t you? You might deny being an omega, but your body knows—your pussy knows.”

“Oh god.”

A slow smile spreads across his face, but before I answer, a photographer rushes to our table. Before I can process it fully, they snap our picture .

Carver’s expression shifts instantly. His jaw tightens and anger flares in his eyes as he pushes his chair back and strides toward the photographer. “Get lost!”

I rush to his side and pull him away. “Leave it.”

Carver throws money on the table, takes my hand and we rush from the packed room and to his car.

“Are you ashamed to be seen with me?” I ask as we drive away.

“What? No!”

“Then why are you so upset?” My voice wavers slightly.

“I’m ready for the world to know about us,” he replies firmly, searching my eyes. “But I know you’re not. You’re the one who’s ashamed and you shouldn’t be.”

I look away. He’s right. I am ashamed of craving my ex’s brother, but how do I tell Carver he’s not the only alpha I’m starting to crave.