Page 72 of Pack Choice

And that is fine.

Perfectly fine.

Dandy. Peachy. Ay okay.

I’m not interested in a lone wolf anyway.

Certainly not one my brothers are employing to protect me.

He is right. It was a mistake.

And I have my date with Pack Sensible tonight. That’s what I should be focussing on.

But it’s hard, because as much as I try to find the radio station and the traffic fascinating, Ford’s face is a hell of a lot more mesmerizing. My gaze keeps straying back to him, darting away whenever he peers my way.

He looks almost … sad. Like his voice was. But I don’t understand why.

Probably worried about his job.

I huff a little and fold my arms, utterly relieved when we hit the center of town and claim our usual parking space.

I wait for him to open my door and attempt my usual trick of darting away. This morning, though, Ford’s ready for me, a firm hand landing on my shoulder, that has all sorts of memories from last night re-circulating in my mind.

He does have nice hands. Nice, skilled hands.

Big and warm and strong and …

“Molly?” I blink up at him. Is he going to take it all back, tell me actually he’d like to bundle me into the car and drive me home to his bed. “No running away today, okay? We still don’t understand who caused that accident last night or what their intentions were. I need you locked by my side all day. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

Right … that … I should have guessed.

“Sure,” I say brightly, sliding my shades onto my face even though the sun hasn’t even risen yet, and gripping my purse.

There’s no Colt waiting for me by my desk today but he’s out of his own office and towering over me in a flash when he hears us enter.

“What are you doing here?” he barks.

I glance at my watch. “It’s 8am exactly. I’m here for our morning meeting.”

“You should be home, recuperating.”

“That’s what I told her,” Ford grumbles.

“I’m fine and I’m not missing a day of work in my first week.”

“But how is your arm? How are you feeling?” Colt asks, eyes racing all over me anxiously. Then his nostrils flair and his eyes halt, before dashing up to my face. The next thing I know, he has me by the wrist and is dragging me into his office, slamming the door right in Ford’s face and bolting it shut.

“What the hell are you doing?” Ford demands, pounding on the door.

“Having a meeting with my assistant – in PRIVATE!” Colt yells back.

“Open the door!” Ford rattles the door knob so hard I think the whole wall might come crashing down.

“Ford,” I say with exasperation, “it’s fine. Colt – unlock the door.” Colt glares at me. “He’s going to break the thing down if you don’t.”

Colt glares some more, then muttering under his breath, slides the bolt back.

The door swings open immediately and I plant myself resolutely in Ford’s path.