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I’m pretty sure I’ve done a shit job of keeping the oh hell fucking no look off my face when the asshat in front of me purses his lips, a red flush spreading up his neck to his cheeks. Now, it may be important to note that the aforementioned asshat is my boss, Jack Howser—bane of my existence and the man responsible for me being stranded here alone. Chicago is a wonderful city, but it’s seventeen hundred miles away from everything that matters. With no pets, no boyfriend, and no family, there are two people in my life that make that distance damn near intolerable: West Carter and Cadence Parker—my best friends and sisters from other misters.

My eyes roll at the fuming man in front of me. “That’s hilarious, Jack. What’s my real assignment?”

He clears his throat and straightens his god awful tie with the bright yellow hibiscus flowers on it. His wife should be ashamed of herself for letting him out of the house looking like a circus clown rather than the Editor-In-Chief of the Chicago Daily News .

“This isn’t a joke, Mitchell. Moira just quit, and we need someone to take over her weekly column. This is your chance to prove you have what it takes to be one of our head columnists.”

“You and I both know that her column is nothing more than a place where whiny mama’s boys bitch about their inability to snag a suitable mate.”

“On the contrary, it’s one of our most popular features. Moira built LoveStruck: Advice from The Romantic from the ground up. Her readers are voracious.”

“Her readers need lobotomies.”

He growls. Of course he does. Dude’s a Beta who seriously wishes he was an Alpha.

“It doesn’t help that the name is lame as hell. Can I change it?”

“Mitchell…”

“It should be something like…” I tap my pen against my lips. “LoveStuck: Romance for the Unromantic.”

“Why do I put up with you?”

“Because I’m damn good at my job even though we both know I’m not qualified for this. Isn’t there anyone else who could take it?”

His eyes narrow. “You either take this column or you can kiss your career in journalism goodbye. Any hopes you had of transferring to the Sun Times , with the limited experience you have, would evaporate faster than water on the Arizona blacktop without a glowing recommendation from yours truly . You need me and I need you. Don’t make this harder on yourself than it needs to be.”

If I wasn’t one-hundred-percent certain that prison orange would clash with my skin tone, I’d kill him along with the smug grin that begins to form on his ruddy face. He’s got one thing right, though. I do need him, and that grates on my last nerve because I don’t need anybody. Except my besties, of course, because they’re stuck with me come hell or high water.

Sigh.

But romance ? Ugh! Gag me …and I wish I meant that in the dirty way.

“I don’t know shit about love or any of that mushy gushy pack garbage. You’re setting me up to fail.”

“You have two friends who’ve recently formed packs, and lord knows the three of you are always talking about things no boss should ever have to hear over a cubicle wall. Use them. Get their input. You’re an Omega, for Christ’s sake. There has to be a romantic bone in that body of yours somewhere, even if it’s buried under a pile of one-night stands and bad decisions.”

“But—”

“No buts, Mitchell. It’s this, or you can pack your bags. My decision is final.” He slaps a sheet of paper onto my desk. “This is a submission we just received. Read it, write an appropriate response, and have it on my desk by tomorrow morning. I’ll send all of the column information to your email, including how to retrieve submissions, after that. Don’t let me down.”

I slide my chair into the aisle and call out, “Can I at least change the name?”

He walks down the hall, whistling like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Which I guess he doesn’t because he just dumped that heaping pile of garbage onto me . What did I do in a past life to deserve this?

“Sooo…” an amused voice says from the other side of the cubicle wall. “Never thought I’d see the day someone asked Elliott Mitchell to give romance advice.”

His head pops up over the gray barrier as he stands, staring down at me from his six-foot vantage point. His dirty blond hair is messily tousled like he’s been running his fingers through it, his beard—that’s a shade or two darker than his hair—perfectly groomed. The stark black glasses he pushes up with one finger are perched on a nose so perfect that it could’ve been chiseled by a master sculptor, and his hazel eyes are sparkling with barely concealed laughter.

My Beta assistant, Sy, is hot…not that he knows it. Quiet, shy, and a smidge awkward with a hint of nerdy-boy sex appeal, he’s completely oblivious to just how many women find that attractive. Hidden beneath the three-piece suits he favors is a body that’s just as pretty as his face. I’ve only seen it once, and only for the briefest second when he accidentally answered a FaceTime call as he was getting dressed, but that couple of seconds was just long enough to etch the image into my memory. Not that I’ll do anything about it, mind you. While my bedroom morals might be looser than Cynthia Kinney’s lips in the tenth grade, I do not shit where I eat, which means he’s off limits.

He’s also a friend, and in the last year, we’ve grown to be quite the team. He always knows just what I need, exactly when I need it, calms me down when the asshat is pushing all of my buttons, and doesn’t balk when West, Cadence, and I get a little raunchy.

The Sin Bin? Yeah, doesn’t even faze him.

Looking at him now, I wonder how I’m going to get us out of this mess. We haven’t discussed what my impending relocation will mean for him—whether he’ll stay at CDN or if he’ll move on to something else—but I want to make sure that no matter what happens, he’s got something solid lined up before I go. And that means if I shit the bed on this, it could reflect poorly on him, too.

Fuck!

Crossing my arms over my chest, I know I should worry about wrinkling my expensive silk plum-colored blouse that makes my boobs look fucking fantastic, but I can’t find it in me to give a damn at the moment. Nerves are threatening to rise up and choke me, which isn’t a feeling I’m particularly familiar with.

I peer down the hall to make sure Asshat isn’t in earshot. When I turn back, Sy’s eyes dart up to mine, and he swallows nervously. Before I can ask him what’s wrong, he nods at the paper.

“So… What’s it say?”

My eyes scan over the short passage, and I can’t help but release a frustrated laugh. “Yeah, there’s no way I can make this work.”

“Read me the passage, Elliott.”

Dear Romantic,

I’ve been searching for a pack, but more specifically an Omega, for what feels like years. Unfortunately, whenever I find myself in front of one, biology takes over. You see, I’ve never knotted anyone, let alone an Omega before, and my body gets a little… excited . My knot swells, and the barest hint of friction almost has me embarrassing myself. What are some tips or tricks that I can employ to ignore the pheromones and perfume in order to make a lasting connection with someone?

Sincerely,

Bust A Knot

Sy blinks, then grimaces.

Yeah. I am so screwed.

I throw my arms in the air, frustration riding me hard.

There’s a dirty joke somewhere in there, but it’s no surprise I don’t even bother to find it right now.

“Fuck my life. I need a solution. Stat! ”

“I don’t think there is one. With Moira gone and Lena on maternity leave, the options are slim. I mean, they had to be if Jack gave it to you .”

My eyes narrow. “Whose side are you on here?”

“Yours. Always. You know that.” My mouth opens, but he’s not finished. “But you’re also smart enough to know that I’m right. You’re the last person who should be giving out romantic pointers to miserable people searching for their one true love. Unfortunately, you don’t have a choice. You heard him. If you want that recommendation, let alone a job, you better pull up your big girl panties and figure out a way to get your brain into romance-mode even though I’m pretty sure they skipped that option the day they handed out your personality traits. Somehow, it was replaced with the sex-drive of a teenage boy.”

I hate it when he’s right, and he is…often.

“It’s not like you’re any better. You got shorted on both! A woman talks to you, and you hide behind your glasses and awkward excuses until you can escape. When was the last time you got laid, anyway? You’ll be of no use to me.”

“I get laid regularly, thank you very much,” he balks, a bright flush covering his cheeks.

One brow rises as I cast a skeptical glance in his direction. “Is that so? And why haven’t I heard anything about these secret hook-ups of yours?”

The flush gets darker. “We’re not discussing my love life right now. We’ve got to figure out a way to make this work, which is why you should listen to Jack. Talk to West and Cadence. Maybe they can even get you in touch with Bexley and Arden. You’re going to need all the help you can get.”

Something between a sigh and a groan leaves my lips as I slouch back into my chair and push off the ground with the heel of my nude platforms. The chair spins as I stare up at the ceiling, watching the stained tile above my desk twirl like a shit-colored kaleidoscope. Next to the shower, spinning is the best way to focus.

“I still don’t understand how you don’t vomit everywhere when you do that. Just watching you makes me nauseous.”

“I’ve done some of my best thinking like this.”

“Like the time you told West it would be a great idea to go on a date with the pack who had an Alpha that was a sex therapist because surely a man like him would be smart enough to find her clit?”

I halt the chair’s spinning, letting my head fall to the side so I can glare up at him.

“I thought we agreed to never bring that up again.”

He shrugs. “Felt like a valid time for a reminder.”

“How was I to know that he had more book knowledge than hands-on experience?”

His eyes roll. “Elle, just call your friends.”

It’s not that I don’t want to. I do. We’ve missed our last two calls because of our busy schedules, and we’re overdue for some girl talk… But this is my problem. Not theirs. They’re both busy with their new packs. West is working with the Heat’s marketing team during the off-season to get up to par by the time she fully takes over the reins—not to mention, growing a baby—and Cadence is helping Bex and Arden with the latest series on TheOmegasGuide PackChat profile. They don’t need my stress on top of theirs.

“I know what you’re doing. Don’t. They’re never too busy for you.”

My head cocks to the side as I study him. “How in the hell do you do that?”

His lips slowly curve up, a dimple appearing on his cheek. “It’s one of my many skills.”

For a second, I just stare at his handsome smile, fighting the strongest urge to ask him what other skills he has. Then I wonder if he really did fuck someone and not tell me. Then I wonder who it could’ve been. When I feel the teensiest flutter of something in my belly, I immediately squash it into dust.

Don’t go there, Elliott.

Maybe I’m the one that needs to get laid. It’s been…what? A month? Two? As I start to think back, I slowly realize it’s been closer to six months, which is an unusual stretch for me. The last few times I went to my favorite Beta pick-up spot, no one caught my eye despite there being plenty of attractive, no-strings-attached, willing men.

“Look, I can see you’re deep in thought over there. I’m going to go grab us lunch while you sort through this existential crisis we’re experiencing. Maybe by the time I get back, you’ll have it all figured out.”

His heavy footsteps round the corner of the cubicle, heading away from me. I push the chair out far enough that I can lean into the aisle. His navy pinstripe pants fit snugly around an ass that is way more enticing than it has any right to be.

Shaking myself out of whatever the fuck this is, I call out, “But you didn’t ask what I wanted.”

His footsteps slow, and he grins over his shoulder, that damn dimple appearing again. “A turkey bacon Brie grilled cheese with a cup of mac ‘n cheese if they have it. It’s your go-to comfort food when you’re stressed.”

Without another word, he turns and walks toward the bank of elevators at the far end of the hall.

But seriously, how in the hell does he do that?

My phone dings at my desk. The new text in our group chat draws me out of my increasing awareness of the one man I have no business lusting after.

Saved by the fucking bell.

West: We need a virtual girls’ night. I’m losing my mind with these fuckers. If they say the H-word one more goddamn time, I’m going to end up behind bars. Please don’t let me go to jail. My baby can’t be born in prison.

I quickly type out a reply.

Me: H-word? Which one are we talking about? Horny? Be more specific, Carter.

Cadence: Are you kidding? Girl gets more sex now than she did before. They can’t get enough of her and her changing scent.

West: Why do they blame everything on hormones? Can’t they see that sometimes they’re just insensitive dumbasses? Albeit, dumbasses that are getting fucked regularly.

Me: You packed them up. As far as I’m concerned, it’s all your fault.

West: Well, aren’t you ever so helpful?

I smile because it’s always so damn easy to get under her skin. Maybe Sy is right. Why suffer alone when we can all suffer together?

Me: A call would be good, actually. I could use some advice.

Cadence: West! Pigs can officially fly.

I roll my eyes, but I also chuckle.

Me: Oh, shut it, Miss Blissed Out on Love. Just because your life’s perfect, doesn’t mean the rest of ours are.

Cadence: Actually, my life is pretty perfect. Let’s plan a call so I can tell you everything that’s wrong with yours.

Me: Hilarious, Parker.

Cadence: But seriously, I have some news to share with you girls anyways.

Me: What? Is there another secret relationship you haven’t told us about? Who is it? That paperboy you used to flirt with to make Barrett jealous when we were teens?

Cadence: Sometimes I hate you. But no…something way better than another secret lover.

West: Good. I’m not sure I could’ve handled another one of those tbh.

Me: I don’t know. A secret lover is starting to sound like it should be at the top of my priority list right now.

West: No, whore. Top priority is moving to Arizona. Don’t fuck up our plans. You can find a secret lover here. I’m sure I’ve got a cousin or something waiting in the wings.

I snort. Yeah, no.

Me: Tonight at 9 pm Chicago time. Work for everyone? I know preggers can’t stay up past 7 pm these days.

West: I’m growing a human. Piss off. But yes, works for me, because you’re also not wrong.

Cadence: Works for me. I’ll chat at you bitches then. Off to go wrangle a stubborn Alpha into retirement.

Me: Is wrangle code for fuck senseless?

Cadence: How’d you know?

West:

I set the phone down with a smile, ready to tackle this romance shit and figure a way out of this mess. Reading back over the submission, I cringe. This poor guy isn’t gonna get himself laid, let alone find his soulmate, with advice from me. Hell, I don’t even believe in that sort of thing. Romance is just a construct created by some miserable asshole to make otherwise rational people feel like they’re missing out on something. Some live for it. Most don’t understand it. And neither knows what the hell to do to breach the divide.

With a deep sigh, I tap on my laptop, bringing the screen to life. The rhythmic sound of my fingers drumming along my desk helps quiet my brain as I think about what West or Cadence would say to this poor schmuck.

“It’s fine. Everything’s fine. I’ll just type out a response and read it to both of them tonight. They can critique it and give me some pointers. You can do this, Elliott. Just think of the most cheesy, ridiculous thing your best friends would do and go with that. It’s a no brainer.”

My fingers click clack against the keyboard, and words splash onto the screen. I don’t worry about perfection. For now, it’s just about getting something down onto digital paper. My best friends will have my back just like they always do.

I’m going to make this column my bitch!