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Chapter 8

Horace

I have Carina’s website switched over to my server in ten minutes flat.

By the time I’m done, I’ve not only rewritten her entire ordering system, but I’ve made it scalable, flexible, and so smooth it practically purrs .

But— and this is important —I stay within the boundaries of what she actually wants.

No unnecessary bells and whistles.

No overcomplicated tech nonsense.

Just pure, streamlined efficiency designed to support what she’s already built.

And maybe one or two hacks, just so I can keep an eye on things.

She’ll never notice and it’s for her own good.

Really, it is.

Judging by her business model and menu, what she’s built is a damn good plan—one that hinges on a thriving lunch delivery service to take Pizza Girls to the next level.

So I make sure her system is compatible with every delivery service out there— UberEats, DoorDash, Postmates, you name it.

But I also optimize her in-house delivery because why should some third-party app take a cut of her profits?

Nope. Not on my watch.

And then, because I’m on a roll, I set up a whole separate ordering system for corporate accounts—because trust me, companies love a set-it-and-forget-it approach to feeding their overworked employees.

Speaking of which.

I go ahead and create an account for Vanderbilt Systems .

And, oh look , I immediately sign us up for a bi-weekly lunch plan provided exclusively by Pizza Girls .

Total coincidence.

Nothing to see here.

The first order? Something Carina has on the menu as a “Hero & Pizza-palooza”, which is exactly what it sounds like— a glorious spread of pizzas and overstuffed hero sandwiches.

The second? The “Appy Salad Bonanza.”

Now, before you ask—no, this is not some weirdly happy salad .

It’s hot appetizers, like gooey mozzarella sticks, crispy chicken fingers, and enough dipping sauces to make anyone question their life choices—all served alongside trays of Caesar and their signature antipasto salads.

And because Vanderbilt already pays for our employees' lunches every day, this isn’t even a blip in our budget.

But it will help my girl out.

Yeah. My girl.

Shit.

Carina is not my girl.

Just thinking it makes my Bear growl.

Because let’s be real—I ran straight toward trouble the second I walked into this pizzeria, and now I have a standing order to keep coming back.

No regrets.

Well. Maybe.

No. Absolutely not.

Because she is not my girl.

I repeat that to myself at least six more times, like some kind of personal mantra, before finally summoning the courage to pick up my phone and dial downstairs.

It rings twice before— she picks up.

“You’ve reached Pizza Girls, where it’s always love at first slice! What can I do you for?”

Fuck.

It’s her.

Carina.

My brain short-circuits. My heart pounds like I just ran a marathon, which is absurd, because I could literally shift into a Bear and take down a full-grown elk, but this woman —this sweet, curvy, dangerously charming woman—has me on the ropes.

I try closing my eyes to regain control, but all that does is make things worse, because now she’s all I see behind my eyelids— smiling, laughing, licking pizza sauce off her finger— no.

No.

NO.

I shake my head violently like that’ll somehow dislodge her from my brain.

I have to be insane to be thinking about her like this.

Didn’t I learn anything from my father’s mistakes?

Humans and Shifters do not get happily-ever-afters.

It’s a disaster waiting to happen.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

Shit.

I forgot to talk.

I fumble the phone like a complete idiot and finally manage to clear my throat.

“Uh, yeah, it’s Horace. Um, from earlier? With the computer?”

“Hi! I recognize your voice,” she says and waits a beat, “so, did you want something to eat, or?”

She says it so easily, like it’s nothing, like she isn’t completely unraveling my composure with a single damn sentence.

And I swear, I can almost hear her smiling.

This might be the first genuinely nice person I’ve ever met.

And it is killing me that she’s so sweet.

Because I can’t have her.

And I really want to maim any bastard who can.

I swallow hard.

Focus, Horace.

“Um, I finished your website,” I say, a little too quickly.

“You did? Awesome! I’ll check it out right now, then I’ll bring you up something yummy to say thanks.”

Oh no.

Oh yes , my Bear chuffs.

Oh hell no.

Yummy. Nibble. Bite.

And there goes my cock.

Betrayal. Utter betrayal.

“Um, no need,” I say hastily, already hating myself for it. “I’m still pretty, um, full from earlier, but you can email or text me any questions you have, okay? Gotta run. Bye-bye.”

And before I can stop myself, I blurt it all out in one breath and slam the call ended button like my life depends on it.

I drop my phone onto the desk and drag my hands down my face.

What the actual hell is happening to me?

I don’t know, and I don’t like it. Not one bit. One thing is certain, I can’t be near that woman again.

Good thing I have plenty of work to keep me busy, right?