Page 3 of Wrong Number, Right Fox (Dial M For Mates #6)

GARNER

“Today’s the day.” I was talking to myself. Even my fox was snoozing, having no interest in our company.

I’d spent a sleepless night, tossing and turning, getting up to pace the floor, my toes curling into the carpet. I’d chugged a bottle of water and stared at the night sky, wondering if Dad was up amongst the stars with the goddess.

On my computer were estimates of what I needed from a business consultant and what I predicted it would cost after trawling websites and chat rooms. After reaching out to former college classmates, I’d been recommended a firm run by a fox shifter.

Not that I had any objections to working with humans, but if someone was going to be poking their nose into the division’s every nook and cranny, it would be easier if they were a shifter.

The initial inquiry was waiting patiently in my outbox—not that one email locked me into a deal, but before I hit send, I had to be committed to following this through to the end.

If I pulled the plug in the middle because I was worried about money, I’d have solved nothing, be left with a large bill, and at a dead end.

Finally, at five in the morning, I sent the email, hoping the MD would check his messages first thing. To have sent the inquiry and not hear back would be agonizing and I might flood their inbox with questions, or worse, call them.

But as I was heading out the door to work, my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, but that wasn’t unusual. New clients often didn’t waste time with an email, they phoned, especially if a current customer had recommended us.

As I walked to the car, I opened the laptop to the information I might need if this was an inquiry. I was so focused on who I assumed the caller was that I missed his name, but he was from Denmarke Solutions. Ahhh, the fox shifter consulting firm. I applauded how he got den into the name.

“I received your email and I’d like to meet you today if that’s possible.”

Today? I wondered if I’d made a mistake. Who had enough spare time that they would schedule a meeting in a few hours? Maybe they were crap at their business and were desperate for clients.

“I have a lunch meeting close to your office and could see you around two?”

That he was going to be working close by gave me a little more confidence that maybe he was booked and busy. But this was so quick, I wasn’t ready. I wanted to ease into it, like a swimmer getting into cold water, rather than diving in head first.

But I heard two voices in my head. Dad telling me to trust my gut and Booker sneering at me for dithering.

My gut was empty and needing breakfast, so I didn’t trust it to give me guidance.

Instead it was Booker in my head telling me I was destroying Dad’s legacy that spurred me to accept a two o’clock meet-up.

The conversation ended, and instead of driving straight to the office, I stopped for coffee and a croissant, eating them in the café rather than getting takeout.

I took my time nibbling and sipping my latte while people-watching.

Whenever I wasn’t at work during the day, I’d study passersby, wondering why they were out and about rather than being cooped up in an office.

Maybe they were thinking the same about me.

“You’re late.” Of course Booker had to be hovering when I arrived, brushing pastry crumbs off my tie.

I ignored him, because if I gave an explanation, he’d continue badgering me.

“Sleep in?” He was pushing to find out why, and I wasn’t giving him anything.

I shoved him out of the way and closed the door, delighted at his folded arms and slack-jawed expression. Maybe I should ignore him more often.

The hours sped away as I prepared what the business consultant would need before making a decision.

I flipped through my notes and found his name.

Harold. After printing out reams of information, I skipped lunch and regretted it because my tummy grumbled just before two.

I made do with a stale cereal bar I discovered at the back of a drawer.

Yuck. But if the meeting went well, I’d celebrate with Chinese food.

My assistant buzzed that Joss McLain was on his way up. Who? I got on the phone, telling him to put off Mr. McLain because I had a prior commitment.

“He says he has an appointment. He’s from Denmarke Solutions.”

“Oh.” Perhaps Harold couldn’t make it or he thought I wasn’t worthy of his time and had sent an underling. Damn! We hadn’t met and already there was a sinking feeling in my belly. Thank gods no money had been paid.

I got up and opened the door. Yikes. So many thoughts demanded my attention while my body swayed and my legs buckled. I leaned against the door, thanking it for making me not look like a fool who fainted. I’d probably make an idiot of myself later, but at least I was still standing. Or sagging.

My fox, who’d been bored by my earlier frantic activity, pricked his ears and urged me to shift.

No! Not in the office . Our employees were mostly shifters, but there were humans in the warehouse, not that our first meeting would likely include a visit to where we housed our goods.

“Joss McLain.” He stuck out his hand, and I stood there, not shaking it but staring at his jaw, his parted lips, and how he wore the heck out of his suit rather than the suit wearing him.

“You were expecting me?”

“Yes.” I recovered enough to get one word out. “Yes.” But I messed up by repeating it. I was making the worst first impression, and if he tried to leave, I’d grab his coat and beg him to stay.

“Garner.” I had a family name, but it was just out of reach. It’d come to me, hopefully in the next few seconds. “Come in. Coffee?” Please say yes because that would give me an excuse to step outside while instructing my assistant.

You can’t let him leave . My fox was prepared to take his fur and leap on the guy.

He’s human.

Why did my life have to be so complicated? Not only was the business at a crossroads but I’d just come face to face with my mate and he had no idea who I was and that I had a fox secreted inside me.

“No, thanks. I’m hyped up on caffeine from my lunch.”

I steeled myself not to glance at his crotch to see if a part of him was up.

“You weren’t expecting me.” It was a statement, not a question. “I can tell by your face.”

I was glad there was no mirror in my office because I expected I’d worn a multitude of expressions in the seconds since we met. I imagined them as a great melting pot, swirling over my face and confusing Joss.

“Harold. I thought it was Harold I was meeting.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Mmmm. Maybe Harold introduces himself as Joss on the phone just to mess with people’s heads.”

He was messing with mine, both the one on my shoulders and in my pants.

“Sorry, I was doing two things at once when you called.” Gods, not the way to start a relationship, business or otherwise, by making an excuse. I should have apologized and left it at that.

“Would you prefer to deal with Harold? I’d assumed as you emailed me that it was my expertise you wanted.”

I needed his expertise so badly. Did he give blow jobs that were rated as 10+? And what about kissing or fondling, not to mention being penetrated and tightening around me?

“No, I hope my reaction didn’t give you the wrong impression.”

Joss tilted his head, our gazes locking on one another. He was killing me and he had no idea what he was doing.

“You have a problem you need me to solve.”

Why did he have to put it like that? Yeah, I had a number of them, and only one of them was to do with the business. My head was spinning, I was sweating, and my pants were too small to contain my arousal. But unless Joss was ready to get naked and bend over, none of those problems would be erased.

So, I sat behind my desk to hide my crotch. My voice trembled as I ran over what I needed, and I handed him the points I’d listed that needed immediate attention.

“You need me to build a system from the ground up.”

I nodded because I had to conserve my voice, not wanting to squeak or rasp or twitter.

Foxes don’t twitter . My beast was indignant that I was comparing myself to a bird.

Just watch me .