Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha-Chapter 72: Strange Warning

Our small group shuffles into the dimly lit establishment, the sound of clinking glasses and raucous laughter an assault on my introverted nerves. Mike, ever the gentleman, pulls out a chair for me at a high-top table. How chivalrous.

"Allow me," he says with a wink that makes my skin crawl.

I slide onto the seat, hyper-aware of Mike settling in beside me. His arm snakes across the back of my chair, a move so cliché I almost laugh. Almost.

"What’s your poison tonight?" he asks, leaning in close enough for me to catch a whiff of his cologne. It smells familiar. Like the kind of cologne half of the men in the office would wear.

Not enticing and unique like Logan.

Logan. The thought of him sends a pang through my chest. What I wouldn’t give for him to walk through that door right now and rescue me from this nightmare.

"I’ll have a whiskey. Neat," I reply, scooting forward until I’m perched on the edge of my seat. No accidental touching for you, Mike.

As more of our coworkers trickle in, the atmosphere shifts. Conversations bloom around me, a welcome distraction from Mike’s attempts at small talk. I nurse my drink, content to fade into the background.

"Did you hear about the shakeup at SED?" someone asks, their voice carrying over the din.

My ears perk up. Supernatural Enforcement Division drama? Now that’s worth listening to.

"Yeah, word is there’s some major conflict with the higher-ups," another voice chimes in. "Something about budget discrepancies and mishandled cases."

I take a slow sip of whiskey, savoring the burn as it slides down my throat. This could be interesting.

"I heard they’re doing a full audit," a woman from accounting adds. "Rumor has it they’ve found some weird inconsistencies in the books."

"Speaking of weird accounting," Mike interjects, apparently having given up on his attempts to woo me, though his arm remains on the back of my chair, "anyone else notice how messed up things got after Scott died?"

The mention of Scott’s name sends a chill down my spine. I grip my glass tighter, willing myself to stay calm.

"Oh yeah," someone else pipes up. "Like he was cooking the books or something, right? Numbers don’t add up all over the place."

My mind races. Scott, involved in financial shenanigans? It doesn’t track with the man I thought I knew, but then again, I had no idea the SED was interested in his family.

No, wait. Not the SED. Logan’s little "faction" was interested in him. But then why would the SED... Ah, forget it. Time to analyze later. I’ll just listen and absorb tonight, nursing my single whiskey.

"Maybe that’s why he got offed," a gruff voice suggests. "Pissed off the wrong people with his creative accounting."

The conversation devolves into wild speculation, each theory more outlandish than the last.

As the night wears on, the alcohol flows freely and tongues loosen. I remain quiet, absorbing every tidbit of gossip and rumor. It’s amazing what people will say when they think you’re not listening.

"You know," a slightly intoxicated coworker slurs, "I always thought there was something off about Scott. Too perfect, you know? Like he was hiding something."

Interesting.

"Yeah," another agrees. "And now all these discrepancies are coming to light. Makes you wonder what else he was into."

I drain the last of my whiskey, which is mostly water by this point.

"Yeah. Nicole, tell us the truth. Was he brutal behind closed doors? I bet he was abusive, wasn’t he? You can tell us the truth."

All eyes turn to me, and I feel the weight of their gazes. Nightmare fuel for any introvert.

"I think," I say carefully, "that we shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Scott’s not here to defend himself, after all. Why don’t we all wait to see what comes out in trial?"

A few people nod in agreement, while others look disappointed by my diplomatic response. Sorry to burst your drama bubble, folks.

"Always the voice of reason," Mike says with a chuckle, and I swear I can feel his fingers brush against the back of my neck.

"I need to go to the bathroom," I announce, standing abruptly. "Anyone else?"

Silence. Not a single offer of companionship. The women avoid my gaze, suddenly fascinated by their drinks or the peeling varnish on the table. Message received, loud and clear. I’m still the outsider, the one they tolerate but don’t embrace.

It’s not like I wanted company anyway. I just want to get away from Mike.

I weave through the crowded bar, dodging elbows and narrowly avoiding a collision with a waitress balancing a tray of neon-colored shots. The restroom door creaks as I push it open, and I’m hit with the pungent cocktail of disinfectant and stale urine.

Never thought I’d be grateful for that particular aroma.

I lean against the sink, gripping the porcelain edge. My reflection stares back at me, eyes a little too wide, a little too haunted. I look like a woman on the edge, and maybe I am.

Life’s been too stressful lately. ƒгeewebnovёl.com

I turn on the faucet, letting the lukewarm water run over my hands. It’s unnecessary, but I need to look busy in case anyone decides to check on me. As if they would.

A flicker of movement in the mirror catches my eye. I freeze, my heart leaping into my throat.

There, reflected in the grimy glass, stands the panther shifter. No, not-a-shifter.

I whirl around, water droplets flying from my hands. "This is the women’s restroom," I blurt out, because apparently, that’s the most pressing issue my brain can latch onto right now.

His lips quirk in what might be amusement, but his eyes remain serious. "Be careful tonight, Nicole."

My mind races, a thousand questions fighting to be asked first. How did he get in here? Why is he following me? What does he know?

But before I can voice any of them, he’s gone. The bathroom door swings shut, and I’m left alone with the dripping faucet.

I grip the edge of the sink again, my knuckles white. Be careful tonight. What the hell does that mean? Careful of what? The coworkers who treat me like a pariah?

I splash some cold water on my face, hoping it will clear my head. It doesn’t. When I look back in the mirror, my reflection seems even more frazzled than before.

I can’t hide in here all night.

I dry my hands and face, resolving to go home early. Better than getting involved in anything strange. I don’t need any more suspicious accidents around me.