by Kali Argent
“Interesting, but ultimately, not a responsibility that would fall to you.”
“It should,” Charity argued. “Time is important, do you not agree, Director Wyeth?” She didn’t pause for a response before continuing. “Right now, your time is horribly mismanaged. I can change that.”
Mesa could change the arrangement of the blonde’s face, but she remained seated and said nothing. Frankly, she didn’t give a damn what Charity Swain had to say about her or the way she did her job. Raxcor liked their system, and Mesa liked making him happy. Beyond that, she didn’t see why it mattered who scheduled his appointments. Plus—and Charity couldn’t know this—Raxcor preferred to get most of his busy work out of the way in the mornings and leave the afternoons open for meetings.
Drowning out the husky feminine voice that filled the room, Mesa shifted slightly on the squashy cushion, watching Raxcor from the corner of her eye. On the surface, he appeared calm and collected, if maybe a little bored. He didn’t sit, though, a clear sign the interview wasn’t going well, and she could see the muscles in his jaw twitch every few seconds.
Though he maintained his distance, separating them by placing his desk between himself and Charity, he still created a striking, intimidating figure in his fitted, black uniform, consisting of a long-sleeved shirt, cargo pants, and boots. He’d pushed up the sleeves of his shirt so that the fabric scrunched around his elbows, showing off the rippling muscles and bulging veins in his forearms.
From a distance, his bronzed skin looked just like that of a human’s, but occasionally, when he moved, she could see the overhead lights shimmer off the translucent scales that covered his body. Like all Aleucian warriors, he towered over the humans in Hope, even the men, and each time he spoke aloud, she’d catch a glimpse of his elongated canines peeking below his upper lip.
He’d pulled his long, golden hair back at the nape of his neck, but a few strands had escaped the leather band, framing his handsome, angular face. His sapphire blue eyes sparked with anger, and his nostrils flared when his gaze landed on Charity.
Mesa had stopped listening, but clearly, whatever the woman was saying didn’t sit well with her boss.
“Do you have any questions?” Miss Swain asked, as if she herself were conducting the interview instead of the other way around.
Raxcor had heard enough.
Charity Swain was bold and overconfident, bordering on arrogant and toeing the line of obnoxious. While she possessed many of the qualities he admired in Mesa, Raxcor instantly disliked her. “Thank you, Miss Swain. We’ll be in touch.”
Mesa hadn’t said a word since Charity had entered the room, but at his verbal dismissal, an almost imperceptible smile curved one side of her mouth. Biting her lip when she caught Raxcor watching her, Mesa stood without comment, took Charity’s bag by the short strap, and sauntered gracefully to the door.
Clearly indignant about the abrupt end to the interview, Charity grasped her organizer to her chest and stood, smoothing out the wrinkles in her loose-fitting pants as she did. “Thank you for your time,” she responded curtly.
With an upturned nose, she crossed the room, snatched her bag from Mesa’s outstretched hand, and swept from the office with a quiet huff.
“See?” Mesa mused as she turned to face him. “You didn’t even need me.”
“I was charming.” It hadn’t been easy, and he wouldn’t have done it for just anyone, but it mattered to him that Mesa was pleased.
A wide grin stretched across her face, and her big, green eyes danced with merriment. “Yes, you were. I’m very proud of you.”
Again, her approval shouldn’t matter to him as much as it did, but his insides warmed and his cock twitched when she graced him with that special smile. Her lips parted again, and she inhaled as though preparing to say something else, but she stopped when the door of his office slid open once more, and Lieutenant Anson Wyeth stepped into the room.
“Hello, big brother.” He grinned widely, almost obscenely, showing off an impressive set of fangs.
Raxcor choked back an irritated growl as he surveyed Anson from across the room. “What is it now, Anson?”
His brother always wanted something, and every time he showed up unannounced, it meant more trouble for Raxcor. While Raxcor was nearly two decades older than his brother, they looked enough alike to be twins, from the tips of their honey-blond hair, to the sapphire blue of their irises, to the shallow cleft in their chins. In fact, many humans had mistaken them for each other—until Anson opened his damn mouth.
“Level 9 isn’t really working out for me, but the captain refuses to transfer me.”
“This concerns me, how?” Raxcor knew where this was going, but he wouldn’t make it easy.
“You’ll talk to him, right? Get me reassigned?”
“What’s wrong with Level 9?”
Anson’s gaze flickered toward Mesa momentarily, and his smile grew a little wider. “I just think Level 6 would be a better fit.”
Raxcor glanced at Mesa as well, alarmed by the tense set of her shoulders and the way she backed into the corner of the room, clearly trying to make herself look as small as possible. The blood had drained from her face, her normally ivory skin a sickly pallor of gray.
“I, uh, I’ll just leave you two to talk,” she muttered as she gathered up her things. “I’ll be at my desk if you need me, Raxcor.”
“I’ll walk you,” Anson offered, watching her too intently for Raxcor’s liking.
“Oh, well, uh, thank you, but that’s not necessary.” She hesitated before approaching the door, her eyes downcast, and her shoulders still hunched.
“Actually,” Raxcor called before she could leave, “I’d prefer if you stayed for the next interview. I’ll have Sandy bring us lunch while we prep.”
The relief on Mesa’s face was almost palpable. “Your receptionist’s name is Jennifer.”
That name hadn’t even been on the list of possibilities. “Whatever. You’ll stay.”
“Yes, of course. Anything you need.” Some color had returned to her cheeks, and her eyes were once again bright and focused as she strode purposely back to the sofa.
“I could go for some lunch,” Anson interrupted, still watching Mesa’s every move.
“No.” Raxcor held up a hand before his brother could protest. “I’m not going to have you reassigned, either. That’s between you and Captain Otar. Now leave.”
Anson glared at him, his jaw clenched, but he simply nodded and exited the room without another word.
“Mesa, is everything okay?”
“Of course.” She linked her fingers together at her waist and breathed deeply through her nose. “I’m just sorry that the interview with Miss Swain went so poorly. I assure you, she was nothing like that in the pre-interview. If I had known, I never would have suggested you meet with her.”
Seating himself behind his desk, Raxcor picked up Charity’s resume and thumbed one of the edges, bemused by the simple sheet of paper. He didn’t for a moment believe the interview had anything to do with Mesa’s sudden shift in mood, but he couldn’t force her to talk. So, for now, he’d let her have her secrets.
“Miss Swain is smart, enthusiastic, and tenacious. She’s well-qualified for the job, but she lacks intuition and a certain, shall we say, decorum.”
“Well, I didn’t expect her to sweep in here and criticize the way you do things.” Moving away from the sofa, Mesa shuffled forward with her head bowed. “I’ll screen the others more carefully.”
She never made excuses, and she always took responsibility for her mistakes—yet another quality he liked about her. It didn’t hurt that she was the most stunning creature he’d ever set eyes on, either. Taking a human as a mate wasn’t against any planetary laws, but the Council frowned on inter-species pairings. So, for the past year, he’d kept a professional distance, unsure if he should expose her to that level of scrutiny.
Now, however, he didn’t know if he could let her go.
“I don’t blame you, and I couldn’t care less what she thinks of me or the way I run this city.”
A shallow valley formed between Mesa’s eyebrows, and she tilted her head to the side as a frown tugged at the corners of her soft, pink lips. “Then why do you still look angry?”
“Because,” Raxcor answered quietly, swiveling around in his chair to stare at the mod-screen again, “she didn’t insult me.”
CHAPTER TWO
“You look like hell.”
Glancing up from the contemplation of the bottom of her glass, Mesa met the bartender’s gaze and offered some semblance of a smile. “Hey, Trick.”
“Wanna talk about it?” Trick draped a stained white hand towel over his shoulder and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the bar, his hard muscles stretching the fabric of his T-shirt. “C’mon, tell me all your woes,” he prodded with a wink.
Mesa could find a bar on any level of the city, many much bigger and nicer. When she craved solitude and a more relaxed atmosphere to drown her sorrows, however, she headed to Last Stop on Level 8. Not many residents frequented the pod-sized pub, and those who did stayed to themselves. Moreover, Trick usually kept the music turned down to a respectable volume, making Last Stop the perfect place to brood without interruption.
“It’s boring.” She rested her elbows on the bar top and shrugged. “Work stuff.”
With Raxcor even surlier than usual, the entire week had been a test in patience. He’d stopped trying to talk her out of leaving, but he still took every opportunity to express his growing displeasure with the situation. Maybe it would be easier to just tell her boss the truth, but Mesa couldn’t bring herself to do it, not if she could avoid it.
“It’s pretty dead tonight,” Trick countered, looking up and down the bar, his inky black hair swaying gently against the tops of his shoulders. “C’mon, Mesa, tell me what’s on your mind.”
“You do realize we’re not actually friends, right?” She’d known Trick McCall for years, long before they’d traveled across the galaxies to Aleucia. Hell, she liked the guy well enough, but even on Earth, they’d only ever talked with a battered and scarred bar between them.
“I’m a bartender.” A sexy smirk curved one side of Trick’s mouth, and the muscles in his shoulders flexed beneath his fitted, white shirt as he pushed away from the bar. “I’m everyone’s best friend.” Straightening, he tossed the hand towel toward the sink and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Have you told him?”
Mesa used the plastic stir straw to stab the lime at the bottom of her glass and refused to hold the bartender’s shrewd gaze. She didn’t bother to ask how the guy guessed her woes involved a male. Trick always seemed to know everything.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Tell him,” Trick urged. “Maybe it matters more than you think.”
The melting ice cubes rattled together as she slid her glass across the bar toward him. “You say that like it’s easy.”
“It doesn’t have to be hard.”
“Right.” After a long, silent, and somewhat awkward pause, Mesa stood and patted her palm against the top of the white stone bar. “I’ll see ya, Trick.”
“Mesa?”
Stopping, Mesa looked over her shoulder and arched an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“Tell him.”
She had no idea what to do about her boss, so she just nodded, shuffled out of the bar, and wandered to the end of the tunnel to the lifts that would take her up to her living pod on Level 6. Before she could press her hand to the bio-pad to open the elevator doors, her earpiece began to chirp, signaling an incoming communication.
Only one person would be contacting her at a quarter after ten. Really, only one person would be contacting her at all…ever. While part of her wanted to ignore the chirping and pretend she’d been sleeping, another part of her thrilled knowing she’d get to speak to him again before morning.
“Damn it.” Chastising her foolish hormones, she tapped the button on the side of her slim earpiece. “Raxcor,” she said flatly, choking back a sigh, “it’s late.”
“Were you sleeping?”
“What do you want, Raxcor?”
“I don’t think the new assistant is going to work out. You’ll talk to him tomorrow before I arrive at the office.”
In the two days following the disastrous interview with Miss Charity Swain, they’d burned through seven more applicants before someone had finally met Raxcor’s approval. On the surface, Rayan Thibodeaux had to be the quietest, most unassuming person Mesa had ever met. After the pre-interview, she’d almost tossed the guy’s application, but something had stayed her hand. Rayan had a way about him, a special spark that intrigued her.
“Why would I do that? He’s a hard worker, he’s willing to learn, and I thought you liked him.”
Soft-spoken and non-combative, Rayan’s gentle nature was in direct juxtapose to Raxcor’s commanding personality, and Mesa had feared her dear boss would scare the living hell out of the kid. To her surprise, however, Rayan hadn’t cracked under the intense scrutiny.
He’d displayed confidence without being cocky or arrogant. When asked what changes he would make to the daily routine, he’d presented his argument in such a way that by the time he’d finished, Raxcor believed the idea to be his. Rayan had been charming, enchanting even, and almost against her will, Mesa had found herself impressed.
“I just don’t think he’ll be a good fit,” Raxcor countered. His voice had taken on a hard edge, and Mesa could picture her boss’s bright blue eyes narrowing dangerously.
For nearly a year, she’d worked alongside Raxcor Wyeth, performing every duty with a smile on her face, just to make the male’s life more comfortable and a bit less hectic. Yes, she even fetched coffee—a habit he’d picked up from her. No task felt too trivial or mundane, and she enjoyed doing those things for him, enjoyed receiving one of his rare smiles for her efforts.
To have some kid sweep into the office and render her obsolete from day one left a hollow ache in her chest, especially when Raxcor suddenly seemed more dismissive than upset about Mesa’s reassignment. A small part of her—a part borne out of jealousy—had secretly been hoping for this phone call, but she also knew it wouldn’t change anything.
“I’m leaving at the end of the week, and there isn’t time to find anyone else.” Everything had seemed fine at the office during the day, and she couldn’t imagine what had changed Raxcor’s mind since then. “I know you like routine and consistency, but Rayan will settle in soon, and you won’t even miss me. It’s only been two days. Give him a chance.”
In the silence that stretched over the line, Mesa tapped her earpiece twice to make sure they hadn’t been disconnected. “Raxcor?”
“I expect this handled first thing in the morning.”
Then he disconnected the call, leaving her seething in the middle of the Level 8 corridor. Grumbling under her breath, she slammed her hand against the bio-pad a bit harder than necessary, then folded her arms over her chest while she waited for the lift doors to open. When they did, however, she stumbled back a couple of steps, her heart desperately trying to climb up into her throat.
“Anson.”
“Hello, Mesa.” He exited the lift and stalked toward her. “I knew I’d find you here.”
He’d been tracking her MINT chip, and it wasn’t the first time he’d admitted to it, either.
“Well, good night.” She tried to keep her head up and speak forcefully, but even to her own ears, her voice came out strained and weak. “I need to be going. Busy day tomorrow.”
“Captain Otar approved my reassignment,” he informed her, and even through the telepathy, his tone sounded smug. “Level 6.”
Mesa’s heart raced, and her hands began to tremble. The guards in the city had override codes to each of the living pods, but only on the levels of the city they guarded. Would he really come into her pod uninvited? Would he do it while she was sleeping? More importantly, would anyone believ
e her if she reported him? Her word versus that of the director’s brother—she somehow doubted she’d win that battle.
“I really need to go.”
Sidestepping, Anson cleared the path to the lift, and even pressed his fingertips to the bio-pad to open the doors for her again. “Sweet dreams, Mesa. I’ll see you soon.”
* * * *
“Good morning, Director.” Rayan practically vibrated as he bustled across the room to place a ceramic mug of steaming coffee on Raxcor’s desk. “Dark roast with two sugars, just the way you like it.”
The Aleucians had collected samples of various Earth foods during their initial visits, and they’d used those samples to engineer the nutriment replicators located in the cafeterias in each sector of every level. The humans seemed to enjoy their meals, but Earth food smelled awful to Raxcor, and it tasted even worse.
Coffee, on the other hand, was the nectar of the gods. It had taken Mesa nearly three months to convince him to try it, but once he’d finally relented, he’d been hooked. Now, he couldn’t go a morning without it, but maybe that had something to do with the female who carried it to his desk.
Staring distractedly at the white cup, Raxcor racked his brain for something to say. The only thought that came to mind, however, was why the hell Rayan was in his office in the first place.
“Have you spoken with Mesa?”
“Miss Adair left a message this morning to say she’d be running late. If there’s something you need, I’d be happy to get it for you.” He smiled brightly, showing off his straight, freakishly white teeth, and his pale gray eyes widened hopefully.
Fuck, he was like an overeager puppy, and Raxcor half expected the guy to wet himself in excitement at any moment. Though annoyed with his new assistant, most of his concern had turned to Mesa, and he worried about the reason for the female’s absence.
“Did she say why she’d be late?” Mesa was always the first one to the office, the last one to leave, and she had never missed a day of work. “Is she injured?”