“Long enough to drive the security guards into contemplating murder, as I’ve been authorized to go upstairs for at least twenty minutes, but I thought I’d wait for you like a good little bounty huntress. Miss me, Mr. Mane?”
“No.”
Well, if he’d missed me, things would have become boring, which wouldn’t do. My virus had missed him, but part of the game involved him believing otherwise. “You just can’t bear the thought of anyone realizing you, a lion, might actually notice anyone other than yourself. It’s okay. The security guards won’t tell anyone.”
“Damn it, Wells!”
His protest wasn’t quite the roar I wanted, so I took my time looking him over from his brown hair, neatly trimmed to keep anyone from cracking mane jokes at him, his darker eyes, which contrasted nicely with his tanned skin, and his perfect suit.
He must have spent the entire cab ride prettying himself up for me.
How nice.
I could understand why women got jealous over their men, especially if their men were as handsome as the lion, especially when he prettied himself up just for meeting me.
“Admit it, Sumners. You missed me. You missed me so much you concocted this excuse to get me into the same building with you. You just happen to be lucky I was in Fargo. If you’d waited for a few hours, I would’ve been long gone with my registered bounties, and you would’ve been sniffing my trail—if you could find it.”
Implying he couldn’t locate my trail did him in; Sebastian flexed his hands, growled, and when growling didn’t make me even raise a brow, he roared at me.
My virus stirred at having nettled the rival predator, and I purred my pleasure over having cracked his professionalism yet again, enjoying my victory until the sound of his displeasure and frustration faded away. “You really missed me.”
“Must you?”
“Absolutely. You’re the one who wanted to see me in person. You could’ve emailed me like a civilized being. But no, you wanted to see me in person. That makes it my lucky day and your living nightmare.” I slid off the desk, picked up my bag, and slung the strap over my shoulder. “Do you need to check in or are you already king of this castle?”
“I haven’t quite managed to become king of the castle yet, but I do have a permanent badge. I work here, Wells. I come here every day.”
Damn it. The last thing I needed was Sebastian permanently in my turf. “Since when did you start working here permanently?”
“Since the CDC gave me a phone call, asked me to show up, and told me you were my main and unfortunately permanent assignment. That was two weeks ago. I was specifically directed to leave you alone until you started poking your nose in the system looking for a contract, at which point you officially became my problem. The two weeks of sane work was nice, and I enjoyed them, and I resent having to deal with you permanently.”
His words said he hated my guts and wanted to light me on fire before tossing me into a dumpster, but his tone told another story. I sniffed the air, and his scent told a different story, too.
The naughty lion had gotten himself riled up in all the best ways, and while my virus hated the stench of amorous male wolf, naughty male lion made her purr and started her engine. And mine.
I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing, but I figured I’d play along with his words but pay closer attention to my other senses. While I took the time to consider the ramifications of his tone and scent, I’d do my best to ignore my rowdy virus, who wanted to drag the lion to my daddy’s truck and make good use of the cab.
My virus liked the idea of dealing with him permanently. A permanent duration to our relationship involved listening to him roar every day. As a lycanthrope, our lifespan could exceed several hundred years. Several hundred years of roaring appealed to me.
So did seeing him out of his suit.
Damn it, my virus would get me killed one of these days. By Sebastian, who’d hang me from the rafters after slitting my throat and disemboweling me. To be fair, I would earn my murder, as nothing revved my engine quite like tormenting the annoying lion.
Oh, well. There were worse ways to go. “Why don’t you show me to your office then, Mr. Hot Shot.”