Gone With the Wolf (2 page)

“Isn’t Drake the name of a plant from Harry Potter?” Heart thudding in her chest, Emelia closed her eyes and laid her head on the rack behind her. “What was it called again? Drake…miss…mandrake! Yup, that’s it. The plant with all the crazy roots.”

When Emelia peeled her eyes open, Drake was gone, leaving her with a warm buzz in her belly, a brain as empty as her glass of Lafite, and the lingering taste of their kiss on her tongue.

Chapter Two

As the sun reached its peak in the sky the next day, Drake stepped out of his limo and onto the busy curb in front of Wilder Financial. If he were the nervous type, his palms would’ve been sticky with sweat. He would’ve adjusted his tie a thousand times on the ride over. He would’ve phoned the office to make sure everything was in order. Instead, his body became rigid, wound tight with anticipation. Knots of tension pinballed around his stomach, and his chest hardened with hot rods of adrenaline.

Struggling to keep his impulses in check, Drake strode through the glass doors of his office building and passed by a gawking secretary, who stood the instant he made eye contact.

“Good morning, Mr. Wilder,” she said, alarmed, pressing down the front of her dress suit.

“Good morning.” Drake didn’t mean to startle her, so he nodded politely and picked up his pace through the whitewashed lobby.

Employees whispered and stared as he passed by, though he couldn’t blame them for their odd behavior. He was the leper CEO of Wilder Financial, the boss who rarely peeked his head out of his office. He hated this part of the building—the sterile and impersonal nature of it—which was probably why he never entered through the sweeping front doors. He preferred to show up via helicopter from the pad on the roof, then take the stairs down to his upper-level office. It was easier to keep snooping noses out of his private life that way, too. If anyone got too close and found out he was a three-hundred-year-old werewolf, he was done for.

But today was different.

Today he hoped to see the blond vixen who’d stolen his wine and stopped his heart. He searched every passing face for some resemblance to the woman from the cellar, spotted beauties of all shapes and sizes, but none of them compared. None of them held a candle to Emelia Hudson.

Would he see her walking the lower hallways or would he meet her on the top floor near his office? He held his breath, impatiently waiting until the moment when he’d see her in the light of day.

He entered a packed elevator, and although he was sure the employees were all going up, they exited upon his entrance, leaving him staring at his own reflection when the doors hissed shut. His dark eyes appeared more strained than normal—probably from the insufficient two hours of shut-eye he’d gotten last night—and his hair was unusually messy, nearly flopping into his eyes. He scrubbed his hands over his face and tunneled his fingers through his hair.

When he hit the forty-second floor—the penthouse—and the doors yanked back, Drake clenched and unclenched his fists, shook out his arms and exhaled.

This was it. The moment when he would see Emelia again and know if the connection between them was caused by the wine or something…else.

Raul Bloomfield, his Beta wolf, charged around the corner and welcomed Drake with a stiff handshake.

“Good morning, boss,” he said, handing him a note with missed calls on it, listed in order of importance. “I have to say, you threw quite the party last night.”

“Thank you, Raul. They say parties can be judged by the mess they leave in the morning. From the looks of my living room, I’d say it was a riot.” Drake skimmed the list and shoved it into his front pocket. He had more important matters to attend to at the moment. “Is Emelia Hudson here yet?”

“No sir, I’m afraid she’s running late.” Raul pressed down the front of a Brioni coat as straight and black as his hair. Even though his eyes were a muted shade of charcoal, they held an intensity that could strike fear in the heart of any one of their packmates. “But I’ve briefed Ms. Fox on the new state of affairs. She’ll run your business aspects, as usual, and Ms. Hudson will be your personal secretary until you feel she is ready to handle other matters of business.”

Drake checked his watch as he marched around the corner and down the long hall leading to his office. “I asked you to have her transferred here first thing this morning. It’s nearly noon.”

Raul Bloomfield had been Drake’s Beta wolf for two hundred years. He’d never taken this long to obey an order. Figures he’d stall on the most important order Drake had ever given him: transfer Emelia Hudson to his private office staff ASAP.

“I contacted the temp agency as you requested,” Raul said, following on Drake’s heels. “I retrieved all of Ms. Hudson’s information from the county, and I’m searching the pack’s database for more comprehensive records. I had an extra desk moved outside your door, as requested, and she should be here any minute. I’m told she’s running late due to a nasty hangover, sir.”

Raul’s thoughts raced through Drake’s head as if they were his own. The ancient pack-speaking process was common to him—as ordinary as drinking his coffee black and his scotch Blue—but this time, Raul’s silent words turned Drake’s feet to stone.

Why do I get the feeling she experienced more than a hangover, sir? Luminaries are reported to experience symptoms that resemble drunken stupor when they meet their fated mate.

“Don’t even think it, Raul. I wasted two hundred prime years of my life looking for my Luminary. She’s not going to appear as Little Red Riding Hood at one of my office parties a century after I’ve given up searching for her.”

“If you say so, sir.”

Despite Drake’s ramblings, he knew there was something
off
about his reaction to Emelia. The way she’d looked in that silly costume had captured his interest first—the crimson corset hourglassed her figure and flaunted the plumpness of her breasts, making his mouth water and his hands ache to brush over her skin. She was the sexiest woman he’d ever seen, hands down, oozing sex appeal without trying. But it was the sincerity behind her piercing stare that had held Drake prisoner in the cellar. Those midnight-blue eyes had spellbound him, rendering him speechless, pinching his heart in a vise. He’d never experienced anything like it before.

Emelia Hudson.

Could he really have found her? His Luminary? The idea struck him as ridiculous. He was an Alpha, rightful heir to the Seattle wolf pack throne. She was human. She wasn’t a born werewolf, and to be turned would mean she wouldn’t be strong enough to have children. Or, in the case that she became his mate, Alpha heirs. In three hundred years, he’d never heard of an Alpha finding a human as his Luminary.

Fate was a nasty bitch, with a twisted sense of humor.

After leaving the cellar last night, Drake had retreated to his room. He’d dived into old texts about the reaction an Alpha werewolf would have upon finding his one and only Luminary—the eternal light in his life, his soul mate. He’d studied the chemical reaction that sparked between fated lovers upon first touch. Everything was spot-on to how he’d felt down in that cellar…with her.

Still, Drake had to meet her again. Just to be certain. He could’ve mistaken off-the-charts chemistry with the Luminary reaction, couldn’t he? Simply meeting in the halls wouldn’t be enough to figure it out. He wanted more than a single touch and a few cordial words in passing. There was too much on the line to take the situation lightly. Drake needed to keep Emelia Hudson close until he knew for sure.

As Drake reached his secretary’s desk, Trixie Fox stood and handed him a steaming mug of coffee. It was bold and out-of-the-pot hot, nearly scalding his tongue. The pain quieted Raul’s thoughts before they could continue further.

“Good morning, Mr. Wilder,” Trixie said with a kind smile.

“I hope the new arrangement’s all right.” Drake pointed to the second desk across from Trixie’s—the one he’d brought in especially for Emelia. The mahogany desks faced each other and flanked his door, creating an alleyway to his office. “I’m not sure if Ms. Hudson will pan out as my personal secretary, but I know how overworked you’ve been lately. I think it might be more accommodating to split the secretary position into admin and personal.”

It wasn’t a total lie. Trixie worked her ass off for Wilder Financial, and could absolutely use another set of hands to assist with business—only those hands wouldn’t be Emelia’s. Drake wasn’t sure how long it would take to rule out Emelia as his Luminary, but he’d keep her close until he knew undeniably either way. He made a mental note to find Trixie a real assistant as soon as he ruled Emelia out.

“It means so much knowing that you’ve noticed how hard I’ve been working.” Trixie tucked her tawny-brown hair behind her ears and smiled coyly. “I was starting to think you didn’t see me at all.”

Under normal circumstances, Drake would’ve been flattered by Trixie’s constant attention. He couldn’t deny she was classically beautiful—taller than average with a model-thin build, generous breasts, and legs that wouldn’t quit. But there’d never been a spark between them. At least not from Drake’s side. In the five years Trixie had worked for the company, Drake had never gotten the urge to take advantage of the long nights they spent working in his office.

Not once.

“I trust you’ll be able to instruct Ms. Hudson on how we run things around here?”

Trixie nodded. “I’ll have her in top form in no time.”

As far as Drake was concerned, Emelia’s form was already top-notch. “I’m sure you will.”

Striding toward his office, Drake shot a quick glance at the desk that would soon be Emelia’s. Flat-screen monitor. Keyboard. Pad of paper. Telephone. She already had the necessities, though she wouldn’t be using those things much. As Drake’s personal assistant, she’d refill his coffee, run errands, take orders, and handle things Trixie was too busy to handle herself.

He couldn’t wait to see Emelia again.

“Mr. Wilder?” Trixie’s voice pierced his thoughts.

He turned and stared into questioning hazel eyes. “Yes?”

“Pardon my saying so, but are you sure you want a temp to fill this position? I’m sure we could find a secretary from a lower department who is more qualified.”

“I appreciate your concern, Trixie, and perhaps in a day’s time we’ll get someone from another department. For now, I want Emelia Hudson and no other.”

With a wince, Drake entered his office and waited for the door to click shut behind him.

“You want Emelia Hudson and no other?” Raul’s voice taunted.

Drake stood in front of his floor-to-ceiling windows, zoned out on the misty cityscape, and scrubbed his head. Had he really just said that? “Damn, that came out wrong.”

“No,” Raul said, placing his hand on Drake’s shoulder. “There’s a chance it came out right.”

It’d been nothing more than surprise, Drake thought. Emelia had caught him off guard in the wine cellar last night. He hadn’t been with a woman in months. He’d been tense and on edge, tired from dealing with bundles of acquisitions in the city. He’d been all business, impersonal and cold, for so long, she’d been a welcome surprise. She’d somehow soothed him.

She couldn’t be his Luminary, his one and only destined mate.

God help him if she was.

Chapter Three

Emelia leaned away from her new desk on the top floor of Wilder Financial and stared at her bottle of Dasani as if it could somehow materialize into a bottle of Advil and take her headache away. She couldn’t remember much from last night, which was damn odd considering she’d never blacked out from drinking before.

She did remember Drake, though, and how the feel of his lips made her knees wobble like Jell-O. Even her ex-fiancé—whom she downright refused to think about for another second—hadn’t excited her the way Drake had, and they’d had some steamy encounters over the course of their rocky relationship.

There was something different about Drake. Something about the way her stomach flipped and her brain seized… Their connection seemed more than physical. Every time the word “kismet”
popped into Emelia’s head, she dismissed it. Couldn’t let thoughts like that run wild—that’s how she got in trouble the last time.

After the way things had ended with her fiancé, the last thing she needed was to hop into another relationship.

Trixie Fox, the secretary who was supposed to help Emelia settle in to her new job, stood on the opposite side of the large desk, wagging her finger from one side to the other. Emelia could barely make out Trixie’s words over the pounding in her head—the sound was muffled and jumbled like the droning teacher from the
Peanuts
television shows.

“Your job is to take care of the daily to-do list, whether it says to pick up Mr. Wilder’s dry cleaning, shop for stationery, or coordinate the next office party,”
whaa-whaa-whaa
, “make sure you have a cup of extra-hot black coffee ready to hand him the moment he arrives,”
whappity-whaa-wha-wha
, “answer the phone,”
mwa-wha-mwa-wha-aah,
“leave all messages on his desk. That’s about it.”

Emelia tried to pay attention to every word, but she went rigid at the mention of Mr. Wilder’s name. “This is…” She craned her neck around and stared at the tiny gold plate on the door to her right. Engraved on it were two stenciled black words, and one undeniable title: Russell Wilder, CEO. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nope, not kidding. Didn’t they tell you who you’d be working for?”

Groaning, Emelia slammed her face into her hands, then shook her head. Blond chunks of hair dangled over the desk, tickling her arms. She wasn’t ready for this. Not today. Today’s mission was to locate Drake, and she’d planned on it taking up her entire day. She’d pushed off Mission Interrogate Wilder until tomorrow…

She looked up, feeling more drained than she had in years. “The agency said top floor. If I didn’t have the headache from hell, I might’ve figured.”

Trixie spun around her desk and plopped into the leather seat. As her hazel eyes skimmed over the computer screen, her fingers flew over the keyboard. “Don’t know what you did to get transferred here, but I’ve never seen a newbie move up the ranks that quickly. You’ll be able to use this on your résumé for years…if he likes you.”

Emelia laughed into a snort. “I don’t think I’ll have to worry about that.”

Not after the way she planned to grill him. Had she really been assigned as Mr. Wilder’s secretary? Could it have been that easy? After the longest month of her life, slaving away at whatever petty job the Wilder Financial guppies asked her to do, she was finally going to be able to meet Mr. Wilder face-to-face. She was finally going to get some solid answers.

“I hear you moved up from the mail room,” Trixie said, wildly scribbling a note. Long, narrow fingers clutched a silver pen, showing off unnaturally square nails gel-shellacked with red, orange, and yellow shades of autumn. “I’m guessing from your headache that you had a good time at the Halloween party last night?”

Emelia’s cheeks flushed hot as she remembered the smoldering passion behind Drake’s dark eyes. “I did, actually.”

“Did you catch a glimpse of Mr. Wilder?”

“No, wish I had.”

She’d planned to seduce Mr. Wilder last night, but it was only to get him into a vulnerable position so he would have to hear her out. He hadn’t shown up at the party, which was for the better, as long as she could hunt down Drake in Mr. Wilder’s labyrinth of a building. Maybe they could find a janitor’s closet and pretend it was a wine cellar. Seeking out a relationship was seriously off Emelia’s radar, but playing Five Minutes in Heaven with Drake? Sounded like a perfect way to turn Monday into Funday.

“Well, you’ll meet him today, for sure. As soon as he’s out of his meeting with Mr. Bloomfield, he’ll want to meet you. He always makes a point to personally meet every person on his staff.”

Moment of truth.

Emelia swallowed hard as her insides squirmed. What was she so nervous about? This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? To meet him and get an apology for illegally buying her bar, then refusing her the common decency of a meeting to straighten things out. Okay, so she wanted to see him suffer, just a little…but it was only to match what he’d put her through the last couple months.

“Peeeerrrfect timing.” Trixie’s sarcasm rang clear. She leaned back, throwing her arms behind her head. “I forgot to drop off the deposit slips at the bank.” She tapped her nails on the desk. Then eyed Emelia curiously. “I need you to hold down the fort for thirty minutes or so. Can you do that?”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea. I mean, I’ve been here a whopping two seconds.” An idea struck, as sharp and true as a lightning bolt. She could use the time alone to dig around through some of Mr. Wilder’s paperwork. “You know what, on second thought, I’ll be fine. What do you need?”

Trixie stood, snatched a few manila folders off her desk along with an overflowing desk basket, and plopped them in front of Emelia. “The documents in the tan folders need to be filed. The cabinet is over there.” She pointed to a tall filing monstrosity behind her desk. “The papers in the basket need to be shredded.” She slid over a waste bin with a shredder anchored over the top. “Pretty simple. Answer the phone, file, shred, got it?”

Nodding, Emelia got to work, opening all the cabinet drawers behind Trixie’s desk to orient herself with where things needed to be. Trixie left quietly, gathering her phone, purse, water, and bank deposit bag before heading to the elevators.

Once Emelia was alone, she grinned slyly and scanned the long, taupe hall that stretched to the opposite end of the building. While the lower floors were whitewashed and sterile, looking more like a doctor’s office than a financial building, the upper floor was warm and cozy, reminding Emelia of the insides of a posh cabin…if cabin decorators had elegant taste and more money than Oprah. The halls were empty except for a few small trees that looked like mini-pines and pictures of mountain landscapes.

It was quiet and probably wouldn’t stay that way. There was no time to lose.

Emelia sauntered back to her desk, determined not to look like she was in too much of a hurry, and flipped through papers in the shred basket. Nothing but duplicates of receipts, board minutes, and miscellaneous memos. She took out a handful, tapped them into a neat pile, then fed them into the shredder. Low, droning noises escaped down the hall as the papers disappeared into the waste bin. Emelia leaned forward, checking near the elevators for any sign of a party crasher. Coast clear. She fingered through the manila “to file” folder and removed a random piece of paper.

It looked like loan-approval paperwork for a newly acquired building south of Capitol Hill.

“Hmm,” Emelia scanned the document quickly. “Looks really important. Bet he’d be pissed if someone messed with his business stuff.”

She knew too well what happened when people screwed with other people’s livelihoods, then acted like they didn’t give a damn.

Maybe she could give Mr. Wilder a taste of his own medicine…

She guided the document into the shredder, relishing the mechanical murmur that followed. The crunch-munch-buzz whispered “
Mr. Wilder’s downfall”
into Emelia’s ears.

With a pang of guilt that she shrugged off, Emelia ripped another document from its manila bed—“Wilder Financial Acquisitions Report for May 2012.” As the machine minced the report, Emelia plucked another “important” document from the folder. And then another. She dove headfirst into shredder heaven.

Within minutes, the folders were thinner than before, and Emelia’s shoulders significantly lighter. She’d shredded enough documents to drive someone crazy looking for them when they came up missing. She only hoped that someone was Mr. Wilder.

“At least there’ll be more room in the file drawers.” Smiling ear to ear, Emelia rolled back from the desk and slid the waste bin farther beneath it. She checked the time on her iPhone. “Trixie didn’t mention when we break for lunch. I think it’s about time.”

“I don’t think so,” a gravelly voice said from behind her. “Not yet.”

Mr. Wilder’s office consumed the entire upper floor. There was only one person who could be standing behind her.

Shitdamnshit.

She’d moved too fast, had gotten too close to the fire and had been burned. How much had he seen? Wincing, Emelia spun around.

“Drake?” She blanched.

“Good afternoon, Emelia.”

He was just as she remembered through her drunken fog. His shoulders were impossibly broad, his lips curving seductively into a smile. The width of his stance was commanding and stern, matching the hard clench of his jaw. His eyes were dark and brooding, hiding delicious secrets. Her body’s reaction to Drake hadn’t changed much in twelve hours. Her core heated and shook, quivering with anticipation.

How fast could they get to the nearest closet?

“Wha—what are you doing here?” She searched around his shoulder for Mr. Wilder, peering into the depths of the heartless CEO’s office. A stocky man with dark hair and darker eyes stepped out. The perfectly pressed suit he wore probably cost more than a year of her rent. “Mr. Wilder, I presume?”

“Oh, no, but don’t I wish.” The man laughed, two deep belts that seemed to erupt from his belly. His gaze flipped from Emelia to Drake. “I think my guess was right on the mark, sir. You watch. She’s going to be your best personal secretary yet.”

A low rumble filled the space between them. Emelia could’ve sworn it was a growl. Where’d that come from? She double-checked the power light on the shredder.

“That’ll be all, Mr. Bloomfield,” Drake ordered, then met Emelia’s eyes. “Would you mind stepping into my office?”

No, no, no, he had to be kidding; the hard-pressed line of his lips proved otherwise.

“You’re not…I mean, you weren’t…” As reality hit, Emelia backed against the desk so the urge to jab him in the throat wouldn’t overtake her. “You lied to me.”

“Well, that depends on how you look at it. Would you mind?” He spread his arm toward his open office door. “I promise I’ll only take a few minutes of your time.”

The hard glare in Drake’s eyes defeated her rejection before she gave it. He wasn’t asking for a few minutes with her, alone in his office. He was demanding it. Emelia got the feeling he wasn’t turned down often.

“Is your name even Drake?” she snapped, passing through the door.

“My formal, given name is Russell Drake Wilder. I’m named after my father, but as I told you last night, my friends call me Drake.”

Damn it.
Russell D. Wilder
. His name was emblazoned over the top of every piece of correspondence that left the building. Okay, so he hadn’t lied, but he hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with the truth, which was the same in her book.

The door clicked shut and Emelia became hyperaware that very few people were ever invited into his personal space. Not only did he own the elaborate furnishings, he owned the building. Hell, he owned the entire block and the one across the street. He controlled every last ounce of breathable air and everything within the four mocha-painted walls. In this space—
his space
—did he think he ruled over her, too?

Probably.
Ass.

She stood like a statue in the center of his office, on the edge of a bearskin rug, surrounded by dark leather and well-oiled wood. The place threw off a warm, soothing vibe, yet all Emelia could think about was how numb her insides felt—it was the cold, harsh sting of betrayal.

“You could’ve said that we were in your cellar, drinking your wine. You could’ve said your name was Russell. You lied to me.” Anger surged through Emelia’s veins. First, Drake had tried to rip her bar from underneath her—the only thing she had in the world—and then he’d kissed her, turned her on, and left her in the basement of
his
mansion. He’d lied. Made her feel something for him that wasn’t real. Jacking with her business was heartless, but messing with her emotions was on another whole level of snake. “That was really messed up, even for someone like you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He leaned against his desk, folded his arms and crossed his ankles. He exuded dominance, raw and unyielding. “Someone like me?”

Oh boy.
She teetered between telling him what she really thought of him and playing the part of a good little secretary so she could sharpen the dagger she held behind his back.

Decisions, decisions.

Why did he have to look so polished in that suit? The stark contrast between the baby-blue hue of his shirt and the fire in his dark eyes was startling. His good looks were more than distracting—they hindered her thought process completely. Is that how he got away with screwing people out of their livelihoods?

Damn if she’d let him screw with her emotions, too. She pulled a rein on her rapidly firing libido and cinched it around her desire for vengeance.

“I mean that you’re a savvy businessman. You play with numbers, figures, and loans all day. You play the stock market, and investors of foreign trade, but playing with someone’s emotions? That’s just plain evil.”

His face didn’t twitch, flinch, flex. Nothing. He barely responded to her presence at all. Like the kiss last night never happened.

She shouldn’t be feeling like this. He was a serpent in Italian threads. A corporate drone, stuck in the business of trampling kind, hardworking people to advance his own profits. Didn’t he care to talk about what happened with the building he’d presumably acquired? Didn’t he care to discuss how it was possible that she held a deed to the same building?