Claimed By Alpha Prince

Chapter 3

Unless something has gone catastrophically wrong.

It’s Brenda and Julian. Has to be. They didn’t trust me to stay quiet, so they cooked up some elaborate lie and fed it straight to the CEO so he could fire me in person. Fracking apeholes. Clever ones, sure, but still apeholes.

I clear my throat. Maybe Ed misheard. Maybe it’s just that guy, Lorenzo from fourteen, who’s looking for me and not the actual Big Boss. “You’re positive?” I ask slowly, silently pleading for him to discover he’s mistaken.

Ed still won’t look at me. “I took the call myself,” he mutters. “He used your full name, Maya.” The way he says it sounds almost apologetic.

What exactly did those two tell him? That I deliberately wrecked their grammar? It’s not like I have any other powers.

Ed coughs again. I can tell he wants to say good luck but won’t, because that would admit something is off. And in Ed’s carefully maintained happy place, nothing is ever off.

He’s decent, in his nerdy, soft-spoken way. The quiet terror that I might end up exactly like him if nothing changes in the next few years keeps circling in my head.

Wait.

I shouldn’t be scared of being bored. I should be grateful for it. Boring pays the bills. Boring keeps a roof over the kids’ heads. Boring does not get you marched up to the CEO’s office for a public execution.

God, why do you still listen to me? I’m an i***t. Ignore the next dozen things I ask for.

The walk to the elevator feels like that long last walk on death row. I can practically feel the morgue zombies smiling at my back. Inside the car, the mirrored walls throw my reflection at me like an accusation: you don’t look nearly boring enough. Serves me right for all that mental complaining.

Nineteen floors is a long ride with people constantly stepping on and off. I kill time by running through everything I know about Cassian DeLuca. Twenty-eight years older than me, or seven once my birthday rolls around. Oldest of six. Classic dark Italian good looks, the kind that once forced him to get a restraining order against a supermodel who lost her mind after a one-night thing.

Every business magazine calls him ruthless and cunning. The company used to stick to Italy and the States until he took the reins less than a decade ago. A handful of insane risks later and DeLuca Inc. was suddenly a worldwide machine.

The doors finally open at nineteen.

I’ve never set foot up here. Invitation only. Office rumor lists three reasons you get the golden ticket: you either pissed someone important off badly enough to earn a personal thirty-second scolding from the man himself, you pleased someone high enough to earn a personal thank-you, or you’re a woman who somehow scored an invite to the private playroom the grapevine swears is hidden somewhere on this floor.

His secretary, Beatrice stern, forties, no-nonsense, looks at me with actual pity.

Oh, shock.

“Is there a restroom nearby?” I’m one second away from wetting myself.

She doesn’t even blink. Just points down the hallway to her right. “Ladies’ at the end.”

I finish as fast as humanly possible. Leaving Cassian DeLuca waiting seems like the fastest way to hand him extra reasons to fire me.

Beatrice knocks twice and pushes the door open.

I trip on the threshold.

Her scent hit him the second she stepped into his territory. Cassian had always prided himself on being different from the rest of his kind. Control was everything. Passion never got to steer.

This time, though this time the carefully built plan felt optional. That scent alone made him want to drag Maya under him and keep her there until neither of them could think straight.

Fate had handed him a gift, he decided while listening to her careful steps. She wasn’t royalty or a senator’s daughter (Democrat preferred), but the reports on her sister Chloe were promising; part budding strategist, part Jackie O. Groomed early enough, the girl could plant the first seeds of a political dynasty.

He almost smiled when he heard her ask Beatrice for the restroom. Then the smile died. Fear had its own distinct smell, and right now it was rolling off her in waves.

Why fear? Curiosity or even mild excitement would have made more sense.

He grabbed the remote from his desk, tapped a sequence, and the wall panel slid open to reveal the bank of security monitors. He scrubbed back to the moment she left Admin for lunch. His expression went black the second the fifth-floor footage played.

The idea that his future princess had been forced to witness that disgusted him. It made him want to tear the old man apart and remove certain parts while he was at it. Possessiveness was another trait that set him apart from his kind. Most of them shared without a second thought; the only thing that mattered was the mindless physical rush.

He was not most of them. Life had taught him to take what he wanted, hold it, and keep holding even after desire cooled.

Right now, the desire for Maya was anything but cool. It took everything he had to stay seated and think instead of act.

When the footage showed Julian leaning in to whisper, a red fog of rage slammed through him. His hand tightened on the remote until the plastic cracked into useless pieces.

Shit.

He pulled a spare from the drawer and closed the panel. He didn’t make a habit of destroying remotes. He simply prepared for every possible outcome until her. Until this.

She was almost at the door. Her scent pulled at him like a hook under the ribs. His c**k strained harder than it ever had just from the knowledge that she was about to walk in.

Damn it. No contingency plan covered this.

What would happen if he actually fell in love with Maya?