The Alpha's Filthy Secret.

- CHAPTER SIXTEEN -

Sloane.

"Drive faster, Hector!"

I press my hand against the leather interior of the door, my pulse beating fast. Hector steps on the accelerator, cutting through the LA traffic. Ten minutes later, the sedan pulls up to my building.

I don't wait for Hector to open my door. I jump out, sprinting up the lobby stairs, and throw my front door open.

"Sarah!" I yelled, dropping my bag on the floorboards.

I race down the hallway into Zane's bedroom. He lay flat on his back in bed, a damp cloth resting on his forehead. He turns his head slowly, his lower lip sticking out.

"Mommy!" He says, his voice small and pathetic. "I'm dying."

I sit on the mattress beside him, placing my palm against his skin. His forehead is warm, but he isn't burning. It seems like a mild, ordinary fever.

"You're absolutely not dying," I say, letting out a long breath of relief.

'He deserves to be punished.' Ivara growls in my head, making me roll my eyes.

'He's a kid.'

'The adrenaline rush he caused was enough to kill us both.'

'Still....'

Zane points a small finger toward the kitchen. "I need chocolate."

I look down at him. "That's your treatment?"

"Yes."

Sarah steps into the doorway, holding a glass of water, letting out a soft laugh. "He refused his medicine until I called you. He said his stomach would implode without your supervision."

I leaned in and pressed my lips to Zane's cheek, my hand resting over his dark curls. The panic in my chest evaporates, replaced by a quiet sweet relief. I needed this ordinary, silly moment far more than I realized.

_

Two days later, I sat in Julian's private office at the agency.

Julian slides a thick, glossy presentation deck across his desk. "Luxury resort brand," he says, leaning back in his chair. "Swimwear line. High end Malibu production. It's a six figures contract for a three day shoot."

I flip the page open. My eyes stop on the male talent spec sheet.

EVA WEST AND ROAN RHYS.

I push the deck back across the table. "No."

Julian raises his eyebrow. "What do you mean, no?"

"I mean I'm not accepting your proposal," I say, folding my arms.

"Well, I'm not accepting your refusal," Julian counters, tapping his pen on the desk. "It's the biggest campaign of the quarter. The brand specifically requested both of you after the investment press release."

The office handle turns. Roan steps into the room wearing a dark polo shirt and black trousers, holding two cups of coffee.

"What did I miss?" Roan asks, setting one cup on the desk near my hand.

Julian grins, pointing a finger at me. "Your girlfriend doesn't want to work with you."

I glare at Julian. "He's not my boyfriend."

Roan tilts his head, a slow smile touching his mouth. "Yet."

I grab the paper presentation deck and lift it, threatening to throw it as his head. Roan laughs, taking a seat in the leather chair beside mine.

"Let's discuss," Roan says, taking a sip from his coffee cup. He looks at Julian, then turns his hazel eyes toward me. "What's the hold up, Eva? Is it the location or the wardrobe?"

"Both," I say, keeping my back straight. "I don't do explorative shoots, and I don't need the press staging a fake romance for clicks."

Roan nods slowly, as if accepting the condition without. "Fair. Julian, add a clause to the contract. We retain approval over every final image used in the distribution. No staged tabloid leaks, no sensationalized headlines from the brand's PR team. Strictly high end fashion."

Julian looks between us, tapping his pen against his pad. "I can get the brand manager to agree to that by five o'clock."

"And separate changing trailers, please." I add, looking straight at Roan.

His eyes hold mine, a quiet warmth in his gaze. "Separated by as many feet as you want."

I offer him a warm smile which he returns with an equally small smile.

Julian writes down the terms, grinning as he signs the bottom of the routing slip. "Done. Production starts Friday morning in Malibu. Don't be late."

By seven in the evening, the agency offices are dark. The staff has cleared out, leaving only the maintenance crew in the main lobby.

I walk down to the subterranean parking garage, the soles of my heels clicking against the concrete. I pull my keys from my purse, approach my black sedan and unlock the door.

I had sent Hector on an errand, so he took the white sedan, leaving the black for me to use until he returns.

I stepped inside, slid the key into the ignition and turned the cylinder.

The engine lets out a dull, metallic click, sputters twice and dies.

I turn the key again. Silence. The dashboard lights flicker twice before going completely dark.

"Great," I mutter, hitting the steering wheel with the palm of my hand. "Perfect timing."

A pair of headlights sweeps across the concrete wall behind me. A dark luxury blue sedan pulls up alongside my stalled car and stops. The rear tinted windows slide down, revealing Roan sitting in the back seat.

"Car problems?" He asks, resting his forearm against the door frame.

"Yep. I guess the battery is dead," I say, stepping out onto the concrete and shutting my door. "Guess I'll call a cab."

"Hector's off shift, isn't he?" He says softly. "My driver can take you home. Come on, get in."

I hesitated for two seconds, looking at my dead car, then at the cold garage. I let out a breath, grabbed my bag from the front seat, locked the sedan manually and walked over to his car.

Roan's driver steps out, opens the rear door for me with a polite nod and closes it as soon as I slide onto the leather seat beside Roan.

The driver returns to his seat, slides the glass privacy partition on and pulls out of the garage into the evening traffic.

The cabin of the car is warm and quiet, smelling of clean leather and Roan's subtle cedar cologne. I lean back against the headrest, closing my eyes for a second as the streetlamps flash past the tinted windows.

"Rough day?" Roan asks, his voice low in the quiet space.

"Long day," I correct, turning my head to look at him. "Between Julian's contract games and my car quitting, I'm ready to sleep for twelve hours."

Roan shifts on the seat, turning his body slightly toward mine. "You don't have to fight every battle alone, Eva. You know that, right?"

I look at his hands resting on his lap. "I've been on my own for a long time, Roan. Old habits die hard."

"Then let me make it easier," he says quietly, his gaze eyes holding mine in the dim light of the cabin. "Starting with getting you home safely tonight."

A soft, unexpected warmth settles in my chest. I don't pull away or offer a sharp retort. I simply lean back against the leather cushion, watching the city lights blur through the window as his car turns onto my street.

Five minutes later, the sedan smoothly pulls up to the curb outside my apartment building and comes to a stop.

Roan reaches out, his hand gently resting over mine on the leather seat between us. His thumb tracing a light, warm line across my knuckles.

"Get some rest," Roan says smoothly. "See you on Friday."