The Quinton Shifters
Aaron’s Mate
Abigail Raines
Copyright © 2019 by Abigail Raines
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Chapter One: Michelle
Chapter Two: Aaron
Chapter Three: Michelle
Chapter Four: Aaron
Chapter Five: Michelle
Chapter Six: Aaron
Chapter Seven: Aaron
Chapter Eight: Michelle
Chapter Nine: Aaron
Chapter Ten: Aaron
Chapter Eleven: Aaron
Chapter Twelve: Michelle
Chapter Thirteen: Michelle
Chapter Fourteen: Michelle
Chapter Fifteen: Michelle
Chapter Sixteen: Aaron
Chapter Seventeen: Michelle
Chapter Eighteen: Aaron
Epilogue
Check out Werewolves of St. Neuri, my other Werewolf Shifter series.
About the Author
Chapter One: Michelle
I size up the round little man across the table from me, taking in every tick and nervous movement he makes. His button nose scrunches in distaste as his eyes dart around the conference room, briefly landing on me, then back around at the decor. It’s a good thing I have a nice big mahogany table between me and this client, because I’ve wanted to murder him several times. I could swear they paint these conference rooms in muted colors to keep us calm when the clients act like douchebags. And this guy is definitely a douchebag.
The second I walked into the room and introduced myself as the lead on this project his face fell as his eyes darted to the door, looking for someone else - someone with more testosterone - to enter. Aaron had warned me about Mr. Reynolds preference for working with men, but it still doesn’t keep his treatment from rubbing me the wrong way. He doesn’t even have the decency to pretend he’s listening to me. But that’s okay, I won’t let him see me sweat. I’ve seen his type before. If I let guys like him get to me, I wouldn’t be a senior associate.
“So Mr. Reynolds, as I’ve pointed out, taking the new Qualified Business deduction and converting your inventory to expense instead of Cost of Goods Sold, will save your company $30,000 in taxes this year,” I conclude with my most polite smile. It’s a little strained in the corners because it’s about ninety percent forced, but it’s not like Mr. Reynolds will notice.
“Yes, yes, that sounds well and good. Who else looked over this proposal?” Mr. Reynolds questions, his skeptical gaze barely glancing at the report I gave him.
There’s a certain kind of deep breath I’ve learned to take without anyone noticing so I don’t give myself away. It’s the breath I take when I’m very angry because I’ve just been dismissed. I take that deep breath now.
“Aaron and I…”
“Oh, thank goodness,” Mr. Reynolds sighs in relief, cutting off my reply.
I follow his gaze over my shoulder to see Aaron standing in the doorway. His jet black hair is freshly cut in his usual fade on the sides, longer and swept back on the top. His charcoal gray suit hugs his well defined muscles, crafted from a near religious gym regimine. And his sky blue and white striped tie accentuates his ice blue eyes, which always seem to have a special spark in them when they land on me. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my part. For the last three years I’ve wanted this man to make a move, any move, on me and he hasn’t. The most likely conclusion is that my feelings are very one sided.
I fight the usual longing sigh that rises in my chest every time he enters a room. My trip down romance lane is cut short when Mr. Reynold’s grating voice ricochets through the room.
“Aaron, good to see you. Have you looked over this proposal? What do you think? What is your recommendation?” Mr. Reynolds asks with near desperation.
My grip tightens on the pen in my hand. I fantasize about sticking the pen in Reynold’s stupid, thick neck, or maybe in his brain. A lobotomy could only help him. Aaron strolls into the room, sexy as sin, and extends his hand toward Mr. Reynolds, who stands to accept it.
“Mr. Reynolds. Pleasure,” he says, as he gives the other man's hand two good pumps.
I stifle a grin as Mr. Reynolds’ face twitches and he flinches in pain. Is it too presumptive of me to assume that Aaron put a little more pressure in the handshake because he was offended on my behalf? Mr. Reynolds snatches his hand back, placing it in his pocket the second Aaron lets go. He tries to be subtle about it, but I can see his hand moving in his pocket as he rubs it against his thigh to ease the pain. Aaron does look pleased by that.
“Yes, the pleasure is mine Aaron. So, have you taken a look at this proposal…” He snaps his fingers, looking in my direction as he tries to recall my name.
“Michelle,” I supply. I’ve told this guy my name probably ten times.
“Yes, Michelle. Have you looked over the proposal Michelle presented to me?”
Aaron looks from Mr. Reynolds to me, then back. My libido must be raging on an entirely new level these days because I swear in that brief glance he undressed me and imagined all the ways he could make me scream his name. I’ll have to bring out my trusty battery operated boyfriend when I get home or else risk throwing myself at my extremely hot manager. Not that it’s unheard of. When you work sixty or seventy hour weeks with the same people six months out of the year, things happen. But I don’t want that with Aaron. I want his respect for me as a professional and peer more than I want to spend what I’m sure would be an amazing night under his chiseled body. Marginally more, but still more.
“I’ve scanned it briefly,” Aaron lies. Nothing gets past his desk without being thoroughly read and then questioned like it’s undergoing the Spanish Inquisition. “But Michelle is one of our top seniors, soon to be a manager, and I trust everything she produces. If she gave you a suggestion, I back it one-hundred percent. Frankly, you’d be a fool not take her seriously.”
I sit a little taller in my chair. A warm flush flows through my body at the compliment. I love what I do with everything in me, and I’d do it no matter what. But moments like this, when my hard work is recognized, are nice perks.
“I see,” Mr. Reynolds grumbles in a terse tone. He pull on the lapels of his suit jacket, as he cuts his eyes to me. His nose is stuck so high in the air, he could probably smell a coming rain. I half expect him to stomp his foot and break down into a third grade level tantrum. Aaron shut him down and he had to accept it, because he knows that Beckmond, Rivens and Associates is one of the best accounting firms in the Pacific Northwest and even if he doesn’t want to work with a woman, he wants to work with our firm.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Aaron says, ignoring Mr. Reynolds offended posture. “I have pressing matters to attend to. You are in very capable hands Mr. Reynolds. Michelle.” He turns to me. “I wanted to ask you to stop by my office when you’re done here.”
“Of course,” I agree, a sweet smile on my lips.
“Excellent.” He gives me one of his little winks and I definitely don’t find it charming. Not at all.
Aaron disappears back through the door, and my eyes can’t help but linger on his retreating form, until he is completely out of sight. Yeah, me and B.O.B. are going to have a long night tonight. Turning my attention back to Mr. Reynolds, I paste on my most polite smile as I ask, “Shall we continue?”
“Yes, yes,” Mr. Reynolds grumbles as he slumps back in his seat. He grabs the presentation papers I gave him, shuffling them around a bit before pretending to
read them again. “If this will save us as much as you say it will, then we will proceed with it.”
“Good to hear. I will have one of our admins send you a copy of the engagement letter and once that gets signed we can begin making the necessary accounting changes to your books.”
I close the folder in front of me and reach across the conference room table to shake Mr. Reynolds’ hand. He tries to give me a limp shake in return, but I grip his hand firmly, refusing to allow him to get away with it. After barely a single pump he snatches his hand back as if he’s afraid I’ll give him the plague.
No matter, I keep my smile planted on my face, not allowing him to ruin my now good mood. Mr. Reynolds may be a chauvinist prick, but his company, Claro Manufacturing, is worth millions and will bring in thousands in revenue to our firm. My aim is to one day make partner at Beckmond, Rivens and Associates, and continuing to close contracts with clients like Mr. Reynolds was going to make that happen. That’s assuming I don’t do anything stupid, like fall helplessly in love with my manager. Oh wait, I’ve already done that.
“I’ll walk you out Mr. Reynolds,” I say rising from my chair.
He gathers his papers, stuffing them back into the folder I’d presented them in and tucking it under his arm. Lips pursed and face scrunched like he smelled something bad, Mr. Reynolds stands from his chair and walks around the table and past me.
“Don’t worry, I know how to find my way out of here,” he tosses over his shoulder as he walks through the conference room door.
“Make sure to validate your parking,” I mutter, rolling my eyes as he leaves. I gather up my files and take another cleansing breath, decompressing from the meeting. I take a second to enjoy the view from the big windows of the conference room that look out on the mid-size city of Quinton, Washington. Quinton is a couple hours outside of Seattle. It’s a place that feels like a bustling metropolis even as it has lush forests surrounding it. I can see the fringe of the forest from here, and the mountains beyond. I’ve never been very outdoorsy but it is beautiful scenery. Between this building and all that wildness is my apartment, my favorite coffee house with the frozen hot chocolate, and the restaurant with lobster tacos where my mom always insists we eat every time she visits. It’s not New York or Chicago, but it’s a cozy little city that I’ve made my home. The fog is rolling in from the foot of the mountains outside. It’s a little bit grim looking but I find it kind of soothing, rolling my frustrations with Reynolds away. I smile to myself and make my way out, heading in the direction of Aaron’s office.
Aaron is the last door down the hall on the right hand side. A lightness in my step now, I bounce down the hall to see what he needs from me. It’s never much of a chore.
“Hey, boss.” I beam as I stick my head through Aaron’s cracked door after rapping a quick knock. Aaron looks up from his triple computer monitors which no doubt contain some huge spreadsheet, if not two or three. Even sitting behind his desk, the power of his presence can’t be denied. He’s the type of man who commands attention just by walking in a room, whether he’s trying to or not.
“Hey, Shell,” he replies, that sexy grin pulling at the corner of his lip. I watch in utter fascination as that darn dimple in his right cheek makes its appearance, adding a level of cute to his sexy that I find irresistible.
Clearing my throat I ask, “So what’s up? Did you have a project or something you need me to work on?”
“Nope. I wanted to invite you out to lunch to celebrate landing Claro Manufacturing.”
My heart stampedes in my chest at the lopsided grin he levels on me. A warm flush crawls up my neck, singeing the roots of my hair. Right before I fall completely over the edge of lust I shake my head as his words sink in.
“How did you know I was going to close the Claro deal? Mr. Reynolds looked like he was going to have a heart attack when I, a feeble minded little lady, came in claiming to be the lead on his account.”
“I knew because you are the best at what you do. One of our top performers, and I have the utmost confidence in you to handle any client, even the asshats like Mr. Reynolds.”
Dang. Two compliments in the last hour. This man is trying to make my heart stop cold in my chest. Having him praise me never gets old.
“Thanks,” I reply in a breathy husky voice. I clear my throat, my eyes dropping to the floor as I pray he doesn’t notice.
“No thanks needed. Just stating facts. So, where would you like to eat?”
I say a quick prayer of thanks that he makes no mention of my breathy reply and give him a broad smile as I say, “Since it’s your dime we’re going to Ruth’s Chris. I’m ordering the biggest and most expensive steak on the menu and a fully loaded baked potato.”
I am by no means a salad eating chick (it tastes likes grass and grass is for rabbits) and I make no pretenses to be. Aaron rewards my statement with his biggest and brightest smile that shows off his ridiculously sharp canines. I’ve always wondered if those things would prick me if I touched them.
“That’s my girl. Let’s go.”
Aaron rises from his desk and strolls toward me. We turn and walk out of his office, toward the front door. Yes it’s ridiculous, but hearing him call me his girl always makes my stomach do somersaults. If it was anyone else, it would annoy the hell out of me. But I’ve gotten to know Aaron’s personality pretty well and I know he respects me. Of course, that only serves to make him sexier. Nothing like a muscle-bound man who’s brilliant and treats you like you’re on his level without question. But it’s been three years and I’m still the doe eyed recent grad school graduate fawning over her boss whenever he says stuff like that. Sometimes it really sucks being forced to look, but never touch.
Chapter Two: Aaron
I hold the restaurant door open for Michelle to walk in ahead of me. An earthy open air scent infused with lavender wafts up to my nostrils as she walks by and I close my eyes for a moment to inhale it deeply into my lungs. For three years that scent has driven me and my wolf wild. All the late nights working in confined spaces have trapped me in a very tempting and torturous kind of hell.
I’ve had to fight my wolf to make it heel on several occasions; when she bent over to retrieve a file, or leaned a little too close, giving me a perfect view down her blouse to her pert round breasts and bra. I even noticed after her first few months at the firm her bras became less of the Walmart variety and more of the silk and lace kind that beg a man to explore all their secrets. I like to think the change was due to her wanting me as much as I wanted her.
Michelle is sexy as hell and she doesn’t even know it, which makes her all the more appealing. Or maybe she does, but she never flaunts it. She never wears a stitch of makeup and she doesn’t need it. From her heart-shaped face with a sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks, to her wavy brown hair that flows past her shoulders, I could stare at her face all day and still be fascinated. I even like the crinkles in the corner of her big expressive brown eyes because they, like her, are the result of a life lived laughing and enjoying every moment to the fullest.
But Michelle is human, and rule number one of the pack is “NO RELATIONSHIPS” when it comes to human women. Sex with absolutely no strings and nothing beyond that. It’s been drilled into my head since adolescence. My kind has lived in the shadows of the human world for centuries and our anonymity is the only thing keeping us safe. Our existence has faded into the back of the human mind as nothing more than stories to scare little kids and we want to keep it that way. The last time we walked freely among the humans they nearly hunted us into extinction. Which is why I now find myself attracted to an insanely wonderful human woman who I can never have. Because I could never only have her once. The wolf inside me wants her and wants her all the time. I know that if I ever tasted her sweet lips, filled her until she screamed my name, or so much as buried my nose into the crook of her long neck and nibbled on her earlobe, I would want it again and again. I would never have my fill enough of Michelle. So I
smile and perhaps I flirt, but I try never to cross that line. I know what a beast I am inside. Sometimes it’s only this corporate and very human job that keeps the wolf contained.
But I must admit, it’s getting harder and harder to contain the beast around Michelle.
“Table for two?” The petite blonde at the hostess stand asks as we walk up to her.
“Yes, please. A table near the window,” I reply with a polite smile. I learned a long time ago that Michelle likes to sit next to windows at restaurants so she can watch the strangers walking by. This restaurant is perfect, with its floor to ceiling windows, and location right across from a strip of high end retail stores.
“Right this way.”
I sweep my hand for Michelle to precede me. She probably thinks I always allow her to go first out of some gentlemanly act of chivalry. Which is part of it. But more than anything I like to watch the sway of her hips and the curve of her round bottom as she walks. The woman is sensuality personified.
The hostess stops in front a table and places our menus down before stepping back to allow us to be seated. She folds her hands in front of her as she stands with a bright smile and tells us, “Your server is Max and he will be right with you. Enjoy.”
We each give her our thanks before picking up our menus to decide upon our selections. A comfortable silence descends upon us as we read.
“I’d bet all the money in my pocket that you’re ordering your steak rare,” Michelle says. Her voice is low and throaty. She reminds me of an old fashioned movie star from something black and white with Cary Grant. I look up and see a pair of bright brown eyes looking at me over the top of the menu.
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