Chapter Three: My Day Could've Been Worse

(Lior's POV)

My alarm didn’t wake me. My phone did.

A shrill, jarring ring that ripped me straight out of the kind of dream that probably would have made Freud nod knowingly.

I groaned into my pillow, cracked one eye open, and stared at the vibrating rectangle on my nightstand. The name flashing on the screen was enough to make my stomach tighten.

Great. The day’s barely started and my mood’s already circling the drain.

“Not today, Satan in heels,” I muttered, and thumbed the red decline button without hesitation.

I lay there for a second, willing myself to pretend it never happened but my conscience was apparently in the mood to play drill sergeant.

With a sigh, I reached for the phone again, opened my banking app, and stared at my balance. A couple hundred gone wouldn’t kill me. It would just wound me mortally and leave me limping for the rest of the month.

I hovered my thumb over the “Transfer” button for a long moment, telling myself I didn’t have to. That I could just… not. But the guilt crept in like it always did, sticky and familiar, and before I knew it, the money was gone.

The dent in my account balance made me hiss under my breath. “Perfect. Coffee’s officially the only thing I can afford today.”

I shoved the phone onto the bed and dragged myself into the bathroom. Shower. Clothes. Hair. The kind of grooming routine that took effort to look like I didn’t try at all. By the time I was grinding coffee beans, the kitchen smelled alive, and I told myself it counted as breakfast because it was technically a bean-based beverage. Healthy. Nutritious.

---

The office lobby smelled like carpet cleaner and other people’s stress. I was halfway through my first sip when the universe decided to twist the knife.

“Lior. My office. Now.”

Adrian’s voice carried across the room, smooth and sharp at the same time. Heads turned. My heartbeat stuttered.

I hadn’t even made it to my desk yet. My bag was still hanging off my shoulder like I was a lost intern. A dozen possible reasons for the summons flashed through my mind, and most of them involved that photo incident.

Fantastic. Either I was getting fired, or we were going to have another riveting conversation about ‘boundaries.’

When I stepped into his office, I braced myself for it, but Adrian didn’t even look up right away. He was standing by his desk, suit jacket off, sleeves rolled to his forearms, scanning a stack of papers like the fate of the world was in them.

“The meeting with Goldcrest Imports got moved,” he said finally, eyes lifting to mine. “It’s today.”

My stomach dropped. “Wasn’t that supposed to be next month?”

“Flight schedules changed. They’re in the country now, and they want to talk.” He straightened a page and handed it to me. “We need all the contract paperwork updated, financials printed, and projections run before they arrive. You’ll work here with me until it’s ready.”

“Here” meant at his desk. In his office. Within arm’s reach. For hours.

“Sure,” I said, with the same tone most people reserved for dental appointments.

The chair beside him was too close for comfort. My laptop balanced on the edge of his desk, his cologne in the air: warm, clean, faintly citrus; and the low, steady clicks of his pen filling the space between our words.

“Clause twelve,” he said, tapping a printed page. “It needs to cover delayed shipment penalties, but still leave room for us to adjust in case—”

“If they request post-contract changes?” I typed quickly, glancing up. “We can lock them into a fixed penalty percentage that applies no matter when the request comes. They get flexibility, we keep the margin.”

Adrian’s mouth curved, the faintest approval in his eyes. “Good. Add that.”

For the next stretch of time, we moved in a rhythm I hadn’t expected. He’d throw out a scenario, I’d counter with a clause, he’d refine it, I’d note it. At one point, he leaned closer to point at my screen, the heat of his arm brushing mine.

Focus, Lior. It’s just a spreadsheet. A very boring, non-hormonal spreadsheet.

I must’ve zoned out at some point, because his voice cut through my thoughts like a blade.

“Still thinking about yesterday?”

My coffee almost redecorated his paperwork. “What? No—what?!”

He just hummed, a sound that said he didn’t believe me but wasn’t going to argue. Infuriating man.

We fell back into the work, both sharper now, and I hated that a part of me… liked this. The way we clicked under pressure. The way he listened when I spoke, as if my ideas were worth weighing.

By the time we wrapped up, my screen was a mess of saved drafts and backups. Adrian slid the final set of papers into a folder, his movements precise.

“During the meeting,” he said, “take notes on their reactions. If they push back, flag it. I want to see it before they leave.”

I nodded, pushing my chair back, ready to breathe free air again, but then his gaze caught mine. Low, steady.

“Don’t be nervous. You’re good at this.”

It should’ve been a throwaway line. Just encouragement from a boss to an employee. But it wasn’t. Not with the way he said it, like he knew I didn’t believe it myself.

I carried the words with me as we left his office together, the folder under his arm, the conference room ahead of us.

—--

The conference room smelled faintly of polished wood and strong coffee. The kind of space designed to make people feel like money was being made before the first handshake.

Adrian took the head of the table without hesitation. I slid into the seat to his right, my laptop open, pen ready. Across from us, the Goldcrest Imports delegation settled in; three of them, tailored suits and polite smiles that didn’t quite reach their eyes.

“Gentlemen,” Adrian began, his tone both warm and precise. “We appreciate you accommodating the schedule change.”

The lead client, a man with a slicked-back head of salt-and-pepper hair, gave a thin smile. “It was unavoidable. We have an engagement tonight, so it made sense to finalize matters today while we’re already here.”

Adrian inclined his head. “Understandable. Let’s get straight to it, then.”

And just like that, we were in the weeds — numbers, shipping timelines, exclusivity clauses. I tracked everything in real time, my notes expanding in neat, bullet-pointed lines.

When one of them suggested cutting delivery time by ten percent without increasing payment, I caught Adrian’s glance and jumped in.

“That would be workable only if shipping costs remain fixed,” I said, tone polite but firm. “Otherwise, you’d be asking us to absorb an additional expense without an offset.”

The salt-and-pepper man leaned back, considering me with a flicker of interest, but ultimately nodded. “Fair enough.”

Adrian’s pen tapped once on the table, a quiet signal of approval, before he took the conversation back, adjusting terms with surgical precision. Every time they pushed, he countered smoothly, never raising his voice, never losing that razor-sharp control.

By the time the last page of the contract slid across the table for signatures, the mood had shifted. Relaxed, almost warm.

As we shook hands, the lead client chuckled. “You should join us at the event tonight, Adrian. We’re already in town for it, that’s why we moved the meeting up.”

Adrian gave a noncommittal smile. “I’ll see if my schedule allows.”

The three of them filed out with promises of follow-ups and mutual congratulations, leaving the conference room quieter than it had been in hours.

I gathered the signed papers into the folder, then glanced up at him. “You’re going to that party.”

One of his brows arched. “What party?”

“The one they were just talking about. The one you accepted an invitation to about a month ago. I put it in your schedule. Starts in…” I checked my phone. “…four hours.”

Adrian leaned against the table, arms folded. “And why exactly should I attend?”

“Because it’s business. Networking. Optics. All the stuff you actually care about but pretend you don’t.” I shrugged. “Anyway, you’re going. You accepted an invitation for the party around a month ago and I had fixed it into your schedule for today.”

A faint smile touched his mouth, the dangerous kind. “Then, so are you.”

I blinked. “What?”

“You heard me. You’re coming with me.”

Oh yes. I’m the male Omega the company has to parade around to look good. Of course I also attend parties with my boss.

My train of thought derailed when his voice cut back in. “If it feels like overworking for you to come as my PA, then come as my plus one.”

I stared at him, searching for the hidden joke. “If you need a plus one, you can literally ask any single Omega and they’d happily say yes. I’d be out of place. Probably reflect badly on you. But if you don’t want the stress of looking, I can prepare a short list of the single Omegas here who’d be more than happy—”

He closed the distance between us in two steps. One finger tilted my chin up, forcing my gaze to meet his. His eyes were dark, steady.

“All that rambling,” he murmured. “I said I want you to come with me. I’ll provide the outfit. You are coming with me.”

And just like that, he released me and walked out, leaving me standing there with my pulse too high and my mind a mess.