The Alpha In My Sheets

Dylan

I was late. Again. Mr. Wolfe had requested me to bring an urgent document.

I was already hurrying when his message arrived: "Pick up condoms along the way. "Large size." I froze on the tube, staring at my phone.

My face burned. Was this my life now? Running errands for Mr. Wolfe as a personal assistant/pharmacist?

I sighed and swore under my breath before typing back: "What brand?"

He responded promptly, like if he had been waiting. "Any. "Just hurry."

When I entered the pharmacy, I kept my head down. The cashier did not even blink. She simply called me up, handed me the bag, and grinned. However, it felt as if the entire store was watching. I carried the darn suitcase like it was a bomb!

I made my way to Mr. Wolfe's place. My heart pounded. Was this what I had studied for? Despite being a Harvard graduate, I am only able to deliver this. I knocked, and the door opened slightly. Nobody greeted me.

I stepped inside and asked, "Boss?"

His voice came from upstairs. "Come up!" I paused. Something about his tone made me feel apprehensive. I carefully climbed the stairs, each step cracking under my weight.

The air became thicker with each stride, and a nearly suffocating warmth filled the area.

Then the smell struck me. It was heavy and clung to the back of my throat. Sweet but sharp. Warm but overwhelming.

I couldn't reach it, yet it clung to me like an unseen hand, pulling me forward and making my head spin. I felt lightheaded by the time I got to his bedroom door.

By the time I reached his bedroom door, I felt lightheaded. My hand trembled as I pushed it open.

And there he was.

Boss.

The first thing I noticed was his skin—bare and flushed, a sheen of sweat glistening under the dull light. His shirt was gone, leaving his toned chest and strong shoulders on full display. His dark hair stuck to his forehead, damp and messy, as though he’d been through a storm.

And then I saw the omega.

Curled against him, their face buried in his neck. Their skin was pale, almost glowing against Mr. Wolfe’s olive tone. A faint sheen of their scent seemed to cling to the air around them, making the room feel even heavier.

I couldn't even fathom how mortified I felt. I paused, heat coursing through my cheeks as I realised I was intruding on something I had no right to see.

My face burned. I turned away immediately, holding up the bag without looking at him. “Here. Your…uh, order.”

He laughed softly. “Thanks.”

I stared at the floor, gripping the document I’d brought for him to sign. My fingers trembled. “Can you sign this now?”

“Do I look like I can sign anything right now?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t know how.

The air felt suffocating, but I knew it wasn’t pheromones. I was a beta. I couldn’t feel those. It was just…him. Mr. Wolfe. Always Tristan.

I shoved the document back into my bag and left without another word, embarrassment flaming my cheeks.

The subway ride home felt endless. The bag was gone, but the embarrassment wasn’t. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. I saw them.

Why did it bother me so much? I knew what he was like. I’d known for years. Since college. Since I watched him walk across campus like he owned it.

Tristan Wolfe. The perfect alpha.

And I? I was just…me.

I sighed, resting against the glass as the train rumbled along. I should’ve known better than to hope for anything else.

The next day, Mr. Wolfe called.

"Dylan," he murmured softly and calmly, as if nothing had occurred. “I’m still in heat. Cancel my meetings for the week.”

I swallowed hard. “Okay.”

“And bring me the document later. I’ll sign it then.”

“Sure,” I replied quickly. “Anything else?”

There was a pause. Then: “No.”

I hung up, my chest tight.

Why did it always feel like this? Like he was just out of reach. Like I could touch his world but never belong in it.

I didn’t sleep that night.

At work, people whispered about him.

“Mr. Wolfe’s heat again,” someone said.

“Must be nice,” another chuckled. “He gets to vanish while we deal with everything.”

I sat at my desk, organizing files, pretending not to listen.

“Dylan,” a voice called, pulling my attention. “You’re his assistant, right? You must know all the juicy details.”

I looked up and forced a polite smile. “Not really.”

They laughed and moved on, but the words stayed.

I knew too much.

That evening, Mr. Wolfe returned to work.

He walked in like he always did—suit perfect, tie flawless, every step exuding control. His dark eyes swept over the room but didn’t linger on me.

He didn’t acknowledge me.

He didn’t have to. I’d always known he sorta tolerated me as opposed to his other assistants and I’ve always been okay with that.

I really shouldn’t have cared.

But I did.

We worked late into the night. Typical.

The room was quiet except for the faint clicking of keyboards and the hum of the overhead lights.

I stayed at my desk, checking his calendar and making adjustments while he worked on contracts.

Time can really blur fast when you were spending each agonizing hour arranging documents in the perfect order that Mr. Tristan Wolfe wanted. Midnight came and went.

I wasn’t sleepy, but my eyes felt heavy. The numbers on the screen blurred together, and I rubbed my temples to stay focused.

A shadow moved in my peripheral vision. I looked up.

Mr. Wolfe was standing by my desk, holding a bottle of water. I couldn’t help the confusion on my face.

“Here,” he said, stretching it forward in front of me.

I blinked, confused. “What’s this for?”

“You look tired,” he said simply.

His voice was calm, but there was something in the way he said it—something that made my pulse quicken.

Ah, Dylan! Put yourself together!

I reached out to collect it but our fingers brushed together, and I was ashamed of the quick jolt of electricity that slither down to my core.

I felt my cock twitch. Bad Dylan! No horny!

“Thanks.” I croaked out.

He didn’t respond. He just stood there, watching me. I could only wish that my face wasn’t beat red.

Later, I brought him a file he’d asked for. He was sitting at his desk, leaning back slightly, his jacket discarded and his tie loosened.

“Put it there, and take a break,” he said, gesturing to the corner of his desk.

I nearly squinted at him, the word break wasn’t exactly in Mr. Wolfe’s dictionary. He was the epitome of a tyrant boss when it came to work.

Nevertheless I placed the file down and turned to leave, but his voice stopped me.

“You sure act nice for someone you’re tolerating,” I muttered quietly with a little sigh.

“Dylan,” he said.

I turned back, my heart skipping a beat. “Yes, sir?”

He studied me for a moment, his dark eyes unreadable.

“There’s a reason I’ve kept you,” he said finally. His voice was low, almost a murmur.

Kept you. My sleep deprived brain chose to single out that part and I nearly smacked myself to come off it.

I swallowed, my chest tightening. “What do you mean?”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “You’re good at what you do. Better than anyone I’ve had before.”

I felt my face heat up. “Thank you,” I said softly.

His gaze didn’t waver. “I don’t plan on letting you go anytime soon.”

The words floated in the air between us, heavy and loaded with something I couldn’t quite name.

I nodded, unsure what else to say. “I’ll…I’ll get back to work.”

I turned quickly, walking back to my desk. My hands were shaking, and I didn’t know why.

When I finally left his office, everything was empty, the world quiet.

But my mind wasn’t.

His words replayed over and over, wrapping around me like a spell.

I don’t plan on letting you go.

As I was about to focus back on my work, my mind flashed to Lunch—a dreaded work lunch with my colleagues. My stomach twisted. How did I forget?

The room would be full of stiff suits and smiling faces, all pretending to care about the same pointless things.

I could already hear the endless small talk, the forced pleasantries, and Mr. Wolfe’s cold, calculating gaze as he played the game.

A headache formed just thinking about it.

I facepalmed.

It was going to be a pain