Somewhere in the building, there was a bitch in heat. I could smell it. I could smell him. Not a her—there was a hint of semen.

"Sir, the meeting has been postponed," a beta advisor informed me succinctly. I paused, turning to peer at them. Meeting? What meeting?

And this was why ovulating omegas were not allowed to come into work. They were extremely distracting.

"The meeting with—"

"Fairfield, from Valentin," I recalled suddenly. "Ah, yes. Postponed? Hmm. Did they say why?"

"Fairfield is violently ill. Would you be open to rescheduling, sir?" the beta inquired, scampering along at my side as I moved mindlessly down the hallway.

I bit back the aggravated words that I wanted to say—fuck off, gnat, I'm busy—and instead shrugged casually, waving a hand. "Maybe. Direct him to Linda. She knows my schedule."

The beta nodded and departed from view, disappearing down the hall and around the corner. Once he was gone, I picked up my pace, unconsciously seeking out the source of the heat smell.

I told myself it was simply for admin purposes. Attending work while in estrus was against the rules and who best to enforce that rule than the son of the CEO himself? Yes, I affirmed. I would confront the omega and make sure it never happened again.

To my surprise, the scent trail led to my own office. I frowned and stepped inside, studying the space for imperfections that hadn't been there before. Signs of an intruder, a presence that didn't belong. None were evident, but the smell of heat was significantly stronger here. Which meant that he was hiding somewhere.

The idea stimulated my natural hunting instinct and my wolf was similarly intrigued. If anyone else had been in the room, they would've been witness to some changes in my appearance: canine teeth elongating, and pupils dilating as I lifted my head slightly, scenting the air more deeply. Already half-hard, my cock filled even further at the fresh whiff of heat smell, straining against the fabric of my trousers.

The closet. He was in the closet. He wasn't in the bathroom. Yet I made myself check it anyway, a part of me enjoying the suspense. Not bothering to flip on the lights, I glanced in, performing a perfunctory sweep and sniff of the room. Nothing.

The closet. Yes. I forced myself to approach it at the same pace I had the bathroom and even took an extra moment before opening the door. This time, though, my eyes weren't greeted by empty space—but rather, an unexpected surprise. I had already known my closet contained an omega, but I hadn't anticipated this twist of fate.

Huddled beneath the coat rack was none other than Shiloh Fairfield, the marketing prodigy of the Valentin company.

I allowed myself a rare, sharp-toothed smile. This .. this was going to be fun.