Chapter 321. An Office Romance II

Chapter 321: 321. An Office Romance II

Maisie

Having only been at the holding facility at the Councils’ buildings, I was pleasantly stunned to find a whole different side to it that didn’t involve enforcers and sentries who were ordered to watch or restrain me.

Stepping past the revolving doors brought me smack dab into the chaotic atmosphere. Heels clicking too fast, printers spitting out papers that got snatched up before they were finished, people walking swiftly with towering stacks of files a human would normally struggle with but here it seemed light as a feather, phones blarring and the occasional, "I apologize. Hold on while I check that for you." Or, "Hi. You’ve reached the C.O.T.W. How may I be of assistance?"

"Not that file, Mark," a woman snapped harshly enough to make a young wolf who looked like an intern jump. He shifted around nervously, looking through a stack and I felt sorry for him when he got snapped at again.

My brows were arched all the way up to my hairline. "I had no idea it was this busy in here."

I had no idea why I thought the Councils mainly comprised of people who fancied ceremonial robes and liked wearing stern expressions that made them look like they were holding in fart.

Soren slid his hand through mine, entwining our fingers. I blinked as he huddled closer to me but thought nothing of it as he said, "It is usually quite civil, but they’re all panicking about the DHSA inspection."

"Inspection?" I echoed.

"Recall your classes on the Tri-species Accords?"

I nodded. Zaytsev had brushed on the topic this morning, and Jericho had made in-depth notes on them for me.

The history between our species and the humans was bloody, dark, and long.

Centuries ago, humans hunted wolves and Lycans like rabid dogs, burning our kind at the stake and labeling us demons. We had brute strength, but humans had the numbers and the weapons.

When war finally broke out, human blood ran like rivers, but our numbers equally plummeted. It wasn’t until the fourteenth century that the first known Lycan Queen brokered for a truce that kept everyone safe.

It was a jumble of bogus words, but the deal in itself was pretty simple.

"Here are our borders. Here are your borders. Stay the fuck on your side of the border, and we’ll stay on ours. Everybody happy."

Cities like Ashbourne and its environs became majorly wolf and Lycan territory, completely off-limits to human law enforcement.

Over time, that cold truce morphed into a multi-billion-dollar partnership. They traded food supplies, high-tech infrastructure, and raw weapon materials. And in return, the extra wealthy Lycans pumped obscene amounts of gold and capital straight into the human economy.

It was peace.

More like a business deal that benefitted the humans more than they benefitted us, because everyone knew Ashbourne was naturally rich with produce. We tilled our own farms and produced our own food.

But hey, so long as they weren’t hunting us down with pitch-forks, we were all good.

"The attacks from those creatures targeted a few of the human towns, leaving too many casualties," Soren said. "Under the terms of our truce, the Department of Human-Supernatural Affairs considers this a breach of the Accords. In simpler terms, we’ve plagued the humans with our problems and have defiled their borders. The DHSA is here to inspect for a couple of days. During this time, everyone is on edge. No one wants another war."

My lips parted around an "O".

Right. Maisie Adams had somehow, indirectly caused another problem. Tell me something I didn’t know.

"Hey," Soren said, likely feeling my guilt. "This isn’t your fault."

But it was.

"Councilman Black!" someone suddenly yelped, and the entire floor glanced up at once, a stifling silence falling over the large space.

The next five seconds were awkward. They didn’t seem to know what to do with themselves. It was like when the boss was away on a vacation and dropped in without warning. They were caught between bowing, rearranging their desks and fixing their appearances, and in half that time, the chaos ceased.

I leaned into Soren, fighting the instinct to duck behind him shyly under their curious stares. "Tell me you don’t terrorize them like you terrorize me."

He blinked innocently, long thick lashes dusting his high cheekbones. "What on earth gave you that impression?"

"They’re totally pissing their pants," I whispered.

He almost looked offended. "I’m not a terrorist."

"No? Just a tyrant, then," I mocked, and he flashed me a delicious smile that sent shivers racing down my spine.

The woman who had called his name finally pushed through the crowd and came to a halt in front of us, double over and wheezing for air.

When she straightened up to fan her face, I caught the distinct, complex scent of a half-breed.

She was clearly older than Soren, with warm smile lines carved into her cheeks, a subtle baby bump curving beneath her pencil skirt, and a thick gold wedding band on her finger. "Remind me never to cover for you again, you absolute menace," she said to Soren. "Derek is being a complete dickhead."

Soren’s lips twitched, a rare, genuinely fond spark glittering in his golden eyes.

It occurred to me then, with a strange little jolt, that Soren actually had a life outside of our little, troubled circle. He had colleagues. Friends. People who could casually insult him to his face without his eyes going black.

"Maisie, this is Rosalia," Soren said, hooking an arm around my waist and tugging me flush against his side. "She is my... well, I have no idea what her actual job title is, other than eating my expensive snacks and complaining about my schedule."

Rosalia scoffed. "I’m the assist," she said, but Soren raised his voice just enough for it to echo across the quiet floor. "Rosalia, this is May. My wife."

My face erupted in flames. I was sure everyone knew who I was, but hey, what harm was there, screaming it to the entire building?

Half the people in the hall suddenly developed a deep, fascinated interest in their computer screens. While the other half stared unabashedly with curiosity, especially when Soren started do strange things.

Like nuzzling the top of my head in public.

I swatted him off, both shy and embarrassed and irritated. But the action earned quite a number of shocked gasps. And I recalled the general’s public opinion that I was abusive.

I sighed tiredly. I was never beating the allegations, was I?

Rosalia’s face instantly split into a bright, dazzling smile and I couldn’t help but mirror it. "Maisie Adams, in the living flesh!" she exclaimed, stepping forward and taking my hand in a warm, solid grip. "I’ve heard so much about you."

She leaned in and whispered, "It’s an honour to meet the woman who set House Graham on fire. I like you better than that witch of a woman."

I flushed, tucking my hair behind my ear. "It was only one room. I didn’t mean to burn the whole house," I mumbled, but the wicked amusement on her face to me my reputation had definitely preceded me.

"Of course, you didn’t," she said and winked at me. "Mind if I got a photo with you before you leave?"

She didn’t believe me at all.

I tucked my hair behind my ear with a rueful smile. "No, I don’t mind at all."

For some reason, I looked to Soren. He was frowning, eyes narrowed at Rosalia in contemplation. His hand on me tightened and he moved me backwards by an inch.

"She’s busy later," he scowled.

My eyes widened. He was jealous? He couldn’t be serious. Where they jealous of anything and everyone I spoke to? He literally introduced me to her himself!

Apparently used to Soren’s antics, Rosalia rolled her eyes, and her friendly tone dropped to one of professionalism after a friendly hand squeeze as she returned her gaze to Soren. "The meeting began ten minutes ago."

Soren tilted his head, his posture shifting into something predatory and displeased. "Without me?"

"Derek pushed it forward," she explained with a grimace. "Randall Jnr. arrived earlier with a full armed escort. Derek didn’t want to risk keeping him waiting and creating another... incident."

The words washed over me before they sank in.

I blinked, my jaw dropping slightly. "Wait... Randall? Like President Randall’s son? Like the President of..."

"Yup," Rosalia muttered, looking irked. "The ultimate human nepo-baby, acting like he owns the whole damned place. As if it weren’t already insulting enough that he’s meeting with the Councils on his father’s behalf. That little shit barely knows how to knot his laces together."

A dark smile lifted the corner of Soren’s full mouth and he guided me towards the elevator. "Let’s see how brave Dale is feeling today."

I glanced up at him. "Dale? You know him?"

Soren shurgged. "He’s an old acquaintance."

He was acquaintances with the President’s son? Of course he was. He was Crown Prince, after all. Rich people, rich crowds. Get with the times, Maisie Adams, and stop thinking like a maid!