Gideon

LAYLA

For the first time since I started working as a cleaner, I feel like stealing something.

This pillow.

I run my fingers over the smooth, silky pillowcase. I’m tempted to take it, just this once, so I can put it on my bed and sleep on it.

Every night.

Maybe daytime too…

Or maybe I’ll just stay in bed forever.

When I arrived earlier and started cleaning, I noticed the place smelled amazing, but it was faint at first and I was busy being impressed by the penthouse itself.

It’s open and spacious, with a soaring ceiling and two walls of floor-to-ceiling glass windows that overlook the sky, the ocean, and some shorter buildings.

The floor is a smooth, dark hardwood, but the sunken living room has a thick, luxurious carpet and two curved white sofas with furry gray pillows.

There’s even a bar with a gleaming white marble countertop near the wall at the back.

And a wide, curved staircase leading upstairs…

To this bedroom.

I mean, everything in the penthouse took my breath away, but the smell…

The smell.

The moment I entered the master bedroom, my heart jerked in my chest and my breathing sped up.

It’s that good.

Like a drug.

And the smell is the strongest here, on the bed.

Feeling high as a kite, I lie down on the cool sheets and bury my nose in the pillow. I rub my cheek against it and imagine the man who put his head on this pillow last night.

Whoever lives here must be amazingly hot. No one who smells this good could look ugly. No way.

I know this room belongs to a man because I saw his shirts, suits, shoes, belts, and neckties in his perfectly organized closet.

A pair of his shoes probably cost more than what I make in a year.

And judging by the size of his suits, he’s not a small guy…

My ringtone blares out of my phone, and I jump off the bed, heart pounding.

It’s my mom calling. Again. Which reminds me that I have less than thirty minutes left to clean this place.

What the hell, Layla!

Beth would surely fire my ass if she knew what I’d been doing and thinking. I have no time to daydream over a smell. What’s wrong with me?

I let the call go unanswered, but I sing along to the song while I strip the sheets off the bed to be sent to the dry cleaners.

The song stops. Mom’s probably going to call me again soon, though. Oh God, she’s going to kill me!

I make the bed with fresh sheets.

There, done!

Impulsively, I lie back down on the perfectly made bed and rest my head on his pillow. I can’t help it; the smell is still there, though not as strong, and his bed is so comfortable, the sheets unbelievably soft.

And tonight he’ll be lying right here…

Creepy, Layla. What’s got into you?

I jump up quickly and smooth the bed down again.

When I finish cleaning, I notice an envelope on the kitchen counter addressed to the cleaner. I stare at the handwriting—a sure, confident scrawl—then open it up.

There’s a very generous tip tucked inside. No wonder Marnie chose to clean apartments and penthouses instead of offices like the rest of us.

I wish I knew what the client looks like, but there are no pictures of him in the entire place. Or personal items except for his clothes in the closet. It’s weird.

The room with the balcony at the end of the hall definitely belongs to a female, though. I could see all her personal items—and smell her perfume.

Wait! What if they’re married? I don’t do married men. Or engaged men, or men with girlfriends. Even just to daydream about.

That just feels wrong.

Gah!

I need to go out on dates more often…just not with Kofi.

GIDEON

“Gideon, where are you? I’m about done and I need the car here,” Helen says as soon as I answer the phone. I can hear soft music playing in the background.

“I’m almost home. I’ll send the car over as soon as Bradshaw drops me off.”

“You know I hate waiting. I’m at Jean-Georges. Come get me now.”

Helen left this morning to go shopping and is just now finishing up a late lunch with a friend. The car’s been at her disposal, idly waiting for her, all day, and I just had it pick me up thirty-five minutes ago.

I’m less than five minutes away from our building, and Waldorf Astoria, where she had lunch, is almost forty minutes away on a good day. An hour’s drive if the traffic is bad. And the traffic is bad. It’s rush hour.

“Then take a cab or an Uber.”

“Cab? Uber?” she scoffs. “Are you serious right now? I never…”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and lower the phone to my knee.

I just spent the last seven hours in a meeting with nine headstrong alphas from Orange County, and I have to meet up with them again tomorrow. I certainly don’t feel like dealing with one of Helen’s fits right now.

My team and I have been working hard to help the alphas settle their differences as amicably as possible.

Their packs might not be too big, but alphas are known to be stubborn, short-tempered, and—a lot of the time—unreasonable.

Helen’s still talking, so I glance at my phone and press “end call.”

“Bradshaw, pick Ms. Aristophanes up after you drop me off at the traffic light here.” I’m a few blocks away from my building, but I can walk. Besides, the traffic is gridlocked, so it’ll probably be faster.

Bradshaw slowly eases the car into the right lane, and I get out as soon as he stops at the traffic light.

My phone rings in my hand. It’s Helen again. She must be fuming that I ended the call while she was still talking. I turn off the phone and stroll among the humans on the sidewalk.

Taller than most of them, I draw attention. I’m always drawing attention.

I’m aware of the flirtatious smiles and the come-hither looks thrown my way, mostly by women. But they have no idea what they’re looking at.

The brief walk already makes me feel better. It’s been a while. I need to go for a run, just not in this concrete jungle. The beast in me craves nature.

***

My lycan emerges the moment I open the door to the penthouse.

Fierce.

Uncontrollable.

Ravenous.

I hungrily draw in a sharp, deep breath, pulling the scent into my nose and lungs like an addict snorting crack cocaine.

That scent!

My heart rate doubles. Fire runs up my spine. My vision changes, telling me my eyes are turning black. My teeth and canines lengthen, sharpen.

The fancy burnished-gold doorknob bends in my grip, and my eyes wildly search the perimeter even though I know there’s nobody here.

I fight to regain control, willing the animal side of me to back down, then I go prowling, hunting for the source of the smell.

My nose leads me to my bedroom. The smell is the strongest on my bed—on my bedsheet, on my pillow.

I bring the pillow to my nose. Whatever it is, it smells unbelievable. Like nothing I’ve ever smelled before.

And it’s driving me wild.

I grip the pillow tighter as my lycan fights to come out again. It’s like a reaction to a kick in the gut—I have no control over it.

My lycan has never reacted so strongly without provocation. Even when the scent was faint, my lycan took notice and instantly reacted.

I bury my nose in the pillow again. The scent is definitely addictive. I just can’t get enough of it. And the more I smell it, the more I yearn for its source.

I need to find out what the smell is. It’s driving my lycan crazy. It’s driving me crazy. There’s no way I’ll be able to rest until I find out.

I place the pillow back on the bed, fighting the urge to lie down, then return downstairs, where I take off my jacket and sit on the sofa.

So…how did the smell get in here?

I glance around and notice that the envelope I left on the counter is gone. The cleaner must have been in here this morning.

Even though I’ve only been here just over a week, I’m familiar with her routine already. She does a passable job, nothing great, but I leave a tip every time.

Something’s different today, though. For whatever reason, she was more thorough. The floor has more shine to it, and the counter and the tables have been thoroughly wiped.

I could tell she neglected the counter before because, even though it probably would have seemed spotless to a human, I can see even the thinnest layer of dust when it’s not wiped.

The citrusy smell of cleaning products mingles with the scent that’s driving my lycan wild and making my mouth water.

I don’t know what the smell is, but it’s definitely feminine. Probably some new air freshener.

Maybe I’m allergic to it…or maybe I need to find out what it is so that I can buy it by the truckload…

I shake my head to clear it, then take out my phone and call William Smythe, the lycan who manages this property. He answers on the second ring, and I ask him to contact the company he hired to clean the place.

I want to meet with them first thing tomorrow.

***

I’m nursing a drink—and still trying to figure out why that scent is affecting me so much—when Helen strolls in a couple of hours later.

I was expecting her to still be furious since I hung up on her and refused to take her calls afterward, but she looks surprisingly happy.

Bradshaw walks in after her, carrying a load of her purchases.

“Just leave those bags there,” Helen tells him airily while taking a seat next to me on the couch.

“Thanks, Bradshaw. We won’t be needing you again tonight.”

“Have a good night, sir,” he says, then pulls the door closed.

“Darling,” Helen purrs, leaning her body against mine. “Would you like a private viewing of my shopping spree today?”

She drops a glossy bag from a lingerie store on my lap, then runs a manicured finger over my chest.

“I’m not in the mood right now, Helen.”

She ignores me and tries to unbutton my shirt, so I catch her wrists and draw her hands away.

Harrumphing, she flounces back onto the sofa, then plucks the bag from my lap and stands up. “I’ll be in my room when you’re in the mood.”

I know she musts be fuming from my rejection, and I’m sure she still hasn’t forgotten the way I ignored her calls earlier, but for some reason Helen is trying to play nice tonight.

She tromps up the stairs, her high heels clicking on the wooden steps. “By the way. Something’s wrong with the doorknob.”