Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha novel Chapter 28

Chapter 28: Going Home

After filing an official complaint against Scott, the rest of my day is unexpectedly open.

Thankfully, as someone who was saving all her vacation hours for a wedding that’s no longer happening, I can take another day off without too much concern—though I am worried about missing communication from the Fernsby account.

Rich clients don’t like to be kept waiting.

And he might take my recent silence as a sign that all the rumors are true...

No. No, it’ll be okay. I’ll call them as my priority on Monday and explain that I was hospitalized after the accident on the mountain.

Hyping myself up, convincing my worried brain I haven’t lost thousands of dollars in commission, I head home in a rideshare, wanting nothing more than a shower. The sensation of Scott’s fingers digging into my arms, the dread when I realized he was about to kiss me, leaves my body feeling dirty.

Beyond that, his change in behavior is concerning. Admittedly, I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did. After all, the Scott I agreed to marry isn’t the type of man who would cheat.

But this Scott—the one who can’t take no for an answer, so persistent in his delusions that I’m somehow falling apart without him? He’s a stranger.

He’s never been one to leverage his work authority over others. Aside from our recent breakup, Scott’s been a great superior to work for.

Has he been hiding his true self all this time?

Distracted by my thoughts, I don’t check the number when someone calls my phone, answering immediately. "Nicole d’Armand."

Damn. I’m even answering my personal phone like a work call.

"Where are you?" The voice seems familiar, definitely male, but it’s hard to tell through the static. Pulling the phone from my ear, I check the number, but it just says Restricted.

"Who is this?"

"Where are you?" the staticky voice repeats, the sound of impatience coming through loud and clear despite the interference on the line.

"Who’s asking?"

"Look, I’m just trying—" and the voice cuts out, leaving me with only partial sounds.

Pulling the phone away from my face once again to check the signal strength—full, of course, as I expect—I press it against my ear. "I’m sorry, I can’t understand what you’re saying."

"—go home. Okay? Got it?"

"Hello?"

"Whatever you do, don’t—"

The line goes dead, leaving me with little more than an ominous shiver.

* * *

"Thank you," I tell the rideshare driver as I slip out of the car.

"Have a safe day, ma’am."

"You too," I respond automatically, despite my brain getting stuck on the way he says to have a safe day, instead of a good or nice one.

As a solo female traveler, I’m sure he’s worried about my safety. It’s a kind thing to say. Shoving my paranoia down with a firm stamp of a mental heel, I stride into the lobby of my apartment building with confidence, even as my brain wonders what the next accident will be.

I’m not made for the murder mystery lifestyle. No idea how people can live this way. It has me so paranoid I’m second-guessing everyone.

My hand hovers over the doorknob. Should I go in? Call the police? For what? A feeling? They’d laugh and hang up on me.

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