Babysitting The Amnesiac Lycan King novel Chapter 124

CHAPTER 124

CHAPTER 124

“Don’t move, don’t breathe, don’t get found.”

I count each footstep as though they’re fucking grenades.

One. Two. Three.

Jacob’s boots drag against the hardwood, slow like he knows someone’s holding their breath inside this goddamn cabinet. And that someone’s me.

My knees are cramping. My spine’s pressed so hard against the back wall, I swear I’m becoming furniture. I try not to think about how loud my heartbeat is, or how much I have to pee. I hate hiding. I’m not built for it. I’m not a fucking shadow. I’m flesh and blood and dumb–ass mistakes wearing overpriced Italian boots.

The knob of the cabinet twitches.

Fuck. This is it. This is how I die. Hunted down in a Milan conference room like a rat in a desk drawer. What a legacy.

But then-

“Excuse me,” Seraphina’s voice cuts through the air, sharp and sugary. Like a knife dipped in honey. “I think the woman you‘ re looking for was just spotted on the ground floor.”

Her heels click into the room like she owns it–and yeah, technically, she kind of does now. Secretary to the CEO. Sleek, silver badge. Designer pencil skirt. Smile like she could sell your soul and you’d say thank you.

Jacob stops. I can feel it–like the whole goddamn cabinet sighs with me.

“And you are?” he asks.

“Seraphina Grimaldi,” she replies without missing a beat, bowing just enough to pass for polite but not submissive. “I believe the CEO mentioned that your… high status deserves nothing less than exceptional conduct.”

Bitch is a chameleon. A power–dressed savior with good lighting.

Silence. Then the creak of leather as Jacob adjusts his stance. I imagine him squinting at her, probably running mental diagnostics. She’s lying. She knows it. I know it. He probably knows it. But he backs off anyway.

“Where on the ground floor?” he asks.

“Near the café,” she says smoothly. “Blonde, I think. Wearing a scarf.”

He leaves. So does the rest of the search team, their shoes fading into silence.

And still, I wait. I count to thirty, just to be safe.

Then the door opens, and light floods the inside of the cabinet like fucking salvation.

“Taryn,” Ser mutters, her perfectly glossed lips curling into a glare. “Seriously? This isn’t the bathroom.”

I stumble out, rubbing my knees, wincing. “You try peeing when an Imperial Beta is about to sniff your soul out through a conference room door.”

She huffs. “You’re lucky I was here. Do you know how many NDAs I’m going to have to sign if you blow this job?”

“You saved my ass. I owe you gelato and a liver.”

“Damn right you do.” She smooths her skirt and glances at her watch. “Come on. HR’s waiting.”

The walk to Human Resources is brisk. Seraphina leads like she’s walking into war. I trail behind like a half–dead soldier dragging a baby–sized secret inside me.

And yeah. That secret’s kicking my bladder like it’s got beef with me personally.

When we get to the HR office, Ser leans into the glass doorway and does this subtle, smug wink at the woman behind the desk. It’s the kind of wink that says this one’s under my protection, so don’t fuck it up. The HR lady straightens her back and clears her throat like she’s just been knighted.

“Ms. Sinclair?” she says, folding her hands. “Please, take a seat.”

I nod. My palms are sweating. I wipe them on my skirt and sit. The cushion’s hard. The air’s cold. There’s a poster on the wall that says Be The Wolf Of Your Own Pack and I kind of want to punch it.

“Let’s begin,” she says, tapping her keyboard. “It says here you’re referred by Mr. Calloway?”

“Yes,” I answer. “We worked briefly together in New York. He offered me this opportunity after reviewing my writing portfolio.”

“And your background before that?”

I pause. My heartbeat thuds a little louder. “Freelance journalist. Mostly independent. Covered werewolf rights, pack reforms, some corporate corruption. My last article went viral.”

CHAPTER 124

Technically true. Just… don’t Google the fallout.

She narrows her eyes a little but nods. “What’s your stance on neutrality in reporting?”

“Doesn’t exist. Everything’s biased. What matters is if your facts are bulletproof.”

She blinks. Like she didn’t expect that answer.

I shift forward. “Look, I’m not gonna fluff piece someone who’s exploiting Omegas just because they have a title. I write the truth. If that makes people uncomfortable, maybe they should stop doing fucked up things.”

She looks at me. Then at the screen. Then at Seraphina’s wink echoing in her brain?