“Hey, Pavios, what’s up? Could you move your legs? I need to hide under your desk.”

Pavios stared up at Tara openmouthed, giving her an unappetizing view of his partially chewed limburger cheese and tuna salad sandwich. Much to the dismay of his Royal Scottish Bank colleagues, Pavios had a habit of eating the same type of smelly sandwich every day at his desk. That, along with his questionable personal hygiene, was why his RSB office mates took to calling him “Stench” behind his back.

Right now, however, Tara was beyond grateful that Stench AKA Pavios (by the less nose-sensitive on their floor) was oblivious to the wall of smell surrounding him. This was precisely why she’d ambushed the hapless IT guy in the first place.

Meanwhile, said hapless IT guy was still struggling to respond.

Maybe he was surprised the Canadian from Technology, nicknamed “Glamour” by her co-workers, had deigned to speak to him of all people. Or, more likely, Tara’s odd request was so out there he simply had no idea what to say.

Either way, Tara couldn’t wait around for Pavios to pull himself together. She only had a few seconds to hide before HE showed up. And HE was coming in fast. There was no time for explanations.

Without waiting for a response, she yanked at the seatback of Pavios’ wheeled office chair—effectively moving it and Pavios out of the way—and dove beneath his desk. She scrambled as far back into the small space as she could, tucking her Kate Spade-heeled feet beneath her. The desk space was dimly lit and—whoa!—extremely pungent. Tara spotted a pair of brown Church-brand loafers on the dark blue carpet next to her. Well, that explained the extra layer of stink. Once this situation was over, she vowed to pull Pavios aside and urge him to get his hands on a tube of extra-strength anti-fungal cream.

Most humans in Tara’s current position would be trying hard not to gag or vomit. But her shifter senses relied on scent to gather important data about her surroundings. This meant she could handle any number of smells that were often too offensive for humans to bear full on. And Pavios, hands down, had the most intense scent of anyone in the office.

Tara sent up a silent prayer that the combination of Stench’s stench and the heavy spritz of Keinwulf Neutralizing Fragrance she always wore would be enough to mask her smell from the incoming mega-problem she wasn’t nearly ready to face.

“Don’t tell him I’m down here!” she instructed Pavios in as loud a whisper as she dared with HIM nearby.

“Tell who? What’s this all about then—?” Pavios stood up from his chair in order to better bend down to look at her underneath his desk… but then he froze in place, cut short by the sight above his high cubicle wall. “Crivvens! Is that Magnus Scotswolf? Ach, it is! Right here on the Technology and Auditing floor! What’s he doing here?”

“Don’t. Tell. Him. I’m. Here,” Tara commanded, wrapping a hand around the steel stem of Pavios’s rolling chair and yanking it towards the desk. The chair neatly punched in the back of Pavios’s knees, which forced him back into a seated position. Good, because she needed it to look like the IT guy was simply eating lunch at his desk—not talking to the she-wolf hiding under it.

“Have you seen Tara Hamilton?” a voice asked only a few milliseconds later. It was low and commanding with a ridiculously thick Highland brogue.

Tara braced herself, doubting Pavios had it in him to keep quiet about her. But instead of spilling the beans, he sputtered, “You’re…you’re Magnus Scotswolf!”

“Aye, that’s me,” the deep and officious voice answered. “I’m looking for Tara Hamilton. According to yer office mates by the lift, she was last seen heading in this direction. Did ye see her?”

Again, Tara braced. And again, all Pavios could manage was a choked, “You’re Magnus Scotswolf…Magnus Scotswolf!” His voice was only a few registers below that of a prepubescent girl and it sounded to Tara as if he might pass out.

“Aye, right again, mate. Now, could you tell me where—”

“I heard you might reach 100 caps this season!”

A pause. Then, “The only argument I have with that statement is the word ‘might,’ mate. Now, do ye think ye can point me in the dir—"

“Magnus Scotswolf is here! At my desk! Talking to me. Me!!!” Pavios began to make a sound Tara could only describe as a cross between a wheeze and a scream. It was more than a little obvious the poor man had a serious man crush on Magnus and would be of little use to him.

Magnus seemed to reach the same conclusion. “All right, mate. Well met. I’ll—er—I’ll see if the folks in the next section can help.”

“Magnus Scotswolf talked to me. To me!” Pavios repeated breathlessly, even as Tara watched the male wolf’s black Ghillie boots beat a hasty retreat from the cubicle and head towards Auditing. She also caught a brief glimpse of the red plaid kilt Magnus always wore before its owner, disappeared around the cubicle corner.

Upon Magnus’s departure, there were a few seconds of welcome silence (if you didn’t count Pavios’ star struck fanboy declarations) followed by the light banter of some staffers returning from lunch. Tara heard Magnus ask them her whereabouts, then his voice was drowned out by the gasping, hooting sounds people make when they are well and truly surprised. Above the din, the familiar voice of the normally stodgy Head Auditor roared, “Feckin’ hell, it’s Magnus Scotswolf!”

“Aye, that it is. I’m looking for—”

“But why are you on this floor?” the Head Auditor demanded before Magnus could finish. “The private banking fellows are on the second floor. This is the seventh floor—Technology and Auditing.”

“Uh, yes, I ken what floor I’m on. See, I’m looking for Tara Hamil—”

“Tara Hamilton? D’you mean Glamour?” the Head Auditor asked, cutting Magnus off yet again. “She’s in Technology over by the lifts. This here is Auditing. Nobody in this department would wear heels the likes of her. Right impractical they are. I have worries about the future health of that lass’s spine.”

“I already checked with her department but her desk is empty. They told me she headed this way.”

“Am I dreamin’?” another voice butted in. “Because I had a dream exactly like this. Except you were naked. And so was I. And the rest of you lot just watched.”

Tara rolled her eyes. That would be Glenda, the oldest auditor on staff, and why did she have the feeling that story was one-hundred percent true?

“If you can’t find Tara, she’s probably at lunch,” a helpful voice suggested. It belonged to the new Auditing intern from Canada. Her recent arrival to Scotland explained why she didn’t sound as breathless or awed as her colleagues when she spoke to Magnus, one of Scotland’s top rugby players. “She usually grabs lunch outside the office. Maybe try the kebab place near the shops on Multrees Walk?”

“But,” interjected Glenda, “Before you do that, let me help you check the loo. After all, she might have popped in to powder her nose. Right this way, you dead sexy man…”

Glenda’s voice gradually faded as she led Magnus away. Tara didn’t budge from her position beneath Pavios’ desk. Nor did she loosen her tight clasp on his ankle. She wasn’t taking any chances.

Not that she need have bothered. Because Pavios was still going on about how he’d met and spoken with Magnus Scotswolf. And he kept it up until Magnus finally headed back to the main elevator bank. Tara listened carefully for the far-off dinging of an arriving elevator car followed by the swoosh-hum of its slow descent. Thanks to her preternatural hearing and sense of smell, she not only knew the very moment Magnus left the floor, but she’d known the very moment he arrived, too.

Finally, HE was gone. Tara released her breath and Pavios’s ankle and then carefully crawled out from under the desk.

But her problems didn’t end with Magnus’s departure.

By the time Tara got to her feet, every single employee on the floor, including her boss—a tubby redhead named Gordon—had gathered around the cubicle. And it was obvious, based on the expressions they wore, that they were all wondering the same things.

Why was Magnus Scotswolf looking for you?

Why on earth did you hide from him? And under Stench’s desk, of all places?

Before anyone could say a word, Tara turned to Gordon and said, “So… any updates on my transfer request to RSB Dublin yet?”