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“I think that’s enough for today,” Laura said, closing her laptop with a firm snap. She brushed her hand over Derek’s in the process—a light, calming touch, brief enough to escape the Argents’ notice if they weren’t paying close attention.
Which Kate was, of course. Her sharp eyes had been fixed intently on Derek throughout most of the all-day meeting, leaving him shifting uncomfortably in his chair and sneaking unsubtle looks at the clock. A good portion of the agenda hadn’t even been all that relevant to his work, but while the heads of other departments had transitioned in and out, he’d stuck stubbornly by Laura’s side, unwilling to leave her alone.
Not that Laura actually needed his help; she was increasingly like their mother in that way, able to face down any number of threats without the slightest flicker of uncertainty in her heartbeat. But being there had made Derek feel better. Even if for the last hour, he’d merely been spinning a pen over the polished surface of the conference room table, glowering at the endless procession of brightly lit charts and graphs that’d quickly given him a dull, lingering headache.
Gerard Argent had smirked in their direction after flipping to a particularly eye-searing one, which Derek took as confirmation that the colors had been specifically chosen to fuck with their heightened senses.
Kate’s unrelenting attention could’ve merely been another intimidation tactic. Laura, who’d given Derek a few confused looks that he had carefully ignored, would have no reason to assume otherwise, since she hadn’t been present at the initial conference that had kicked off this painful partnership. Derek wished he hadn’t been, either, although perhaps it was best that he’d come into this situation knowing exactly how ruthless and untrustworthy the Argents were. Laura had listened to his carefully worded cautions, then sighed and raised her hands in a resigned shrug.
We’ll hear them out, she’d said.
The proposed merger was an immediate no, of course, which had elevated the tension in the room; Laura was far too business-savvy to miss that “merger” was a polite mask for “hostile takeover,” but she was also much more diplomatic than Derek and had managed to steer them in a relatively productive direction. The Argents had fought them every step of the way, though, and if Derek was exhausted, Laura must be just about ready to collapse on her feet.
Unlike Derek, she'd never display that weakness in public. Even that soothing touch—a reminder of Pack, of family—had been for his benefit, not hers. He clenched his fingers around his pen, angry with himself for letting the Argents get under his skin, then released his grip when he felt Kate’s scorching gaze follow the gesture.
“Should we get drinks?” Kate asked—ostensibly addressing the room as a whole. Her lips curved into a dangerous smile, painfully similar to the one that had initially sliced through Derek’s defenses.
“How about dinner?” Laura interjected smoothly as she stood to her feet, nodding for Isaac to begin shutting down the projector and gathering up loose materials. “I know a good place a few blocks from here.”
Before Derek could think of how to react—the last thing he wanted was to spend more time with the Argents, but he obviously couldn't abandon his sister to them—Laura handed him her laptop.
“You mind locking this in my office before heading home?” she said, with enough power behind the question to indicate it wasn't a request. “I'll walk the Argents out. They must be starving.”
“Laura,” Derek objected, his eyes darting to Kate, whose smile had thinned out to something brittle and razor-sharp, then back to the set line of his older sister’s jaw.
“I'll have Cora and Erica join us,” Laura reassured him, a hint of red spilling into her irises. So she was taking the threat seriously, after all.
“Okay,” Derek said, letting a few shreds of worry slip away. “I guess I'll just—” run home, he meant to say, since Laura had picked him up that morning, but the Argents’ presence made him hesitate over the words, oddly insecure in his own skin.
Generations ago, my family used to hunt creatures like you, Kate had said that evening in the Chicago hotel room, digging her nails into Derek's bare shoulders and watching in clinical fascination as the bloody crescents healed. I've always wondered what that would be like.
The laptop case creaked a bit in Derek's grip. Laura didn't know that part of the story; it’d been too mortifying on too many levels. He’d figured she didn't need to know, not as long as he was around to keep his eye on Kate. But he hadn’t factored in the toll it’d take on his nerves.
“If you need a ride home,” Kate started, but Laura ignored her, touching Derek’s arm again to ground him.
“The sun’ll be down soon,” she said. “It’ll be safer if you call a ride.”
When Derek looked at her blankly—from whom? someone else in the office?—Laura rolled her eyes.
“Give me your phone,” she said, then plucked it out of his pocket when he didn’t move quickly enough. “There,” she said after a few seconds of swiping at his screen. “The app will text you when your ride’s here, and the payment’s already programmed in. Go home. Get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that, she handed his phone back and gently pushed him out of the conference room.
“I hope you like steak,” she said brightly, addressing the Argents but pitching her voice so Derek could still hear her as he walked down the hall to her office.
It worked as intended; he smiled and shook his head, picturing her ordering a thick slab, as raw as the kitchen would serve it. The image carried him downstairs, to the loading zone in front of their shared building, where other office workers were congregating in loose clumps. Some were chatting on their way out for the evening, while others were clearly waiting for their own rides. Derek watched a few get into cars that pulled up to the curb, with a smooth confidence that showed this wasn’t new to any of them.
He checked his phone after a few minutes, hoping he hadn’t somehow missed his ride while he was carefully locking up Laura’s office, then doubling back to do the same with his. He wouldn’t have put it past Kate to attempt a quick rummage through their files while taking a supposed bathroom break.
As if summoned by the movement, his screen lit up with a message: Your driver, Sebastian, has arrived. Look for the blue—
Derek looked up, wrinkling his nose at the pale blue Jeep that had just stopped in front of the building, its rattling engine a stark contrast to the sleek vehicles around it. Maybe he could pretend he didn't see it; he'd go back upstairs, stash his clothes, and slip down the back stairwell. In his wolf form, he'd make it home in under ten minutes, and Laura would be none the wiser.
His phone vibrated again, politely reminding him he hadn't swiped it open to read the full message, and he sighed in resignation. Fine. He could deal with a stranger for a few minutes. He'd shower off the smell when he got home, then find a way to relax—maybe by catching up on some emails—until he'd heard that Laura had made it home in one piece, too.
He opened the passenger door, grimacing as he gingerly slid onto the cracked leather seat. He’d definitely need to wash these slacks.
“It’s clean,” the driver said, his mouth quirked in amusement.
“Is it,” Derek said, leaning down to pluck a half-finished bottle of Red Bull from the footwell.
“As clean as I could get it,” the driver responded, not sounding embarrassed in the slightest. “Anyway, no one else has complained yet today. How old is that, can you tell? Still drinkable?”
Derek uncapped the bottle and sniffed it. “I wouldn’t,” he said, then finally gave the driver more than a passing glance.
He was roughly Derek’s age and surprisingly handsome, despite the ugly plaid shirt he’d rolled up past his elbows. He had broad shoulders, honey-dark hair, a line of moles trailing enticingly along his cheek, and thick eyelashes framing dark eyes that glittered with humor. And he was laughing at Derek.
Derek frowned at him and recapped the bottle, setting it in a cup holder that already held a couple of empty candy wrappers and what smelled like a dried-out cough drop. “You already knew how long it’d been there,” he concluded, which seemed obvious in retrospect. “So why’d you ask me?”
“Wanted to see if you’d do it,” the driver said. “If you’d chucked it at my head instead, I would’ve known right off the bat I wasn’t getting a tip. And that I should probably shut up for the rest of the drive. You ready to go?” He nodded at Derek’s unbuckled seatbelt.
“Right,” Derek said, keeping his head down as he fastened it, not sure why he had an odd prickle of nerves at the thought of the driver watching him. It wasn’t...unpleasant, was the thing. Not like earlier.
When he'd finished clicking the buckle into place, he did his best to pretend he didn’t feel a twinge of disappointment at the sight of the driver’s head turned away, watching the traffic.
“Let’s get this show on the road, then,” the driver said, shooting a quick grin back at Derek before pulling into the flow of other cars.
Derek got distracted by his hands for a few blocks—strong, sinewy, and capable, light on the steering wheel, as though the vehicle was merely an extension of his body. He had a few moles scattered along his wrist, too, curving up the inside of his well-muscled forearm.
Derek tore his gaze away, back to the road. “Should I just tell you my address, or is it better to give step by step directions?”
The driver flicked a quick glance at him. “The address was fine,” he said. “I can plug it into the GPS if you want, but I know where your building is. And one of the perks of our service is not having to listen to that annoying voice telling us when to turn, or freaking out if I take a quicker detour.”
Suddenly the driver’s arms were a lot less distracting. “How do you know where I live?” Derek hadn't said anything when he got in the car; he was tired, but not so exhausted he'd forget parts of their conversation.
The driver’s chemosignals flared with confusion, then softened back into the warm, relaxed scent Derek had been unconsciously settling into, letting the day’s worries slowly melt away.
“This is your first time taking a Shyft, isn't it.”
Those words didn’t quite fit together, but before Derek spent too much time trying to puzzle it out, he followed the driver’s gesture to a small black object on top of the dash. He leaned forward, turning it enough to see the business’s name, backlit by blue LEDs.
“My sister set it up,” Derek admitted. “I didn’t really look at what she did. Shyft, is that—”
“What it sounds like. Mostly.” He flicked his blinker on and merged into a lane that fed onto the freeway, clogged now with rush hour traffic.
It wasn’t the fastest route to Derek’s building, but he didn’t question it, too caught up in the implications of that name. He took a deep breath, opening his mouth slightly to properly filter through every element of the driver’s scent. “But you’re human,” he said once he was sure.
“Guilty as charged,” the driver said. “We don’t limit our drivers or passengers to supernaturals; we just make sure they know they’re welcome. And the name’s a little misleading, too. It’s not just for shifters, of course. But you guys are the most common, at least in terms of interacting with the human world so far.”
“You know that I’m a werewolf,” Derek said. “Was that something Laura had to tell you when she called for the ride?” That rubbed him the wrong way; he wasn’t ashamed of who he was or trying to hide it, but he had issues with the idea of asking people to identify themselves. Would some drivers refuse to pick up certain types of supernaturals?
The driver shook his head. “No, no. That’s the entire point of Shyft. I guess you don’t know this, dude, if you’ve never tried the competition, but you must’ve seen some of the headlines? About discrimination lawsuits? Like the woman who got fired because of low ratings from a bunch of dicks once they found out she was a selkie?”
“No,” Derek said. “Or...maybe. I don’t know, it sounds vaguely familiar.”
“Well, she works for Shyft now. We’re a fairly new business; kinda testing things out before expanding, so I won’t worry too much about our advertising being shit.” He gave Derek a friendly wink. “I’m Stiles, by the way. Stilinski.”
“Stiles Stilinski,” Derek repeated. That didn’t sound right; he didn’t feel like digging his phone out, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t what the app had told him. “I thought your name was—”
Stiles cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand. “Ignore that. The system’s hooked into the DMV; I haven’t worked out how to override the damn thing yet without messing with the informational integrity. And my grandparents would be too hurt if I actually officially changed my name, so. Just...call me Stiles.”
“Stiles,” Derek said again. Sebastian wasn’t that terrible, but considering how much his sisters hated the jokes about their rhyming names and the frequency with which people confused the two of them, there could be any number of reasons to dislike it. “So how did you know?”
The corner of Stiles’s mouth twitched up. “Just good at figuring people out,” he said. “Plus my best friend’s been a werewolf for about a decade, so I know some of the signs. My guess is you’re Born, not Bitten?”
Derek arched an eyebrow at him, a silent question that Stiles picked up on faster than he might’ve expected.
“You have a lot of tells,” he said. “I think when you’re born a shifter, it’s more obvious, but more subtle? Somehow both at once. Like...okay, Scott’d been on the waiting list since he was fifteen, but he didn’t get approved for the Bite until we were in college, so it turned him into a complete hormonal dickbag when I was the only one around to deal with him. The sniffing, the inappropriate comments about people’s emotional states, the fucking libido on full moons.” Stiles snorted, rapping his hands lightly on the wheel. “Pun not intended. Luckily, his girlfriend was a kitsune, so she kinda rolled with it, but there are some things you do not need your best friend to talk about, y’know?”
Derek absorbed that wash of information, sifting it down to the relevant bits, but Stiles kept going.
“Anyway, Scott eventually figured out how to control his impulse to loudly announce what other people were feeling, which was really fucking annoying and also hell on my dating life for a while. But the ‘wolf side still kinda feels separate from him. And with you, it’s all...natural. It’s easy to tell it’s just a part of who you are.” He mimed an explosion of words spewing out of his mouth. “Sorry, I’m not trying to make myself sound like an expert on any of this. I find it fascinating, that’s all.”
“The supernatural?” Derek asked, thinking about the way Kate had looked at him—with a mixture of disgust and titillation, like she’d wanted to lay him out on a table and dissect him, without bothering to stitch him back together after.
“Learning about other people,” Stiles said. “Some of it’s probably none of my business. Well. Probably a lot of it, so you can tell me to shut up anytime. I’ve just always liked knowing things. Drove my parents absolutely crazy but did serve me pretty well in school.”
“And now you’re a Shyft driver,” Derek said. He didn’t mean it to sound insulting—he didn’t know anything about this career path—but before he could attempt to soften the blunt assessment, Stiles chuckled.
“Some of the time, yeah.”
“And you like it because...you can learn about people?”
“You can learn a lot from sitting in a car with someone,” Stiles said. “Even if you’re not talking. Sometimes especially if you’re not. So yeah, I like that part of it. Plus I get to spend quality time with Roscoe, which is always nice.” He patted the Jeep’s dash.
Derek wrinkled his nose. “I’m surprised they let you sign up to drive without checking your car’s emissions first. Don’t you know shifters have a stronger sense of smell?” Not to mention hearing; he’d had to focus on separating out the Jeep’s rattling from the far more pleasant sound of Stiles’s voice.
“So I’ve heard,” Stiles said. “I’ll probably have to put him out to pasture at some point, but Roscoe’s been with me for a long time.”
A stranger talking about his car shouldn’t fill Derek with such warmth and...envy. He felt weirdly jealous of the affection in Stiles’s voice. And yes, attracted to the strong sense of unflinching loyalty threading through it. He cleared his throat and tried to steer out of potentially dangerous territory. “So your friend—Scott. Does he drive, too?”
“Not for a living,” Stiles said. “He’s a nurse, like his mom. The Bite ended up helping with that, too, actually; it cured his asthma, which was the reason he was on the list to begin with, but it came with all these extra benefits he hadn’t known about. Like pain draining? They don’t advertise that.”
“I guess we should update our brochures,” Derek said dryly.
Amusement curled in Stiles’s scent, along with a hint of embarrassment. “Right, I know that’s why it’s regulated to begin with, so a bunch of shitheads don’t just get drunk, decide it’d be cool to be superhuman, and then flip out when they realize it’s permanent.”
“Or misuse it,” Derek said. Not that he fully agreed with how it was handled; his mom had served on the regulatory board for many years, fighting to keep it from turning into a monetary enterprise. The Bite was a gift, meant to be given freely to those who needed it, not something to be handed over in exchange for someone’s life savings.
The sun was beginning to drop toward the horizon, the deep blue sky giving way to softer tones. Stiles’s eyes—dark amber when Derek had first seen them—almost seemed to glow when the golden light slanting through the windshield caught them for a moment, making him squint and flip down the visor.
“Did you ever think about it?” Derek asked.
“Taking the Bite?” Stiles said.
“If it was more open to the public. If you could be turned, just because you wanted to. Like it used to be, before...”
“Before we found out you existed and immediately tried to control you,” Stiles filled in. He wrapped his fingers around the steering wheel, then loosened them. “No. Don’t get me wrong, I think everything you can do is amazing. Super strength, speed, healing—there’s a lot I’ve envied Scott over the years.”
“But?”
“But it’s not me,” Stiles said. “You were born a ‘wolf. It’s who you are. I’m human. Fragile, a complete disaster at most sports, and with some shit I wish I didn’t have to take pills to manage. But I dunno, man. It’s what makes me who I am. And most days, I’m pretty cool with that.”
Derek didn’t spend a lot of time looking at people and thinking: they’d make a good ‘wolf. Maybe he would if he was an Alpha; maybe that was what Laura had felt when she’d found Erica. Laura had pulled every string she could to push her up the list, folding her into their Pack the moment the Bite took. She said she’d known as soon as she met Erica; she’d seen the potential behind her eyes, felt her fierce spirit and that immediate click that meant she belonged with the Hales.
Derek had felt connections before—some that had faded away, some that had turned out badly—but never anything on this level. Never anything that made him think, you belong with me. Or maybe it wasn’t Pack he was feeling, maybe it was...
He stopped himself, turning to look out the windshield at the road ahead, instead of endlessly tracing the gentle slope of Stiles’s nose, the strong curve of his jaw, the way his lips were always just the slightest bit parted, even when he wasn’t speaking.
They were crossing a bridge. They were more than two-thirds over it, in fact, still crawling through traffic, but miles away from Derek’s home, heading in the wrong direction. He gripped the passenger side door, the metal creaking under his fingers, his heart thudding in sudden panic.
How could he have been such an idiot? Again?
“Why are you driving me into the city?” he ground out, forcing the words past the growl rumbling in the back of his throat.
Stiles glanced at him, a frown furrowing his forehead, but his scent still unchanged. He was a pro at this, then. “It’s your destination,” he lied, his heartbeat steady.
“It’s not,” Derek said. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself before he shifted in the car and found out exactly how much it would hurt to leap out of a moving vehicle. It was too public here. Knowing about shifters and seeing them were entirely different things, and Derek didn’t particularly want to end up on the news. Plus, in the state he was in, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop at the half-shift. The full shift—exclusive to Born ‘wolves and rare even then—was something that hadn’t been shared with the wider world just yet. Maybe that was why Kate had taken an interest in the Hales at that Chicago conference. Maybe that was why “Stiles” had been sent now, to finish the job.
It was an outlandish scenario, even for the Argents, with their ancient ties to the supernatural, but Derek couldn’t stop his mind from sprinting along that path. It was too easy to connect this encounter with the dark interest in Kate’s eyes, the way she’d cornered him in the hotel bar that first night, making him feel flattered and wanted and convincing him it was his idea to invite her upstairs.
Stiles was starting to pick up on the tension now, his eyes flicking between the road and Derek’s white-knuckled fingers clenching around the door handle. Derek had never been subtle with his emotions. It was one of the reasons Laura typically preferred to leave him out of their bigger meetings, unless his presence was absolutely necessary.
I don’t need to be a werewolf to tell when you hate someone, she’d said just a couple weeks ago, laughing but insisting it was fine, she’d call the clients later to smooth things over.
It didn’t necessarily show on his face when he liked someone, but he made stupid decisions. He knew that about himself. He’d learned it, more times than anyone should have to. And he could admit it now; he had liked Stiles. More than he should’ve, for the short amount of time they’d spent interacting. That probably should’ve been the first sign.
“Who are you?” he asked harshly.
“Stiles’s” frown deepened, his scent finally souring a bit. Good, Derek was breaking past whatever sense-masking barriers he’d erected.
He looked away from the road for too long, staring at Derek, then jerked his head back and slammed his foot on the brake, jolting them to a halt before they crumpled against the slow-moving bumper in front of them. He eased them forward again, carefully this time, then wiped one palm on his jeans before speaking.
“I’m starting to guess you’re not Henry,” he said.
“I...what?” Derek said. He let go of the door handle.
“You didn’t look like a Henry,” Stiles said. “That was my first thought, actually.” He cleared his throat, his eyes fixed on the road. “Okay, not my first thought, but pretty close. But I’m not one to judge people by their birth names, y’know?”
The silence stretched out as they progressed a few more car lengths, the Jeep rattling over a series of metallic plates set into the roadway. How the hell had Derek managed to miss an entire bridge ? If he made it out of this situation alive, Laura would never let him live this down.
“Or...I guess you don’t know,” Stiles said eventually. “Since you were obviously waiting for some other driver. I’m curious now how bad you thought his name was, the poor guy.”
“Sebastian,” Derek said. “If you’re saying that’s not you, then your real name is—”
“It’s still Stiles,” Stiles said. “Why don’t we forget that part, and get back to how I’m definitely not trying to kidnap you or anything, not-Henry.”
“Derek,” Derek said. Then, “You’re not?” Which was a stupid question. Of course a kidnapper wouldn’t admit it.
But Stiles grinned, his scent warming a little again, and shook his head. “My dad’s a sheriff. It’d break his heart if I turned to the criminal life. And I’ve got a lot of investment in keeping his heart healthy.”
It wasn’t a very good reason. Anyone the Argents hired would be a good actor—a good liar. Someone who’d know exactly how to earn Derek’s trust.
Derek found himself believing Stiles, anyway. Maybe it was yet another ill-advised decision, but it’d been a long day. He’d been on alert for hours, vigilance keeping him at the knife-edge of a fight-or-flight response. He was tired. And being around Stiles—talking to Stiles—had somehow managed to invigorate him, instead of exhausting him further. That was a rare experience for him, and he wasn’t ready to let go of it quite yet.
“So you’re saying this was an accident,” he said.
“The best kind,” Stiles replied, with a wink that left Derek not knowing where to look.
He brushed a phantom wrinkle out of the thigh of his slacks, then admitted, “It might’ve been partly my fault. Today was completely full of meetings, and I was sick of looking at screens. I was just...trying to get out of there. Get home.”
“I get that,” Stiles said, sounding genuinely sympathetic. It made Derek’s foolish heart twist. “So if you’re convinced now that I’m trustworthy enough for your actual address, I can drive you there. No charge, obviously.”
Derek hadn’t thought about that part yet. His carelessness had impacted more than just him; whoever Henry was had gotten stranded back at the office, probably wondering what had happened to his ride. Derek’s driver had lost his fare. And Stiles wouldn’t be getting paid for his time. He might even get some sort of a knock on his record as a result, like that selkie he’d mentioned, who’d lost her job as a result of low ratings. Derek wasn’t sure how that worked. Maybe he’d be able to submit an official explanation to help wipe Stiles’s record clear.
He got wrapped up in that line of thinking, for long enough that Stiles must’ve taken the silence as confirmation that Derek was still suspicious of his motives. His smile faded.
“Or I can drop you off,” Stiles said. “Anywhere you like, so you can call for someone else to pick you up.”
“No,” Derek said. “It’s okay, I don’t think you’re a mercenary.” He paused, then added, “Anymore.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Stiles said. Despite the lightness of his response, he still sounded more distant than he had been—far quieter than before. Offended, maybe, that Derek had assumed the worst of him.
So Derek did his best to explain. It sounded ridiculous to lay his worries out in the open like this, but he kept trying, until Stiles started to respond more like the guy he’d first met—adding commentary in the right places, and letting Derek falter through other, more humiliating, parts of the story without the kinds of interruptions that’d make it worse.
It was probably a bit much to think that the Argents would actually attempt to kill him, although his skin still crawled when he thought about Kate’s words and the blood he’d scrubbed away after she’d gone. Digging company secrets out of him—ones that would tip the balance in the Argents’ favor or even make their attempted takeover possible—wasn’t implausible, though. When he’d finally managed to peel Kate’s hands off of him and kick her out of his room, he’d found his phone stuffed in her purse.
I’ll deal with your sister, then, she’d hissed, a threat that had sounded worse every time he’d replayed it in his head since that night.
“Hang on, I’ve got to,” he told Stiles, lifting his hips off the seat so he could retrieve his phone. He swiped away the numerous alerts from the Shyft app to check his thread with Laura. No new messages.
<< Dinner going okay? he asked, staring down at the screen until he saw an indication that she was typing back. Her message came through in a wall of text; she must’ve been keeping a better eye on her phone than he ever did.
>> You’d hate it. Gerard’s already drunk, Kate hasn’t stopped smelling pissed off since you left, Victoria sent her steak back three times and the waiter definitely spat in her last cocktail, and Chris looks like he wants to jump out a window.
“Everything good?” Stiles asked.
“Yeah,” Derek said. He typed out another quick response, reminding Laura to text him when she and Cora were home, then set his phone in the cup holder next to the Red Bull. “Just making sure my sisters were okay. I know it must sound completely irrational to you, but we’re all we’ve got anymore.”
“It doesn’t,” Stiles said. “That’s how I am with my dad. He always gives me some dumb shit, like I’m the sheriff, I can take care of myself, but it’s not like a gun’s gonna do anything against a fucking heart attack.”
“So your dad has heart trouble?”
“No,” Stiles admitted. “His doctor actually says he’s in really great shape for someone his age. But you know how it is. I can’t lose him, especially not to something I could help prevent.”
“Yeah,” Derek said. He definitely understood that.
The last shreds of daylight filtered across Stiles’s face, highlighting his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose before fading. They were still driving; once they’d left the bridge, Stiles had taken a few roads that he seemed to know by heart, getting them out of the clog of traffic and along quieter streets.
Street lamps began flaring to life down the block, and Stiles checked his headlights, flashing them against the shiny bumper of the car in front of them. “I gotta admit,” he said, “I’m kind of flattered you’d think I could be a super spy. That’s a new one for me.”
“It made sense,” Derek said. That part, at least, hadn’t been a logical leap. “The first thing they’d do would be to find someone who’s exactly my type.”
“Huh,” Stiles said.
Derek fiddled with the door handle again, this time thanks to a different kind of nerves. He hadn’t meant to admit that. It was part of Stiles’s effect on him—even if it wasn’t nefarious, it was undeniably present, making Derek want to spill all his secrets.
“So my first thought when I saw you,” Stiles said after a bit, “was actually more like two. Somewhere along the lines of HOLY CRAP, followed by: how the hell do I keep from making an idiot out of myself around this guy.” He tapped his fingers along the wheel, a brief staccato beat matching the quick flutter of his heart. “I failed, I guess?”
“You didn’t,” Derek said, wondering if he was picking up the right message here. It seemed too good to be true.
This was an instance where it was rude to invade on Stiles’s scent, but before he could stop himself, he breathed in a hint of something warm and spicy that slid down his throat and curled invitingly around his chest, settling there.
Stiles didn’t have the advantage of gathering nonverbal cues, so Derek had to shape the actual words, willing Stiles to understand the weight behind them. “I’ve...really enjoyed talking with you,” he said.
Stiles made a pleased sound, cut off like he didn’t want Derek to hear it. Derek, for his part, wouldn’t have minded hearing a lot more sounds like that.
“So I have a new proposal,” Stiles said. “I think I’m gonna call it quits for the day. Driving-wise. Well, on the clock, anyway.”
“Yeah?” Derek asked, his heart thumping in anticipation.
“I see two options here. I can still drive you straight home, if you want.”
“What’s option two?” Derek asked.
Stiles’s mouth curved into a smile. “If you were in meetings all day, you’re probably hungry, right? I know a nice little place; never busy, with amazing food.”
“Dinner with you.” Derek should at least pretend to be pausing to consider it, but: “Yes.”
“And then after,” Stiles said, glancing furtively at Derek like he was trying to gauge his reaction, “I could still take you home.”
Derek should definitely stop to think about that one. Wait to see how dinner went. Text Laura again to ask her to look into this guy—Stiles Stilinski, he’d said. She’d know how to check on his business connections, making absolutely certain he didn’t have any links to Hale Corp or Argent Industries.
“Yes,” Derek said, leaving his phone untouched. “I think I’d like that.”
He’d thought he’d seen Stiles smile before. He’d been wrong.
Dinner was as amazing as Stiles had claimed, although Derek barely noticed the food itself, too caught up in watching the sweeping movement of Stiles’s hands as he talked, now that he wasn’t restrained within the small space of a vehicle. Derek found himself laughing, more than he had in years, even at points when Stiles rolled his eyes and claimed he wasn’t trying to be funny.
“I like hearing you talk,” Derek said, not apologetic in the slightest.
“As punishment for laughing at my childhood traumas, I’ve decided you don’t get to choose the dessert,” Stiles said, keeping the menu tilted away from Derek as he pointed something out, telling the waiter they’d only need one spoon.
When the tiramisu arrived, sprinkled with chocolate shavings, the strong coffee undertones mixing perfectly with Stiles’s natural scent, Derek propped his chin in his hand and watched patiently as Stiles ate three heaping bites in a row, licking his fingers elaborately and unnecessarily between each.
“Fine, I guess I forgive you,” Stiles said, scooping up a fourth bite and delicately feeding it to Derek this time, his entire body shivering when Derek made a point of brushing his lips over Stiles’s fingers before withdrawing.
“I can’t believe I have to be the one to say please don’t get us kicked out of this restaurant,” Stiles said, immediately filling the spoon again and leaning even farther forward this time, his eyes fixed on Derek’s mouth.
“You’re the one who insisted on sharing,” Derek told him, watching Stiles’s throat bob in response.
“Yeah, but I like this place,” Stiles said. He nudged his knees against Derek’s until Derek took the hint and let Stiles tangle their legs together under the table. It probably should’ve felt awkward. It didn’t.
“Speaking of getting kicked out,” Derek said. He pushed the spoon back to Stiles; he didn’t really need the dessert, and Stiles’s scent kicked up in happiness every time he took a bite. “Can you show me how to work that app? Or is there a corporate number I can call? I don’t want you to get fired for my mixup today.”
Stiles choked on a mouthful of creamy mascarpone. After a split second of concern, Derek realized he was laughing.
“I really do need to pay for more billboards,” Stiles said once he’d swallowed and set his spoon down. “Derek, I introduced myself when you got in because I was trying to impress you. I’m Stiles Stilinski.”
Derek raised an eyebrow, waiting for the rest of it. He knew that part already.
“Co-founder of Shyft,” Stiles said. “With Danny Mahealani, who’s the brains behind all the shit that actually makes the thing run, but I’m the face of the company. I mostly act as the chief marketing exec. I’m the one who gets us in the news and tries to convince people we’re a better alternative than the dickishly speciest competition.”
“Oh,” Derek said. “I thought...why did you pick me up, then?”
“Shouldn’t I be in an office building somewhere, making the big bucks?”
Derek nodded, trying to process this development. Did it change how he saw Stiles? It wasn’t anything he’d lied about or even withheld—Derek remembered bits of conversation now that made more sense in this context. Stiles had spoken about Shyft with a degree of pride and ownership that Derek had assumed simply meant he was an exceptionally good employee.
I really need to learn how to pay better attention, Derek thought, filing this moment away as yet another thing to not tell Laura.
Stiles fiddled with his napkin. It looked like a nervous gesture, but his posture was loose and relaxed, his legs still pressed firmly against Derek’s. Probably just a part of the constant energy that Stiles exuded, then—something that Derek would’ve ordinarily found overwhelming to try to keep pace with. Stiles never seemed to ask anything from Derek, though, beyond what he was willing—eager, even—to give. It’d been hours now, and Derek still felt energized by him, not remotely ready to part ways yet.
“I told you I like getting to know people,” Stiles said. “I get kinda tired of sitting at a desk or doing interviews, so sometimes I head out for a few hours of on-the-ground interactions. It’s the best way to learn what people actually want from our service. For instance, I learned today that all our drivers should probably start out by confirming their passengers’ names before driving off with them.”
“But we wouldn’t have ended up here,” Derek said.
Stiles let go of the napkin, lifting his eyes to meet Derek’s. “No, I guess we wouldn’t have,” he said, his voice low, filled with something that sounded an awful lot like affection. “Although to be honest, I think I still would’ve been damn unprofessional and asked you for your number.”
“I might’ve still thought you were trying to kidnap me,” Derek admitted, and Stiles threw his head back in a full-body laugh, bright, beautiful, and impossible to look away from.
“Okay, I think I’m done eating,” he said, untangling their legs and reaching into his pocket for his wallet. “No, no, the least I can do is pay for dinner after all the stress I’ve put you through today.”
Derek put up a token protest, cut short by the jolt of pleasure that shot through him at Stiles’s promise that he’d let Derek pay the next time. After that, it was hard to even pretend to keep arguing with him.
While Stiles scrawled his signature across the receipt, adding what looked like a huge tip to cover the amount of time they’d spent lingering over their meal, Derek checked his phone.
>> We’re all home, worrywart. Chris hung back and apologized while the rest of them were getting a cab. I know you hate this deal, but if we can keep him the lead from now on, I think it’ll actually work out pretty well for us.
>> btw Kate and Gerard are flying home in the morning. I’m guessing Chris had a hand in that, too. Figured you’d appreciate knowing that.
<< Thanks for letting me know, Derek wrote, hesitating before leaving it there. He should thank Cora and Erica, too, for having their Alpha’s back, but that could wait.
“You ready to get out of here?” he asked Stiles, whose scent went so abruptly, overpoweringly spicy in response, it nearly knocked Derek off his feet.
***
“Are you tracing stars on my back?” Stiles asked much later, his head pillowed on his arms, his face turned toward Derek.
Derek drew his finger along another line of moles before answering. “I never got a chance to give you your rating,” he said.
Stiles snorted but didn’t change position. He looked good in Derek’s bed. Like he belonged there. “Five stars, then, I hope,” he said. “Especially after the way I just rocked your world.”
“Hm,” Derek said. He carefully traced out a crisscross pattern, then kissed the mole at the center of it. “I’ll tell you in the morning,” he said.
“That’s the smoothest way anyone’s ever asked me to stay the night,” Stiles said.
He still didn’t move, so Derek asked, hopefully, “And?”
“Yes,” Stiles said. “Obviously yes, are you kidding?”
Derek texted Laura in the morning. She could handle the next set of meetings without him. He had more important things on his agenda.