Page 72 of Knot Her Beta

I turn and head for the door.

“Your mother will be disappointed,” he says.

“I know. Please tell her I love her.”

I walk out, returning to the foyer where I pause to find my coat in the closet.

Heels click on the hardwood floor, and Caroline joins me. “Are you sure?”

I turn to her, because she deserves that much. “The only thing I’m sure of is that staying would mean living half a life. And I want more than that.”

She holds my gaze, and I can see her working through it—the merger, the timelines, the hole my departure leaves in a plan that’s been months in the making.

“You deserve more than that, too, Caroline.” I shrug into my jacket and grab the handle of my suitcase. “You don’t have to marry for love, but don’t let yourself be engineered into a marriage so you can run your family’s company from the shadows. Don’t do the work while someone else gets the credit.”

She searches my face before she steps aside. “Good luck, Grady.”

“You, too.”

The cab is idling in the driveway, exhaust puffing white into the cold air. The driver gets out, takes my bag without being asked, and holds the door.

I slide into the back seat, my knee protesting the bend, and he shuts the door behind me.

Chapter Nineteen

Leif

The arrivals level of the airport bustles with activity as I check the board for Grady’s flight number and swallow back the knot in my throat. I’m twelve minutes early, which still leaves plenty of time to get down to baggage claim.

I hate airports. For Omegas, it’s sensory hell. Perfume layered over sweat, anxiety pheromones from travelers crammed shoulder to shoulder, and the artificial pine cleaner they use on the floors all hitting my nose at once despite the blockers I slapped on this morning.

My skin crawls beneath my jacket, and I have to remind myself to breathe.

As the escalator descends into baggage claim, I fight the urge to turn around. Baggage claim is worse, somehow, with more bodies and less movement. People clustering around carousels. I find the one for Grady’s flight, blessedly empty aside from a scattering of people at the other end, and I take up position beside a pillar where the flow of foot traffic won’t jostle me while I wait.

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

Emily: Did he land?

Leif: Still waiting. I’ll text when I’ve got him.

Three dots appear, then vanish. She’s nervous. We all are.

The board changes, announcing that his plane has landed.

My stomach swoops. Here we go.

Within ten minutes, passengers trickle down the escalator, then surge, a river of tired faces and wheeled suitcases. I scan each one, searching for blond hair, a familiar lanky frame, and an uneven gait.

I spot Grady at the back of the crowd, moving at a slower pace. His jacket is rumpled, his hair flat on one side where he must have slept with his head resting on the window. He appears exhausted, his shoulders slumped and purple shadows beneath his eyes.

I raise my arm before I can second-guess it. “Grady!”

He stops, scans the crowd, and spots me. Surprise flashes to find me here waiting, followed by a welcoming smile, and he starts walking again, changing his trajectory, though he doesn’t hurry. His knee wouldn’t allow it even if he wanted to.

I push off the pillar and meet him halfway. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he says, his voice rough and travel-worn.