“It’s too fucking sweet,” he said.
“But cinnamon is a tree, too,” Gareth pointed out.
“I’ve never come across anyone else with that scent.” Dom looked at his friends. “Have you?”
Both of them shook their heads. Gareth pulled out his phone, doing a quick internet search. “Huh, looks like cinnamon isn’t on the list of human scents. And they even list the rare ones.”
“Could be a body spray,” Harris said.
“He doesn’t seem the type to use body spray,” Gareth answered. “The only people who do, are those who have something to hide.”
Was Sinclair hiding something? Why else would he smell so strange?
But there was nothing normal about him. Definitely not the slew of scars on his tan skin—deliberate lines and mottled patches on his shaved head, down his face. Bullet scars on his forearms, and strange beads under his skin—body modifications? What kind of person did that to himself? It wasn’t someone Dom wanted on the team.
More than that, he shouldn’t have noticed Sinclair’s lips, or the striking blue of his eyes. Or how he was a couple inches shorter than Dom, but broader, bulkier, like he’d been on steroids at some point.
Someone like that shouldn’t make Dom’s blood thrum. Especially not in a way he couldn’t explain. Jesse Sinclair was wrong in every single way.
“What if his actual scent’s reacting with something to give him the cinnamon scent?” Gareth asked. “Think that would explain it?”
“Scents don’t react,” Harris shot back. “They just stack up, like honey on top of an omega’s personal scent.”
“It’s strong, though. I could smell it even before he stepped in.”
Dom rubbed his face, boggled by the sheer ludicrousness of this conversation. “Look,” he said. “We’re in a meeting. To discuss a potential hire. Why the hell are we fixating on his scent?”
Gareth and Harris looked at him. “Because you started it,” Harris said.
Well, fuck. “We’re not hiring him,” Dom said.
Harris raised an eyebrow. “Actually, we are.”
“What the hell?” Dom glared, feeling betrayed. “He fails on account of his psych eval alone.”
“But his motivation is a solid 120%,” Harris replied. “And he loves his family. That’s important. If he’s telling the truth about his learning abilities, that’ll come in really handy. We’ll train him up to drive the rigs, and he’ll be doing a fire science course in no time.”
“Who learns to drive when they’re twenty, though?” Gareth looked thoughtful. “GED, too. What was he doing when he could’ve been in high school?”
It wasn’t any of Dom’s business, even if the questions also nagged at him. “I’m not real pleased about this. But if you’re hiring him, there’s no way I’ll agree to a 6-month probie period. One year, minimum.”
“Deal,” Harris said.
“And I’m not mentoring him,” Dom added.
“Damnit.” Harris grinned. “Threw a wrench into my plans, right there.”
“I’ll do it,” Gareth volunteered. “But you’re telling him he’s hired, Dom.”
Dom rolled his eyes. “You’re not the boss.”
“Actually, Gareth has a point.” Harris had the smuggest look on his face. “Why don’t you be the bearer of good news, for once? I’m sure our new hire will love to hear it from your lips.”
“Fuckers.” If Dom didn’t love his friends, he’d probably have murdered them a long time ago.
He flipped them off and stepped out of the meeting room. For effect, he slammed the door behind him.
Paces away, Jesse Sinclair jumped and whirled around, a flash of panic darting through his eyes.
Something in Dom’s chest pulled tight, something that said, Protect.
What the fuck? He shouldn’t be feeling that. Not for a new hire, not for his subordinate. Definitely not for another alpha.
Someone who needed protection shouldn’t belong on the team.
He whirled around, heading straight back into the meeting room. Made sure he shut the door tight.
Harris raised an eyebrow. “Problem?”
“Fuck yes,” Dom hissed. “Did you read the psych report before you made your decision?”
Harris glanced at the papers Dom had left on the meeting table. “Yes.”
“Then you know he has PTSD. That’s even before he sees any of the shit on the job.” That was why Sinclair scored 60% on that eval. That was why Dom didn’t want him on the team.
“Yes, I’m aware.” Harris stood, rounding the table. “I spoke to Nate about him. He deserves a chance.”
“Even if he freaks out in the middle of a call?” Dom narrowed his eyes. “Do you seriously want to put our team at risk?”
Harris was quiet for a moment. “You know as well as I do that there are already firefighters with PTSD. They’re still able to carry out their duties.”
Dom nodded at the door. “Jumped when I left the room. We’ve got a more serious case on our hands.”
“He’ll need some supervision,” Harris said at length. “But I think his past may help him on the job instead.”
Dom ran Harris’ words over in his mind. Despite Dom’s accusations, Harris took the team’s safety very seriously. So something else must’ve convinced him to hire Sinclair. “What exactly did Nate tell you?”
But Harris only shrugged. “Talk to Nate yourself. It isn’t my story to share.”
Like it was Nate’s? Except no matter what Dom believed, nothing changed the fact that Jesse Sinclair wasn’t as mentally stable as Dom wanted him to be. And someone like that... he could pull a Mal, and fuck up Dom’s entire life. Even if he was Dom’s teammate. Especially if he was Dom’s teammate, because all of those guys were his family.
Dom had spent so much effort putting himself back together, that he wasn’t willing to risk it again. Except Harris was team captain, and when he’d made a decision, even Dom couldn’t sway him.
Wishing fervently that he wouldn’t regret this, Dom heaved a sigh, stepping back out into the office.
Sinclair faced the meeting room, his eyes narrowed—but he was completely present. For now, at least. Who knew if he could handle some of the calls they faced?
Chances were, Jesse Sinclair would
