By the time she gets through some of her files and sends them on to York, two hours have flown by, and it's almost half eight.

With a start and slight horror, Avery jumps up, remembering she was supposed to meet Roman half an hour ago.

Slipping her feet into trainers, she hurries down the stairs, only realising when she's almost at the gym that she forgot to put on her sweatshirt or pyjama top.

The tank top will have to do until she gets her sweatshirt.

Knocking on the door of the gym, she quickly walks in, being greeted with the sound of fists hitting a punching bag with a significant amount of ferocity and anger.

She raises a brow, skirting around to the cage to see if she can find her sweatshirt without being noticed.

She wants to have a serious conversation, and that won't happen if this alpha is staring at her chest the entire time.

A throat clears as she bends over to pick up her sweatshirt.

"You're late. And can you give me that?" Roman calls across the room, making Avery look down at the grey bundle in her arms.

She realises that it is in fact not hers, and so, she scuttles quickly over to where he is, throwing him the sweatshirt, and releasing her hair from the braid in one fluid movement, shaking out her locks to hide her upper half.

"I'm sorry for being late. I was working on some files for my brother, and I didn't realise the time," she sighs, genuinely apologetic - she hates being late to anything, and she's ordinarily early to everything.

He simply nods, throwing his sweatshirt to where his water bottle is.

"Are you up for some sparring?" He asks casually, and she stares at him like he has an extra head.

"No, thanks. I worked out for three hours with the teenagers I need to speak to you about earlier," she responds quickly, not ready to admit her arms feel like lead.

He makes a non-committal grunting noise, which annoys Avery a bit.

"I would like to apologise for giving criticism in front of your pack. I should have waited until we were in private, or in your office before I started being so rude," she starts, watching him like a hawk as he continues to punch the bag. She knows he can hear her clearly, so she rolls her eyes and continues.

"Apology accepted," he mutters, delivering a right hook to the bag and making it shake.

"That being said, we need to talk about your teenagers. You cannot send them to the Trials unless they are given serious training and attention over the next few months," Avery quickly adds, walking towards the cage to find her sweatshirt.

Roman follows her silently, his feet making no noise as he lands and walks behind her.

As soon as she turns back around, he traps her against the cage, one of his arms going around her waist, and the other holding onto the cage.

She stares at him in confusion, making a half-hearted attempt to push him away.

"What are you doing?" She clears her throat. He's so close to her that she can feel his warm breath on her forehead.

"I didn't think you were stupid, Wilcott," he breathily whispers, drawing her closer to his shirtless form, and pressing his lips to hers.

Her eyes widen, and she presses her hands onto his chest, pushing him off her.

"You're so sweaty! And what the hell? Think about your mate," she snarls, shooting across the room to put distance between them.

Roman watches her like a predator, watching as her cheeks turn red and her eyes flash black.

"She's been dead for nine years," he says in a low voice, which she can hear from across the room.

"She- she's still your mate," she stutters out, completely confused.

"You saw me earlier, and you heard that girl. Clearly, I'm over her," he smirks, and Avery stares at him, her eyes popping out of her head.

"I am here to have a proper conversation about your teenagers, but now I have another thing to talk about - your terrible attitude," she gasps.

She doesn't kiss men with mates. She kisses unmated males aplenty, but she doesn't mess with another woman's male.

"Don't you like my terrible attitude?" He asks, his smirk widening.

"What has gotten into you?" She grumbles, planting herself on one of the benches.

He walks over to sit beside her, and she puts her legs up beside her.

"You sit over there," she instructs, suddenly feeling rather vulnerable. And she doesn't like it.

"What is with your mood swings? It's ridiculous, how are you like this with me, and then a complete asshole with everyone else?" She asks, and his face tightens, his posture straightening.

"Can I not enjoy myself?" He asks innocently, widening his eyes a little.

"Not at my expense," she grits out, standing up and beginning to walk out.

He gently grabs her arm, in a way she could continue walking and he wouldn't have any sort of hold on her.

She turns around to face him, and he looks dramatically more apologetic than he did a minute ago.

"I'm sorry, I thought you were interested too. We can go to my office if you want a more formal setting," he sighs, running a hand through his short hair.

"Here is fine, just please focus. I don't care what you do in your spare time, but I have a real concern," she says sharply, returning to her bench.

"What was the problem?" He asks, and she sighs, which turns into a low growl.

"They are completely underprepared. They can't spar from what I saw, and if they can't do hand-to-hand, I highly doubt they're ready to practice with weapons. I had them spar for about an hour and a half, and I had them run drills for another hour. I sparred with one girl in particular - Kate, I think she wants to be a tracker - and she was good with knives." She lists, running her fingers through her hair.

"That would be Kate Spencer. Ben said they were practising everyday," Roman says in confusion, and Avery raises a brow.

"If that's true, then your Gamma needs to be reviewed on his fighting training," she retorts, and quickly apologises for her tone.

"I'll witness your session tomorrow, if that's okay with you, Wilcott," he says grimly, clenching his jaw, any teasing or sultry expression gone from his face, replaced with one of business and irritation.

"Is the boy I injured alright?" Avery asks quietly, looking up at Roman, who stood up.

"Marcus? He's fine. His pride is a bit bruised and battered, but he'll be here tomorrow, no doubt. He wants the training he obviously hasn't been getting," Roman sighs, heading towards the door.

Avery gets up and takes another look around, spotting Roman's hoodie sitting on the ground.

"Alpha Ro-" she calls after him, and he puts a hand up, cutting her off.

"Keep it. And it's Roman to you."