ROMAN
I slammed the phone down so hard the plastic cracked beneath my palm. Another delay on the permits for Vanessa's Rogue Foundation. This time it was some bullshit about "inadequate infrastructure assessment" that would take weeks to resolve.
"Fucking politics," I muttered, running a hand through my hair.
This was the third roadblock in as many weeks. First, it was zoning issues. Then environmental concerns. Now this. The old-guard wolves were fighting tooth and claw against anything that threatened their precious status quo.
And I couldn't even help her directly. Not without making things worse.
I paced my office, the early morning light casting long shadows across the hardwood floor. Being Alpha of the Silverclaw Pack meant power—except when it came to the one thing I actually wanted to use that power for.
A knock at the door interrupted my brooding.
"Enter," I called out.
