AllFreeNovel
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I’m glad she seems confident. Because I’m definitely not.
chapter
three
“Who’s next?”
I sit at the end of the conference table with my elbows on my chair, hands steepled in front of my face. I’m pissed off. And tired.
Always tired.
Always pissed off.
Theo likes to tell me it’s because I’m an old man.
Fuck Theo.
There’s no denying it though; I feel my age today. I may only be forty, but our doctor packmate, Archer, likes to remind me that CEOs age faster. Which might be why, despite my usual focus, I simply don’t want to deal with this shit today.
Declan has a pretentious saying painted on the wall of our home gym, claiming it motivates him. No days off. It might as well be our pack motto at this point. Especially mine.
But an owner’s work is never done. Nor is a pack alpha’s. There’s always some problem that needs handling. Money to burn. Fires to put out.
That’s why we need a new social media person in the first place. Last season was a disaster, by my standards. It will not happen again.
The second-to-last candidate in our pile just hustled out of the room, leaving a faint trace of his bitter gasoline scent behind. Archer leans over the glass conference table, plucking up the single remaining résumé. One-by-one, all of the others have gone from the “potential” stack to the “fuck no” pile.
I reach for my phone, growling as I dial our secretary and ask her to turn up our air conditioning, along with the scent-neutralizer circulating through it. I can’t even smell the guy anymore but fuck it. I’m balanced on a razor-thin edge today, my instincts prowling under my skin, urging me to fight. Fuck. Dominate.
Useless rut-blockers don’t work for shit half the time.
Luckily, in our facility, it isn’t a problem. No omegas to tempt my baser instincts means the only consequences will be the effects on my sanity.
“Megera Reed,” Archer reads, his free hand curling around the back of his neck as he squints through his glasses. His face furrows. “She’s a young beta with a background in omega demographics.”
On Archer’s other side, Declan makes a derisive sound. “Sounds like an airhead.”
Archer glares at him. I recognize his expression from years of being on the receiving end of his lectures. He opens his mouth to knock Declan down a few pegs—which, really, should be my job—but a timid rap sounds at the double doors on the other side of the room.
“Come in.”
Archer pinches the bridge of his nose under his square frames, muttering, “Jesus, Ronan.”
He’s right. I didn’t mean to bark. It should never happen, especially not at work. I know how dominant I am; my bark clobbers most people, regardless of their designation.
Only omegas have to obey, though, so there isn’t really any harm in barking at a beta. It’s just rude. And frightening.
I have no excuse, apart from feeling like my insides are trying to crawl out of my skin.
Fucking hell. What is wrong with me today?
I decide to leave after the last interview and go for a long run. Maybe all the way to the alpha bar downtown. A rash of willing betas hang out there, waiting for horny alphas. Sometimes, there are even a few omegas.
I usually don’t enjoy that, though. As much as I want to fuck them, I also worry about them being out on their own and feel like shit for not being able to take proper care of them after we fuck in a bathroom stall. Plus, their scents are impossible. They cling for days—never quite right, but close enough to torment me and resurrect my guilt every time I change my clothes.
The A/C kicks up, pumping clean, cool air into the room. I notice Archer’s shoulders unwind a fraction.
Fuck. Arch, too? If his alpha is riding him as hard as mine is, that means something.
