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My pack is fracturing.
I don’t even let myself think the words, but I feel them anyway. I’m sure we all do.
Even if Archer didn’t drone on about designation biology on a regular basis, we’re all aware we have problems. One major one, in particular.
No omega.
Alphas in a pack are like spokes on a wheel. Without a center to bind them, they wind up flying off the tire, or tangling... or impaling someone. Eventually, without that middle, the wheel collapses.
Not to mention—no omega, no central bond.
No central bond? No connection between the four of us.
If we had that bond, I would know why Archer’s shoulders are up around his ears. I would know why Declan would rather roll his eyes than meet mine. And I would know why Theo is fucking late. Again.
As it is, I smother a frustrated growl and force my attention over to the small woman with blonde layers slipping into the room.
Huh.
There’s something different about this beta.
At least, her application says she’s a beta. She could be an alien for all I know—her scent is so cloaked in a thick fog of chemical de-scenter, I have to work hard to keep from showing disgust on my face. The aerosol edge of it is acrid.
Instead, I focus on her appearance, which is infinitely more pleasant. Beautiful, really. If I was still in my prime, I would be all over her. Even if she smells like she just came out of swimming pool full of fruity air-freshener.
Dear God.
This is what I’m expected to work with? People who don’t even know how to put on de-scenter without fumigating an entire building?
I snatch the résumé off the top of her application, trying to recall why I selected her for an interview in the first place.
Ah.
I remember now. She has one of the cleanest, most aesthetically-pleasing CV’s in the pile. On top of that, she has a Master’s from an Ivy League university and worked for one of the biggest marketing firms in the state for the last eighteen months.
When I called the references listed on the application, they were all glowing. Her coworkers liked her a lot and lamented her leaving their company on short notice.
In fact, that was the only negative thing any of them came up with—she quit suddenly. Otherwise, they said her idea to create a marketing division devoted entirely to omegas was a resounding success.
I know little about them as a demographic, but, as a businessman, I have to admit: the idea sounds intriguing. Omegas are, largely, an untapped market.
Until recently, laws restricted their movements within society. They weren’t permitted in certain alpha-centric environments unless they were bonded or accompanied by a guardian of some sort.
It took a lot of lobbying from various omega rights organizations to change things. I donated millions to back as many groups as I could. Declan shocked me by matching my contributions, muttering something about most old-school politicians being “archaic knot-heads.”
Which… fair.
Changing the laws took some time, but, now, most companies no longer have the option of turning single, unbonded omegas away on the basis of their designation or pack status.
Unless their presence would pose a significant risk to themselves or others—which, unfortunately, is the case for our team.
Still, since omegas have been permitted to enter the workforce, I imagine their buying power has exploded. The thought of catering to them specifically is obvious, actually. I wonder why so few companies have tried it.
When I selected Miss Reed as a candidate, I thought her background might give us a slight edge online. Omegas dominate social media. Behind the safety of their screens, they’re free to flaunt their beauty and magnetism.
Alphas want them. Betas want to be them. If we could get omegas interested in our team over others, it may get us some traction with the younger generation.
Her generation, I note, taking in her fine-boned, youthful features. A quick glance at the application makes me feel like the fucking Crypt Keeper.
