It’s not just his scent, though that’s part of it—cedarwood and smoked amber, sharp and authoritative even through his own blockers. It’s his presence, the gravitational pull he exerts without even trying.
“Morning,” he says, voice clipped.
“Good morning,” I respond, turning with his coffee in hand. “Johnson proposal is revised and reprinted. Your 9:30 with Legal was pushed to 10:15. R&D sent over the prototype specs for your review, and your mother called to remind you about dinner on Sunday.”
Adrian takes the coffee, his fingers brushing mine for a millisecond. If I were a different kind of Omega, I might notice how his knuckles are slightly scraped—evidence of early morning boxing sessions. I might register how his steel-gray eyes flick over my face, checking for signs of weakness orincompetence. I might even acknowledge the way his tailored suit fits his lean frame with infuriating perfection.
But I’m not that kind of Omega. At least, not outwardly.
“Tell R&D their calculations on page nine are off,” he says, already halfway into his office. “And add the marketing budget review to the agenda for the 2 PM.”
“Already did. Both of those things.”
He pauses, glancing back at me with the faintest lift of his eyebrow. It’s as close to approval as Adrian gets. “Good.”
The door closes, and I exhale slowly. One interaction down, approximately fifty more to go before I can leave today.
My email pings with meeting requests and questions from the marketing team. I field them efficiently, while simultaneously fine-tuning the Johnson presentation. Adrian emerges from his office at 8:15, straightening his already-perfect tie.
“Let’s go,” he says, not waiting to see if I follow.
I grab my tablet and hurry after him, heels clicking against the polished floor. The conference room is already half-full, executives settling into their usual territorial patterns around the table. Adrian takes his place at the head—naturally—while I slip into the chair to his right, pulling up the presentation on the main screen.
“The Johnson account represents a seventeen percent potential increase in our Q4 revenue,” Adrian begins without preamble. The room falls silent. This is his domain, and everyone knows it. I’ve seen this performance enough times to anticipate the cadence of his speech, the precise moment he’ll turn to me for the next slide.
“Elle, the projections.”
I advance to the chart that took me three days to perfect. Adrian glances at it for approximately half a second before pointing to the upper right corner.
“The scale is off by point-five percent,” he says.
The room temperature seems to drop ten degrees. I keep my expression neutral, even as I feel everyone’s eyes shift to me. This is a test. It always is with Adrian.
“The scale reflects the adjusted market growth after factoring in the supply chain disruption from last quarter,” I respond smoothly. “Page seven of the appendix shows the original projections for comparison.”
I swipe to the referenced page without being asked, highlighting the data that proves my point.
A tense moment passes, and I can practically hear the collective mental betting pool on whether the Omega assistant is about to get publicly eviscerated.
Adrian’s eyes narrow infinitesimally. Then: “Continue.”
The breath everyone was holding releases in a synchronized exhale. I advance the presentation, keeping my face carefully blank even as a tiny, victorious fire burns in my chest.
One point for the Omega.
The meeting progresses without further incident. Adrian’s presentation is flawless, as always. He commands the room with the effortless authority that seems to be genetically encoded in Alpha DNA. It’s annoying how good he is at this. Annoying and, if I’m being brutally honest with myself, somewhat impressive.
Not that I’d ever tell him that. His ego is already the size of a small planet.
When the meeting ends, the Johnson representatives are practically salivating to sign the contract. Adrian shakes hands with the CEO—firm, two pumps, direct eye contact—and delegates the follow-up details to the account team.
As everyone files out, he turns to me. “The scale was intentional.”
It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “Yes.”
“You could have mentioned that before I pointed it out.”
“You didn’t ask before you criticized,” I counter, gathering my notes. “Besides, it gave me the opportunity to demonstrate my thorough understanding of the data.”
