I shake her hand firmly. "Not a problem. What do you need?"
She gestures to the chair across from her desk. "Please, sit. Can I get you coffee? Water?"
"I'm good. Let's just get to it."
No point in dragging this out. The faster I handle whatever she needs, the faster I can get back to work.
Charlotte settles back into her chair, pulling up something on her tablet. "We're expanding our influencer roster significantly this quarter. Bringing in multiple content creators for various campaigns, which means a lot of contracts. Alotof contracts. Wewanted to make sure we had a lawyer on standby for contract signings—someone local who understands the specific needs of our creators and can be available for questions or concerns as they come up."
I nod. "Straightforward enough. You need someone who can review contracts, handle signings, make sure everything's legally sound."
"Exactly." She smiles, tapping her tablet screen. "We have a few influencers we're particularly excited about. Top-tier talent that we've been wanting to work with for quite some time."
That's when my eyes catch on a photo sitting on her desk.
It's a professional headshot—the kind content creators use for press kits. Honey-gold hair with orange tips styled in loose waves. Big eyes that somehow manage to convey warmth even through a photograph. A smile that's genuine and bright and makes something in my chest tighten.
The Omega from the elevator. The one whose scent is still clinging to my jacket.
"Oh," I say casually, nodding toward the photo. "I recognize her. The girl from TikTok."
I don't actually follow her on TikTok. Don't even have the app downloaded. But Grayson does, and he's mentioned her before. Something about book recommendations and positivity and the kind of content that makes you feel good about the world.
Charlotte laughs, delighted. "Well, that's a good sign! If someone like you—who I'm guessing barely has time to be on your phone—recognizes her, that speaks to her reach and impact."
She picks up the photo, looking at it with obvious fondness. "She's huge potential. Our favorite choice, actually. We've been wanting to scout her for years, watching her content evolve, waiting for the right campaign to approach her with."
Her expression shifts slightly, becoming more businesslike but with an edge of disappointment. "She was actually going to be one of the main reasons I wanted you here for a signing. With lawyer representation and everything. But..." She sighs. "I don't think we're going to give it to her."
What?
I frown, leaning forward slightly. "Why? Did something go wrong with her interview or?—"
"No!" Charlotte shakes her head quickly. "No, everything is divine. The meeting went perfectly. She's exactly what we want—authentic, enthusiastic, professional despite her circumstances. The payout is amazing too. Not every day a media company offers a twenty-five-thousand-dollar advance."
Twenty-five thousand. Same amount she mentioned in the elevator. So this is what she was talking about.
"Then?" I prompt, my voice coming out rougher than intended.
Charlotte sets the photo down carefully, like it's something precious she doesn't want to damage. "The poor girl needs a pack. She's an Omega, and obviously this day and age is encouraging independence—which we support wholeheartedly. But realistically, Omegas still need packs to thrive. It's biological, psychological, fundamental to their wellbeing. And for this particular campaign, showcasing pack dynamics during the holidays is a core component of the narrative we're building."
She spreads her hands in a helpless gesture. "So unless she can find a pack, I'll have to give the contract to someone else. And I really, really don't want to do that."
She needs a pack. That's why she's going to lose this opportunity. That's why she was panicking in the elevator.
"What's the deadline?" I ask, my mind already racing through possibilities I have no business considering.
Charlotte's smile turns sad. "End of November. We need to have everything locked in to launch the campaign December first. So she has maybe two weeks, give or take. And between you and me—" She lowers her voice conspiratorially. "—it's first come, first serve with the other candidates. If someone else signs before her, the position is filled."
Two weeks. She has two weeks to find a pack or lose twenty-five thousand dollars and the opportunity of a lifetime.
I nod slowly, my hand reaching out almost unconsciously to pick up the photo. I study it closer—the way her smile reaches her eyes, the genuine joy captured in the image, the subtle orange tips in her hair that match the personality I've glimpsed in our brief encounters.
Charlotte watches me examine the photo, her expression softening. "I feel like her story would be aspiring, you know? Apparently she was with an old pack that wasn't the greatest. Abusive. Negative. Controlling. If you look at her old videos—the ones from a year ago—the difference is superb. You can see the light and joy shining in her eyes now when she looked practically lifeless before."
Abusive. The word hits me in the chest. Those bruises during the self-defense class. The way she'd flinched when I'd moved too quickly. The determination to learn how to protect herself.
Charlotte continues, "Most Omegas would relate to her journey—from surviving a bad situation to thriving on her own terms. That's why we're desperate to work with her. But the campaign rules are final. We can't compromise on the pack requirement without undermining the entire narrative structure we've built."
