They’re going to say no. Who would choose a girl from a caravan park when they could have anyone in the world?
With shaky hands, I grabbed my backpack, shoved my old clothes inside, and left the fob on the side table. I needed to go home to Maeve, Mr. Cheddar and my rust-bucket caravan where at least the air didn't smell like delicious alphas.
Alphas I could never have.
6
Etienne
The office usually feltlike a sanctuary, a fortress of glass and wood where Hastings controlled the world. But today, the air was suffocating as I leaned back against the edge of the desk, my nostrils flaring.
They had since yesterday when Presley Prince had walked out of that door, and now her scent lingered in the fibers of the carpet and the grain of the leather chairs. In fact, it hoovered with every molecule in the air.
It was a soft, clean perfume and nothing like the heavy, cloying smells of the other candidates. Most omegas who applied for this position smelled like a walking fruit bowl; strawberries, peaches, or overly ripe citrus. They were sweet to the point of being sickly. But Presley? She was different.
My inner alpha let out a low, territorial snarl that stayed trapped behind my teeth. I looked at Hastings and Fritz, my pack. Usually, our scents were a chaotic mix of leather and cedarwood, but right now, we were all carrying a hintof her. Because we all carried the scent of rain. If only they could smell it too.
It was rare for an alpha to share a base note with an omega. Rarer still for three alphas in one pack to share that connection with a single omega. It made her unique. It made heroursin a way that defied the logic of the contract we were trying to sign.
I couldn't think about that. Not now. Hastings would say one scent wasn’t enough and we had made a pact after Greta left us.
She had been our lesson in deception. The "perfect" omega. She was, on paper, at least. She was elegant, high-society, and supposedly devoted to us. We’d opened our lives to her, shared our bed and our secrets, only to find out she was siphoning funds and using heat-suppressants because she never actually wanted to carry our children. She’d wanted the Hastings name and the bank account to go with it, but not the pack. She’d nearly broken us, leaving a trail of legal battles and emotional bitterness that had soured the very idea of a mate.
After the legalities finished, we agreed to no more omegas. No more hearts on the line. Just an heir, maybe two. Any omega would be purely a biological transaction.
"Fiona Appleton is a no." Fritz broke the silence. He was pacing again, his heavy boots thumping against the floor.
Fiona was an omega who was interviewed at nine-o'clock yesterday morning. Her interview was immediately after Presley’s. While Presley was blonde and curvy,and obviously an omega. Fiona wasn’t right. It wasn’t her dark hair, or that her make-up had been applied so perfectly or that she was wearing a suit that had me doubting her. It was the way she acted and Fritz agreed with my thoughts.
"She doesn't even act like an omega," Fritz continued, his German accent thick with irritation. "She acted like she was interviewingusfor a position on her board of directors. She had no softness. Not like Presley."
Hastings grumbled, his hand moving to rub the back of his neck. "I hate that she was the most perfect of all the omegas we interviewed."
"Then what is holding you back, Henry?" I asked, watching him closely. His fingers twitched. He was fighting something.
Hastings looked up, his gray eyes stormy. "There’s something about her... it frightens me."
I laughed. "Maybe you’re scared that once she’s in her heat, you’ll realize you’re her scent match."
"I don't have a scent match," Hastings snapped, his voice a low warning. "I have an extra scent and it’s unusual for an omega to have four scents. Nobody will match me."
"The actress Jenna Atkins has four scents," I argued, crossing my arms. "She discussed it on the Jonathan Rothchild show last month."
"She also hasn't found a scent match and doubts she ever will," Hastings countered.
"I’m just pointing out that you’re wrong," I said. “I could smell vanilla and rain on her. That’stwo. We don't know what her other note is or perhaps two notes because she’s not in heat. But when that rain note hit me... it was home."
Fritz stopped pacing and looked at us. "Can we just discuss if we’re any closer to agreeing on an omega? Presley is weeks away from her next heat. And then there is Geraldine who interviewed at the beginning of the week. She’s prepared to use a heat enhancer to bring hers on earlier. She’s ready to start tomorrow."
"I don’t want Geraldine," Hastings quipped. "I think her husband is coercing her into doing it."
"And Presley?" I prompted. "She was the only one who didn't actually discuss the money until we forced the numbers on her. She only wanted enough for a deposit on a cottage. And a cat. She’s not looking for a way to fleece us."
Before Hastings could respond, his private line rang. He answered it, his face smoothing into a mask of professional boredom.
“Hastings.” His voice was a low agitated growl before he looked at me and smiled. “It’s the agency we spoke to a month ago.”
It was the one that specialized in finding omegas for busy alpha packs who didn't have time for the messiness of dating.
