I keep my face blank, even as panic tries to claw its way up my throat.What did he see? What did he hear? Did my voice slip? Did the suppressant wear off? Did he catch the scent of?—
“Oh?” I say, making my tone just curious enough without sounding defensive. My throat is dry. I hope he can’t hear it.
“Yeah.” He leans forward, elbows on his desk. “Leaving a work dinner early without telling anyone. Vanishing to hook up with someone. You showed no respect to us or to her. I can’t speak for Nina, maybe she wanted exactly what you gave her, but as far as our work goes? We expect loyalty and respect from our employees. And on your first day, pulling a stunt like that makes me think you’re not taking this role seriously.”
Oh.
Oh, this is about Ash leaving the dinner. Not about anything else.
Relief floods through me, followed immediately by guilt because he’s absolutely right.
“You’re part of a team now,” Slater continues, his voice firm but not cruel. “That means showing up. Being present and not chasing after the first attractive person who crosses your path. We hired you because we thought you’d be dedicated. Prove us right.”
I nod, keeping my voice low and sincere. “You’re right. I fucked up and got carried away. It won’t happen again.”
And inside, I’m stunned.
Because this is exactly the kind of management I’d want. Fair. Direct. Holding people accountable regardless of designation or gender.
He just disciplined a Beta male for unprofessional behavior. No excuses. No boys-will-be-boys nonsense.
If he treats everyone this way, then what happened to those Omegas who left?
Was that caller wrong? Or is there something else going on that I’m missing?
“See that it doesn’t happen again,” Slater states, leaning back. “We’re giving you a chance. Don’t make me regret it.”
“I won’t. Thank you for being direct with me.”
He nods, and I stand to leave.
“Ash.”
I turn back.
“Tomorrow we’re taking clients out on a fishing charter. Seven a.m. departure. I need you there with your camera and your social media magic. Lots of live content, photos, posts. Think you can handle that?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good. Don’t be late.”
I leave his office and close the door behind me, and despite the lecture, I’m smiling because part of me doesn’t want to find them guilty anymore.
Ihead to my desk, settling into the chair and pulling up social media accounts. Time to get busy and act professional. The morning passes in a blur of work. I edit photos from previous tours, schedule posts, respond to comments, and try very hard not to think about Jasper or that conversation or the fact that I’m lying to them.
Around eleven, Dylan pokes his head out of his office. “Hey, Ash! We’re heading down to the harbor. New boat just arrived. Want to come check it out?”
“Sure,” I say, standing.
“Actually,” Slater says from his office doorway, not looking up from the papers in his hand. “Ash, you stay here. We need someone to man the phones. We’ll only be twenty minutes.”
“Yeah, no problem.”
The four of them file out, talking animatedly about the new boat and what tours they can use it for and how much they can charge.
The door closes behind them, and suddenly the office is silent.
I sit back down, staring at my computer screen, but my mind is racing.
