Then she glances at the twins, and for some strange reason, my chest tightens. I find myself thinking… I want her to look at me again.
“Do you have a central PC?”
***
Revea shows me to her office, situated directly above the reception desk, only accessible by a single set of stairs against the far wall. The elevated view allows a direct view of the waiting area where we were just standing. Tactically, it’s well planned.
Structurally, the entire building has been. The only major security threats are the skylights. Even the revolving glass doors for the entrance work well, making it easy to lock someone inside.
However, that’s where the positives stop.
Although the salon looks aesthetically pleasing, the inside systems are a mess. Everything is out of date, incomplete, or simply inadequate for a business.
I make detailed notes on everything, listing each issue and categorising it by urgency. When I realise how easy it is to hack into the CCTV, I move it to the top priority.
Not only is the CCTV system not secure, meaning anyone can hack in and watch, but the cameras themselves are old. I flick through the live footage. Doesn’t take long. Five cameras. That’s it.
I make a note: inadequate.
The quality: grainy, no sound. Inadequate.
I’m about to move on to the sign-in system when she appears on screen.
I pause, finger hovering over the left click of the mouse, and watch.
She’s speaking with someone—a client, I assume—as they sit down in a chair. I can only see Revea’s side profile from this angle because the cameras are stationary and can only be moved by hand. I make another note of that.
But I still don’t click away.
I guess I can keep this screen up while I work on the other systems. Monitor the continuity of the footage.
Which is what I do.
Three hours later, I’m almost done with my report. It shouldn’t have taken that long, but I know why, because I’ve been casting glances at the live footage in the corner of my screen every chance I could find. Sometimes, she went out of frame, and I’d have to filter through to find her again.
Three hours of undisturbed surveillance, and I’ve learnt a lot about the pink-haired omega.
She’s good with people. I guess that’s a requirement of a job like this, being social, but the way she interacts seems so easy. Natural. Not rehearsed or part of a role, it’s real. She looks after her staff, checking in on each member, lingering when necessary, giving small smiles of reassurance, stepping in to cover someone when their appointment overruns.
I also see the way others react to her. Her staff respect her; there’s no hesitation when they need something. She always makes time for them, listens, even when she’s in the middle of styling someone’s hair. People gravitate towards her.
And my pack brothers are no different. Hanging back, yet stepping in at any chance they get, even refilling her water. Sometimes, she looks a little caught off guard by them, unsure how to react; other times, she smiles.
In three hours, I’ve realised a lot of things. One being that I like the way Revea smiles when she thinks no one is watching.
When the door to her office opens, I continue staring at the screen, like I didn’t watch her ascend the steps with food and drink in hand.
“Hey, just came to see how it’s going,” she says, walking towards the desk.
She places the food on the coffee table, and aside from my typing and clicking, it goes quiet.
I pause. Am I meant to say something? But she didn’t ask me a question.
I peer up from my screen, and she’s there, smiling at me. But it’s not like the ones from the footage; this one is smaller, less sure. A little forced.
“Do you need something?” I ask, that way she’ll have to answer—that’s what happens when you ask a question.
Her brows furrow a little. “Me? Erm, no. I just came to check on you.”
