It smells wrong. The new foam mattress still has that polymer stink, made stronger by my heat-heightened senses.Mom was smart enough to wash the new blankets in our usual detergent, so at least the rest of my pillow nest smells like home. I bury my face in one of the few items I brought from Pleasantwood—a plush fox I’ve had since I was a kid.
Whenever I felt self-conscious about being an omega, Mom would say my pointed ears and copper hair made me her little fox.
Tears spill from my eyes, wicking into the matted fur.
I hate this part of being an omega: hormones having so much of an effect on my emotions, feeling like a pathetic child who can’t handle the normal stresses of life that betas face so effortlessly.
The suppressants dull the emotions, giving me some distance. I know these feelings will pass.
This was one isolated mistake. Tomorrow, I’m going to show up for my job, pretend this never happened, and put Morgan Hunter totally out of my mind.
Chapter 6
MORGAN
It’s Monday morning, which means I’m in the private gym attached to my office, currently doing my last set of bicep curls.
Usually, I don’t take meetings on Monday mornings. Molly Sykes, chief people officer, informs me that this sets a good example for work-life balance.
But it was Jensen Cox, my chief of sales, who finally convinced me by saying he was sick of hearing all my huffing and clanking on calls. I won’t miss my workouts for anything. I’d laughed, then had Eileen put the hold on my calendar.
Jess Sloan, chief marketing officer, knows the calendar hold doesn’t apply to her. She probably would have ignored it, even if it did. I love that about her. She’s witty, insightful, ruthless. Table stakes for my C-suite.
“How about…” She taps a pen against her precisely contoured lip. Brown hair, brown eyes, beta—but she knows how to make an impression. “‘Tomorrow, today’ and we do a crossover with virtual reality.”
“Hard pass,” I hiss, slowly lowering the weights back ontotheir stack, priding myself on how quiet the click is when they land. I hate shared gyms, even the expensive ones. Too many men pretend it’s impressive to grunt and slam, eager to show off their horrid form and lack of control.
“I never thought this day would come, Mor, but I think I’m out of ideas.”
“Impossible.” I switch machines to start hamstring lifts.
“I’m blocked up. I can’t get this one idea out of my head, but it’s stupid.”
“Hit me,” I say, clicking the weight one setting higher when the first rep is too easy. The next rep burns. That’s better.
“It’s stupid,” she insists, but she’s not apologizing.
“I’ll enjoy mocking you.”
“Fine. But it’s also impossible. Are there even any omegas that work here? On-site, I mean?”
Most omegas take advantage of remote work opportunities, even with suppressants.
But the beast grumbles happily. I ignore it, then huff, “There’s at least one.”
Jess perks. “Well, okay. Then listen to what I couldn’t stop thinking about when I should have been enjoying my massage. ‘From beginning to end, together.’” She waves her hands as if she can see the words spilling out over a marquee. She can. Jess’s creative vision is second to none. “That’s the idea, right? Alpha and Omega side by side? That should generate a lot of hype for the deal with the state.”
My big win five years ago was getting our suppressant products deemed medically necessary for any alpha or omega that requested them. All private insurers cover the drugs now. But not everyone has private insurance. This deal with the state will unlock millions more in revenue, offering the drugs at a heavy discount to people who never would have paid full price, anyway. Investors are loving it.
But the deal isn’t final yet. Jess is planning a global PR campaign to drum up support and get donations for our lobbying arm.
My father says what I know the other male alphas say: a whole lot of trouble for a little state deal. But male alphas—and execs generally—have trouble stringing more than two logical steps together in a row.
This deal would set the standard for medical access programs nationally. I know of at least six other states carefully watching our bill. If I can win this, it’ll have a domino effect.
So, this PR campaign matters. It really fucking matters.
I settle the weight back down and sigh. “You’re a mad genius, Jess.” She’s right. Nothing would prove how well our suppressants work, how life-changing they can be, better than an unbonded alpha and omega sitting next to each other casually on a stage.
