So I pretend I’m not unnerved by the six good-looking assholes in ten thousand dollar suits sitting around a giant table. I recognize them as members of the executive team. I memorized the employee roster, as well as the three hundred and fourteen page handbook on the way to work this morning.
Rule number three: Always be prepared.
“I’ll have a large red-eye, extra cream, no sugar,” an exec says in the Queen’s English. He must be Nicholas Cavendish, the seventh. “Nickel” transferred from Oxford to Yale, Blackthroat’s alma mater.
Then there’s Vance Blackthroat, CFO. A cousin to the king. He doesn’t even look up from his laptop. “Flat white. Tall.”
“You aren’t going to write this down?” William “Billy” White wears a smirk, like he thinks I’m about to bomb this test. He sports dimples in his cheeks and chin and has player written all over him.
“No, I’ll remember,” I assure him brightly. I’m not using a pen and paper or entering it into a text on my phone as a matter of pride. I have an excellent memory and intend to keep it honed, even if all I’m doing with my Princeton degree is serving a bunch of entitled assholes their coffee. I use the memory device of picturing me setting each paper cup with the label printed with their exact drink in front of them.
“Okay,” he says slowly. “I’ll have a caramel ribbon crunch Frappuccino with whip.”
“Got it.” I look politely at the next guy, but Billy interrupts, changing his mind. “No, actually, make that a tall, decaf mocha with only two pumps of chocolate.”
I take two more orders when he changes it again. “Wait, hold up. I’d like a large latte breve with an extra shot. Got it?” The cocky bastard has the nerve to wink.
“Got it.” I turn politely to get the last of the orders and leave the conference room.
I find Indira frantically clicking the mouse at her computer. “I had to get IT to get my former boss’ password. Hopefully I can find the reports he needs. Are you okay to get the coffees? Just hit the cafe outside the building.”
“No problem. Good luck with the reports. I’ll be right back.”
Ten minutes later, I’m down the block waiting in line to place the order. I should have ordered ahead on the app. I try not to get fidgety about getting raked over the coals for taking so long. There’s nothing I can do at this point except apologize if I’m called out.
When I finally make it back with the two loaded trays of drinks, I have to set one of the carriers on the floor to open the door to the conference room.
Indira’s inside, handing out the reports.
I serve the coffees, and Billy says, “What is this? Where’s my flat white?”
My mind spins as I try to figure out if he’s screwing with me.
He’s frowning like he’s pissed, but I catch a lip-twitch from Vance.
He is screwing with me. He totally is.
I’m sure of it when he says, “You really should have written down the orders.” He shoots a glance in the direction of Blackthroat, as if he’s a hunting dog delivering a tasty morsel at his master’s feet.
I’m the morsel in this scenario.
“No, I’m good. I’ve got them all up here.” I tap my temple. “You ordered a caramel ribbon crunch Frappuccino with whip, then changed it to a tall, decaf mocha with only two pumps of chocolate and then a large latte breve with an extra shot.” I wait a beat before I say, “But I’m happy to go back and get you something else.” There may or may not be a tinge of snark in my tone. I lean my hip against the giant, thick slab of polished mahogany that makes up the table. “Or were you just trying to trip me up? It takes more than a coffee order to confuse me.”
He doesn’t smile, but I hear a snort from across the table and a light chuff of laughter from Vance.
I reach across the table to adjust Billy’s coffee cup, so the label faces him. “Were you a bully in high school, too?”
The very serious, professional, haughty looking execs suddenly turn into frat boys in a lounge. Or maybe that’s what they’ve always been, but the suits deceived me. “Ohhhhh, she’s a mouthy one,” one of them cackles. “Serves you right,” Nickel says.
“Are you going to let her get away with that?” Billy turns to Mr. Blackthroat.
What the actual F? Compared to the corporate culture I’ve seen everywhere outside of the board room, the familiarity within this group shocks me. But then, Blackthroat formed the start-up with his cousins and friends from college, so I suppose it makes sense.
“Am I going to let my secretary’s secretary hand you your ass when you try to slip her up?” Blackthroat folds his arms across his chest.
Dear Lord, they are very fine arms, thick and corded with muscle. “Yeah, I guess I am.” He turns to me. “Sit in the corner with Indira, that memory could be useful.”
I find Indira seated in the shadowed corner by the door and pull up a rolling office chair beside her. “At first I thought I was being sent to the corner as punishment,” I murmur under my breath.
She rolls her lips inward to keep from smiling.
Mr. Blackthroat’s gaze flicks to me for a moment, and my belly flips. I doubt he heard me. My flutters have nothing to do with fear over losing my job. It’s more like… excitement over his attention.
Score one for the assistants.
Brick
I don’t know why I told New Girl to stay in the room, but her muttered comment about it being punishment makes me sprout a chub. I’d definitely love to punish that one. Fold her over my desk and smack her ass while she moans for more. Of course, I wouldn’t.
I don’t do humans, and my employees are off-limits. You don’t hunt what you can’t eat.
I pick up the report and start running through it.
I need Indira here to answer or research any questions that arise from it, but there’s no reason for her assistant to stay. No reason I can come up with for asking New Girl to stay other than the fact that she amuses me. And then there’s her exquisite scent. It fills the room, simultaneously stimulating and soothing me.
I like how she looked me in the eye.
I was born dominant. An alpha in the making. I’ve only lowered my eyes for my father, and after I shifted the first few times, he was careful not to demand submission from me, in case I went for his throat. Even as a youth, my wolf was a monster.
I send a glare around the room. No one else meets my eye. They’re my top wolves, my business partners, closer than brothers. And even they know not to challenge my wolf.
New Girl did what no creature-human or shifter-should be able to do. And my wolf let her. Not only did he let her, but he’s not upset at all. No, he’s intrigued.
I run through the reports Indira passed out, then I dismiss the two humans to conduct the more sensitive business.
Pack and family-related business.
“The Adalwulfs-” Vance begins, and I snap my focus back to where it should be.
“What about them?” I snap.
The Adalwulfs are our sworn enemies. A pack and business rival organization from the earliest days of the colony, the Adalwulfs were always second-best until I was eighteen.
When they stole the fucking throne.
“Nothing confirmed, but there’s a new bidder in play for Benson Insurance. We don’t know who’s behind it, but word on the street is it’s-“
“Aiden Adalwulf,” Billy spits the name of my cousin and nemesis like a curse.
My wolf surges to his feet. The room turns red-my wolf giving me a vision of it painted with our rival’s blood. If only.
“I thought Benson was a done deal?” Nickel says.
“Not yet,” Vance says. “Benson Senior is dragging his feet. Now we know why.”
I stop grinding my teeth long enough to ask, “What’s the offer?”
“No news on that, but if I had to guess? Twice what we did.”
“Fuck that,” Billy says. “He’d be overpaying by a couple bill.”
“Adalwulf Associates can afford it,” Vance says. “You know Aiden’s just doing this to mess with us.”
“Why are we getting into insurance anyway?” Billy scoffs.
“Stability,” Nickel says more patiently than I would. “After this acquisition, we’ll have exposure in all major sectors.”
“So start from scratch. Who needs a fusty old company like Benson when we can build a new, improved, more agile one? Give Jake and I a weekend. We’ll code something that makes Geico look like a dinosaur.” Billy grabs a stress ball and lobs it at Jake, who catches it without raising his head from the report. “Right?”
Jake, our resident coding genius, shrugs. “I could do it.”
“No,” I say. “Purchasing Benson was more about access to the insurance sector. It was about balancing our image.”
“The new and the old.” Nickel steeples his fingers. “The modern and the legacy. We prove we’re not some snotty nose tech upstart who surged the crypto wave.”
“But we did surf the crypto wave,” Billy says.
“That’s how we started. But we’re more than that,” I say. “Acquiring Benson is further proof.”
“It would be a feather in our cap,” Nickel says. “And losing it to the Adalwulfs will make us look weak.”
He’s right. Normally, I’d be willing to let a deal go. But now that the Adalwulfs are involved, we have to win. Because when you’re a wolf, dominance isn’t about a gold medal or a worthless trophy.
It’s survival.
My mother is an Adalwulf. Because of her betrayal, they stole the crown from the Blackthroats, but they don’t get to keep it. It’s my job to take our rightful position back. I’m the alpha. Taking the bull of Wall Street by the horns is both my destiny and my duty.
“We stand our ground.” I order. “We sweeten the pot. Golden parachutes, Moon Co. shares, whatever it takes.”
“I’ll have a new proposal option on your desk by noon,” Vance tells me.
“I’ll get my team digging to see if there are any details to be had on what Adalwulf offered,” Nickel’s already tapping on his phone, rallying his troops.
“I want this in the bag before the charity ball,” I add. “Call a meet ASAP.”
“On it,” Billy launches from his chair. He’s not afraid to give pushback, but he’ll be loyal to the direction his Alpha sets.
“It’s delicate,” Nickel calls after him. “Send someone who can sweet talk them a little.” He knows Billy can’t stand humans.
“I can play good cop,” Billy parts his lips in a Joker’s smile. It’s horrifying, not charming. Jake and Sully snort.
“Not quite right, I’m afraid,” Nickel clips. “Send someone else.”
Billy flips him off and exits the conference room to harangue my assistants to set up a new meeting with the heads of Benson. My shifter hearing catches all of it.
“Of course. When?” Indira sounds breathless.
“Yesterday,” Billy barks.
I don’t know why I’m still listening. What I’m waiting to hear.
“Consider it done.” New Girl’s voice is quiet and authoritative.
Fascinating.
I have to fight my compulsion to corner New Girl and start making demands of her. Demands that go far beyond her job description…
Madi
After work, I take the subway to Brooklyn. I will my brain to stop thinking about the job. Stop analyzing and categorizing everything I saw and heard today. Then I pass a guy in a suit reading the paper. A black and white photo of Brick Blackthroat glares up at me from the business section, and I’m suddenly back in that boardroom.
I expect you to answer to Assistant, Secretary, or New Girl.
So offensive.
Yet, for some reason, it turned me on. Maybe it was the deep, growly voice. Or the fact that Blackthroat is panty-meltingly hot.
Or maybe it’s just that I love a challenge. I’m determined to keep this job. Not just because I have to-which I do-but because I refuse to lose this game.
By the time I reach La R?sistance, the cafe where Aubrey, my roommate and childhood best friend works, I’m ready to throw my high heels into the dumpster that partially blocks the view of the mural Aubrey painted on the side of the building. It’s a depiction of the Occupy Wall Street protests with the words
Resist Much, Obey Little overlaid in a giant script.
The coffee shop is full but not busy, the transition from busier day crowd to the more laid-back evening live music set still in progress. It’s been around since the early 70s, a meeting place for artists and political activists.
As soon as I step inside, the tension in my shoulders melts away. Coming here is a good idea. The ground is solid under my feet, unlike on the top floor of Moon Co.’s high rise.
This is where I belong.
The AC is running, but it’s August and hot in the cafe, and I wish I was out of my work dress and heels and wearing a tank top and shorts like Aubrey.
“Hey, there’s our rising star, fresh off Wall Street!” Aubrey puts her fist to her lips to make a bugle sound.
“Shh,” I caution.
She points to the photo taped to the bulletin board behind her of the two of us with our signs and t-shirts at the last event. The board is a haphazard collage of social protest bumper stickers and photos dating back to the cafe’s origins when the owner Caroline and her now wife cut their teeth as activists. Their cafe has been the meeting place for changemakers ever since. “Guess I shouldn’t send that to your boss, huh?”
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