The Good Boys Club (Mythical Mishaps #2)

3. Every Dog Has its Day

Every Dog Has its Day

Present Day

Cian

Despite spending fewer than three hours per month in the Howl Ya Doing building, James was the only person here with his own office. It was a typical, if slightly impersonal, corporate four-metre by four-metre box. Framed photos of some werewolf kids—presumably his own—rested on the desk, and a vintage starburst clock was fixed to the only portion of wall not made from glass.

“Cian, great to see you again. How have you been?” James said, pulling the lid of his laptop closed.

“Yeah, fine. You?” I sat in the fancy leather chair across from him.

“Wonderful. Things have been... wonderful. Matings are down this year, but subs are at an all-time high.” He thumbed through a stack of papers on his desk. I presumed they were the annual reports, but he didn’t examine them more closely or hand them over to me.

Howl Ya Doing was the leading werewolf and wolf-shifter dating website and app, and over the years its success had been measured in various ways—turnover, profit, the number of subscribers at any one given moment, the number of new subscribers per month, the number of resubscribers per month, the market share—but my boss James considered only one measurable statistic an indicator of success. Matings. Like human marriage but more permanent. James only cared for the number of wolves who’d mated as a direct result of joining his app.

He was, at heart, an utter romantic.

He’d founded the company ten years ago to help weres and shifters find everlasting love, and met his own wife in the process. Alice was one of the first to sign up. They hit it off, dated for a couple of years, mated, had kids.

A success story that had fuelled an empire.

I’d been working for Howl since I graduated from my master’s, and almost since the day of its inception. I’d helped mould this company. Helped bring it from a handful of notes scribbled on a napkin to a thriving, multi-million-silver enterprise.

Like humans with marriage, wolves these days were leaving mating until later and later in life—sometimes not mating at all. Which was perfectly fine. I considered myself amongst them. Mating wasn’t for everybody. There were old-fashioned connotations assigned to it, and for some of us, our first choice of mate wasn’t... available. And frankly, why settle for anything less? Didn’t mean we couldn’t still have fun with the app.

More recently, the business’s success had been defined in monetised values—i.e., the number of subscriptions we had and the amount of silvers we turned over. Users saw the app less as a way to find the love of their life, and more as a way to while away the evening. It became a hook-up app. Still, occasionally we’d have a mating to celebrate.

James would post the news of each one on our website, with a little write up and a photo.

He was still very much of the mind that love conquered all.

About five years ago, I had the idea to expand the subs from only werewolves and wolf shifters to all caninophiles, regardless of species. Overnight we multiplied the number of paid subs tenfold. And they just kept coming... and coming. We moved offices, across the city to the schmancy mid-rise we currently occupied. We took on more staff. And more. And more. And kept growing.

Until about eighteen months ago, when things tapered off into a seemingly natural plateau. James confessed he was pleased that growth had slowed. He told me he’d never intended to be this suit-wearing big-wig, exec-type guy, and all he really wanted was to move out to the Mythic Realms, buy a massive plot of land, and fish and hunt and pretend the city had all been one bad acid trip.

More recently I’d put together a manifesto of market growth ideas I’d researched to death. James had smiled and said, “Thankyou very much, I will consider your proposals.” Then when I’d left his office, I’d heard the blades of his shredder churning.

“How’s work? How are the new interns?” James asked, regarding me over the top of steepled fingers.

“Fine, yeah, it’s all fine. They’re good, I mean, as far as interns go, I suppose. No weres or shifters, though.”

James hmmed. He was just over a decade and a half older than me, and still sometimes took an old-fashioned view on things. He wasn’t a speciesist, per se... it was simply that he was werewolf and well, werewolf could be very set in werewolf ways—the scenting, the pack dynamics, the mating and the mate biting.

I’d never been super into it, but no doubt that was because I grew up in the biggest city in all of Borderlands. Just Mum, Dad, me, and the staff in our red-brick, four-bed suburban townhouse in one of the wealthiest—human-centric—gated neighbourhoods. We didn’t have a nature reserve like Mash did, or a pack, or even a modest-sized garden.

There was a wolf inside me, but the only time I ever needed to shift was when I was anxious and had nervous energy to burn off with a decent run. In those instances, I’d head into one of the huge inner-city parks. My favourite was Jeckell Park. They’d had shifter booths near the toilets where I could change out of my clothes to save regular folk from getting an eyeful of my naked human ass. But I hadn't shifted in . . . over half a decade.

I also didn’t have a species preference. I’d dated all sorts in my younger years—weres, shifters, humans, fae. One time I even dated a mothperson after my colleague, Gideon, set me up with his brother Maverick, a super-hot but super straight-laced fire chief. And I was in agreement with James in that hook-up culture wasn’t for me, but alas, I had never found that one person who I’d give it all up for.

Or maybe I had, but things weren’t reciprocal, so it was by the by.

“Ci, I called you into my office for a reason. I need to chat to you about something, but this is strictly confidential until we know a little more,” James said, snapping my attention back to him. “I’m considering selling Howl Ya Doing.”

My hand hit the desktop. “Oh.” I bought myself more processing time by adjusting my position in the chair.

It didn’t come as a surprise. I’d known for a while this had been James’s end goal, but I hadn’t expected it to come so soon.

“I’ve been thinking about this for several years now.” Okay, maybe it wasn’t that soon. “And I thought you, of all people, should be the first to know. You’ve been a gods-send this past decade, and honestly, this company would not be where it is today without you.”

“Who will you sell it to?” I asked, unable to think of anything more personal to say.

“Both Mythic Match and Fur Daddies have expressed interest.” He sighed. “I’m told there’ll be a bidding war of sorts, and well, I don’t want any part of that, so I’m looking for suggestions.”

I nodded. Swallowed. Tried to summon some kind of emotion. Any kind. Sadness, excitement, nerves, whatever. Failed. “Mythic Match is your better option. Their ethos is more closely aligned to the original principles of Howl.”

“Thank you.” He placed his hands on the desktop, fingers overlapping. “So, let’s talk about how this affects you. I’ll admit I’ve been... holding this company back, and by extension, you. And I apologise for this. You are a fantastic employee and it has pained me to see you stagnate. This’ll be good for both of us, I feel.”

I nodded again, still at a loss for words.

“As it stands, you have two choices,” he continued. “You can stay here, and hope the new CEOs give you free rein to take Howl to wherever you’ve been envisioning.”

I tried to imagine where that might be. Where did I want to take it? I’d spent so long on those proposals for James—still had the document saved on my hard drive—but did I care enough to implement them? Let alone fight for their implementation. After all, I hadn’t fought James. I’d heard his shredder blades spinning and instead of kicking off about my wasted time, I went to the canteen and bought a jacket potato with cheese and beans.

“Or the other option... Finda new job.” He raised his eyebrows and smiled at me like a magician with a bouquet up his sleeve. “I have a friend who has an opening you might be interested in?”

Curiosity got the better of me. “A friend?”

James opened the top drawer of his desk and removed something. A glossy magazine. He placed it in front of me, already clipped open to a particular page.

“That’s your friend?” I laughed. “Dylan West is your friend?”

The majority of the page was taken up by a very large posed photograph of two werewolf women—one in her mid-forties, and the other early twenties. They had arms slung over one another and were both grinning towards the camera. The title of the article read: Rare Job Opportunity Opens at Byte Tech.

“Yup. Dylan and I... well, Dylan and Alice go way back. The position is a managerial one. Head of...” He waved a hand vaguely. “Development or something. Are you interested?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I’m interested. That’s... a dream job. To work at Byte Tech. To help people in real, definable ways... uh, I mean... not that we don’t help people here.”

Hello foot, meet my mouth.

James shook his head. “It’s fine. We don’t help people the way we used to... the way I hoped we would. The only people we seem to help these days are guys like your friend Mitch.”

“Mash,” I corrected.

“Right, sorry, Mash.”

I found myself nodding in agreement. Three years ago, Mash had been banned from using Howl because of the sheer volume of complaints we’d received. Women who’d claimed he’d fucked and then ghosted them. I could hardly be offended on Mash’s behalf.

“But Byte Tech is a serious corporation,” I said, because I might as well try to jam the other foot in there too. I grimaced. “I mean, they’re not just going to employ me, are they? I don’t have any experience in that field. I can’t just apply to be the head of development. They’d laugh me out of the building.”

Byte Tech built software products and data management, integration, and analytical tools for hospitals and healthcare facilities across the Eight and a Half Kingdoms. Like Howl, Byte Tech began as a lupine specialist, but quickly branched out to include humans, fae, other shifters, orcs, anyone besides the undead and immortal. Working at a company like Byte Tech would mean realising eighteen-year-old me’s dream career. This was the type of job I’d envisioned when I applied to do computer science.

“You built Howl from scratch, didn’t you? You’re more than qualified to apply. I don’t wanna hear any more of this self-deprecating bullshit. The worst that can happen is they say no, right, and you’re still in the same position you are now?”

“I suppose,” I said, but I didn’t believe the words.

James must have heard the doubt in my voice.

“I’ll speak with Dylan and put in a good word for you. I’m not saying it’s going to guarantee you the job, but Dylan is a great boss, and I’d know she’d give you a fair chance to interview. She chooses her leadership roles based on... what’s the word you kids use these days... vibes. Not what boxes are checked on a piece of paper.”

Well, I supposed it was worth a shot. My options were somewhat limited as it was, and I could do with the boost from a guy as well known, respected, and loved as James Bradshaw. Werefolk were especially fond of nepotism. I just had to hope there was nobody closer to Dylan who was gunning for that position.

“Anyway, you give me the word and I’ll drop her a call, but no pressure. You need to make the choice.”

My mind was still void of emotion. Should I be sad that my life as it was would be over? Excited for new prospects, the chance to work at Byte Tech, make a real difference, grow? Byte Tech had offices in Remy. They were on a different U-Rail line, a little further into the main part of town, but... closer to the uni. Closer to Mash. We could meet for lunch more often...

“Sure, that’d be great. Thanks, James.”

“Perfect.” James got to his feet. My dismissal. “I’m proud of you. I thought you should know that.”

I stood also, and James tucked the magazine into my grip.

“Well, I’ve got a phone call to make to a certain Miss West.” His smile dropped momentarily. “I’ve heard she’s not making the announcement until the end of October... Basically she’s going to decide over Harvest Fest who she wants for the position.”

“Harvest Fest,” I repeated pointlessly.

The annual ten-week-long celebration that almost all werewolves participated in. A celebration of the three most important full moons in the lunar calendar. Being from a family of shifters, we’d never observed the holiday in my household, but I’d worked with werefolk long enough to understand the significance.

A lot of the werewolves who were employed at Howl would return home—wherever home might be—and the offices would be both quieter than usual and incredibly hectic as the non-were species worked double time to pick up the slack.

I enjoyed this period. Mostly because Mash hated Harvest Fest and did everything in his power to stay in Remy.

Pretty sure there was nothing that could convince him to return to Howling Pines for ten weeks.