Cassidy
“You look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”
Harlan’s voice cuts through the office air like a knife, and I feel it land in my chest hard and brutal. I’d like to say I’m surprised, but I’m not.
I straighten my already perfect posture and force a polite smile.
“I’m perfectly fine, thank you for asking,” I say quietly.
His sneer somehow makes his face prettier.
Today, he’s wearing a very stylish copper suit that brings out the golden hues in his skin tone.
Harlan’s muted hazel eyes are narrowed into slits, and I bite my cheek to hold myself still as instinct prickles beneath my skin, a shiver dancing over my spine.
I did everything right today. Makeup to cover the dark under my eyes, and I even called into the supermarket to grab the strong scent neutraliser. I had no idea there were preferred brands and types, but now I do, and I’ve stocked up.
My champagne silk blouse and cream skirt sit just right, gold jewellery accents that are soft and warm. Today, I’ve gone for something polished, something careful, and something that should pass his standards.
My nude heels were chosen deliberately, and I have my hair pinned up neatly, all contained with everything in place so he can’t find a fault.
“I wasn’t asking,” he says, waving me off. “Now, I’m not pleased I’ve got to waste time with this today, so you better listen up as I won’t be repeating myself.”
I gulp but unfold my notebook, ready to jot down every single thing he says—relevant or not.
“Come Monday, we’re working on a new campaign. It’s been in the works for a while and is worth more than your life.” He reaches forward for a folder and tosses it over the desk. I don’t reach for it, scared I’ll be told off for taking an initiative.
“That contains everything the company has sent us. Your job is to read that this weekend and have it committed to memory.” He gestures with his hand, and I take it, placing it on my lap.
It’s a lot heavier than I thought it would be, and I bite my lip as he watches me.
“Problem?” he asks dryly.
I can’t exactly admit that I’ve got a shopping trip tomorrow with my mum, and a family dinner on Sunday that’s going to eat into my prep time, now, can I?
I’ll make it work.
I always do.
“No, of course not,” I say brightly.
“Good. The company we’re working with is Aurelion. They’ve got a new range coming out at the end of November, and we’re working on the campaign for it.”
I nod my head, jotting that down. “Perfect. It’s been rumoured they’d have a new collection before Christmas.”
He frowns. “What would you know of Aurelion?”
The emphasis there is a little unsettling, and I don’t like his tone. I swallow, fighting the instinctive urge to lower my gaze beneath his.
“I mean, I own plenty of their products, and I have a vested interest in the industry as a whole,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady and non-confrontational.
With my scent suppressed, I don’t really know how I’m supposed to handle an angry alpha.
“I’m very familiar with their collections, and their brand, and of course, their previous campaigns and style.”
His eyebrow lifts slightly, but he doesn’t say anything kind.
“Save me the resumé padding,” he says dismissively. “Since I’m clearly wasting my time teaching you, Little Miss Knows-It-All, please fill me in on the company.”
I bite my lip for a second, not sure if this is a test I actually want to pass. I thought having some insight would be helpful, but based on Harlan’s reaction, I’ve done something wrong.
“Aurelion is a luxury beauty and fragrance house, and is the first of its kind to work with our biology rather than in spite of it. With numerous ranges catering specifically to alphas, betas, and omegas, they’re diverse and can meet the everyday needs of the rich and elite.
They’re a skin-first, identity-driven beauty brand, and their campaigns show that. ”
Harlan’s scent sharpens faintly beneath the neutral office air, and I wonder if I’ve said too much. He leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable.
I feel like I’m walking on a tightrope, desperately trying not to fall. When he starts to slow clap, a flush appears on my cheeks, and I duck my head.
Pretending to write these down, I give myself something else to focus on.
“Adequate,” he says finally, the word dripping with disdain. “But being a follower doesn’t mean you know them.”
“I know that they’ve got some of the leading scientists of their time working for them to ensure all formulas are scent safe across a broad cross-section of society.
That while betas are often stuck choosing from an alpha or an omega package, here they don’t need to.
Omegas struggle with products during heat build-up, pregnancy, and even when exposed to rut-heavy alpha pheromones—”
“Language,” he warns. “We’re not here to get into the things omegas do.”
I nod, blushing deeper. “I apologise, sir. I just meant that Aurelion’s products are designed to remain stable around hormonal fluctuations and… pheromone shifts.”
I trail off, mumbling the word at his dark glower. The intensity in his eyes is terrifying, and I can only imagine how little he thinks of me now.
He probably thinks I know all of this from experience. As if I’ve not been using heat suppressors for the last three years, so I can avoid this until I’m settled.
“Good job, you can recite from their wikipedia page,” he says dryly. “All that information is useless to you, though, if you can’t execute a respectful vision.”
I nod, unwilling to say anything else and dig a deeper hole for myself.
His smile borders on cruel.
“Now, the campaign we’re working on is for their new range—Amplified. The premise we’re capitalising on is elevating the natural scent, and amplifying what is already there.”
Oh, wow. I already love the sound of this. My fingers twitch as I jot this down, and ideas are already starting to come to play in my mind.
“Come Monday, we’ll be presenting some of the initial ideas to their team. You’ve had no input on these, but you can still be there and help prepare. Today, I’ve got a task list for you to get done.”
“I will,” I promise, giving him a quick smile. He sneers, but I don’t let it affect me.
Much.
“We’ll see. Wardrobe has a preliminary pull list, so get that from them. However, since you’re meant to be capable of having a brain, I also want you to keep your eye out for anything that leans soft but reactive.”
Soft but reactive.
Silk. Satin. Chiffon. Fine jersey—anything that moved when the body did, that caught the light instead of blocking it. Nothing stiff. Nothing structured.
I add a few more notes to the list, underlining movement twice.
“We want types of fabric that don’t fight the body. Nothing stiff or structured—we’re aiming for loose, to showcase natural movement and skin,” he continues. “I want it all brought up to conference room 68B, ready for me to go through.”
I nod my head, scrawling as fast as I can.
“After that, you’re going to go through the product profiles we’ve received from Aurelion. Your job is to use our model list to match them up,” he says. “Get three models per item, for skin tone, base looks, and scent.”
“Absolutely,” I murmur, jotting that down.
“And, if you actually manage to get that done, I want you to pull all previous campaigns from the last five years. Note down everything that went well, everything that failed, everything that they did. We want a list of what to avoid, and I can see what analytical skills you have.”
I nod. “Absolutely, sir. I can get that done.”
“I bet you think you can,” he says with amusement. “I’ll not be on hand for most of today, so if you get stuck—don’t. I’ve got a few things to close up before we move onto this next week, so don’t bother me.”
“Understood, sir,” I say, accepting the dismissal for what it is. I rise from my seat and smooth out my skirt, moving the files over to my left arm.
He snarls low, the sound scraping straight down my spine, and I freeze before I can stop myself.
“Give me your fucking hand,” he barks, and I have no choice but to obey.
I try to move the folders so I can give him my uninjured hand, but that leads to me dropping them in a panic.
I fumble around, and he snarls.
“The injured one. Now.”
A shiver races down my spine, scent glands prickling as goosebumps rise over my skin. My instincts fold immediately beneath the command in his voice—especially from this alpha.
He takes my hand in his, thumb brushing over my wrist scent gland as he smooths my palm open.
“What the fuck caused this?” he demands.
“I cut myself last night whilst cooking,” I whisper.
His eyes flash darker as he looks up at me. I can see him gauging whether I’m lying or not.
“It was an accident. I’m clumsy,” I continue, my words breathier than intended under his sharp gaze.
“Next time, be more careful,” he snaps, gently letting go of my hand. “It’s unprofessional to show up with gauze all over yourself. Get to work.”
“Yes, sir,” I mumble.
I bend down, grabbing the files and my notebook, before scurrying out of his office.
I swear, I hear him mumble, “be the death of me”, but I have no idea what he’s on about.
My cheeks are flushed, my heart racing, but strangely, the tight panic in my chest has eased.
I see that same alpha from yesterday morning—the one that is friends with Harlan, I’m sure—watching me from the doorway. I wave, and I know that my blush travels down my neck as he smirks at me.
It’s the only recognition I get, but it’s also all I could need.
With a practiced smile on my face, I move to my own office to get everything ready for Harlan.
I won’t let him down.
I can’t.
Ilook down the list, marking off a silk swatch, as I drape the corresponding samples over the garment rail I’ve brought with me.
I glance around the sample room one last time, scanning the racks and swatch binders to make sure I haven’t missed anything obvious, then decide I’m done here.