Nineteen – Morgan
Nineteen
Morgan
T here was a typo on my CV—the same one I’d sent to Ballantyne and three other programs. How was that possible? I’d printed it out, scrutinized every letter, and even read it aloud twice. It was perfect—or so I thought.
When I asked my most reliable siblings to proofread my letter of intent for the Northport sports physician position, I’d included my CV for reference. Idiotic typo and all. At least Kelsey’s text was nice about it.
All good, just one tiny edit. It’s “references,” not “refences.”
Audra’s response was a gut punch by comparison. Endless edits on both documents and a demand for babysitting duty as compensation. Precisely what I deserved for asking a lawyer.
During my brief lunch break in my office at the sports medicine clinic—a windowless space far from the hustle and bustle of reception, with a hefty stash of pain meds in the top drawer—I resisted the urge to revise, forcing down a few bites of salad in the comforting shadows. The only light in he room was a frosted glass lamp I’d brought from home.
I did a deep breathing exercise every time my emotions wavered. One typo wouldn’t derail my career. Success didn’t require perfection. Neither did my recovery.
A calendar reminder buzzed on my phone. One hour until our quarterly presentation with Redwing. Time to change and meet the other attendees in the Designation Services lobby. We were carpooling to the Redwing campus, and I’d arranged a ride with Talia, the deputy administrator.
After powering down my laptop and tucking it into my work bag, I traded my white tennis shoes for black suede slingbacks and shrugged off my lab coat, revealing a sleeveless black shift dress. Just as I reached into the closet for my blazer, the door to my office swung open.
“Sweetie,” Coach Garvey drawled, in that slithering tone of his that could almost pass for conversational.
Why was he in my office? Football coaches didn’t have security clearance for the clinic—especially not a restricted staff area.
“Just heard the funniest thing. Absolutely fucking hysterical. Sensitivity training for the entire coaching staff. What a fucking joke, right?”
He moved closer, puffing out his chest with each step, trying to inflate his presence and appear more intimidating. But his dominance was no more than a petulant flicker. Even so, I had to be careful. I was an unmated omega alone in an enclosed space with an unwelcome alpha.
“Sorry, I’m on my way out,” I said, keeping my voice steady and expression neutral as I slipped on my blazer.
“That’s not very nice, sweetie.” Garvey stopped just shy of my personal space. “Dismissing me like that. After you’ve been such a naughty girl, telling lies to your bosses.”
His smile was fake, but the barbs of anger in his barely controlled voice were very real. Garvey might be losing control of his alpha.
A spike of anxious nausea snared my gut, but I couldn’t afford to panic. I subtly shifted, aligning my stance with the security camera in the hallway. My body tensed, prepared to strike his solar plexus if he moved any closer.
“That’s why you’re going to go to McEwen and whoever else you blabbed to and tell them it’s all a misunderstanding. No one did anything wrong. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
I’d only told Dr. McEwen the barest bones version of the truth about Garvey’s behavior, nothing that would have prompted sensitivity training. Had Reyhan or one of the omega players reported him, too?
“I’ve been so good to you. Complimented you, looked out for you. Treated you like a goddamn omega princess—and this is how you repay me?”
Veins bulged in his forehead, his face a furious shade of red. His fists rose higher, fingers curled with intent as if preparing to lunge at me. My work bag—and the pepper spray in the side pocket—was too far away. But I could reach a coat hanger. My reflexes were still quick enough for me to grab it and stab him in the eye before he could do much damage.
“You reported me to—”
“Garvey.”
A deep voice cut through his bluster, coiled tight and low, almost too quiet for the warning it contained. Cal stood in the doorway, clad in a navy suit, his stern expression and the unyielding set of his clean-shaven jaw a stark contrast to the affable pheromone wizard I thought I knew.
He was polished. Professional. Powerful.
Garvey couldn’t withstand the dominance radiating off Cal. It was relentless, like high tide eroding the shore. His head sagged between his shoulders, and he cowered against the wall, panicked eyes fixed on the carpet.
I wasn’t faring much better. Pressing my back against the closet door, nails biting into the laminate, I forced my chin to stay down, resisting the primal impulse to bare my neck in submission. I couldn’t—not with Garvey so close.
“Out.” The slightest inclination of Cal’s chin compelled Garvey away from me. “Now.”
The asshole had no choice but to obey. Garvey rushed out, scurrying along the side of the hallway to avoid getting a full dose of Cal’s potent disapproval—and furious pheromones, no doubt.
Cal tracked his every move, his expression thunderous in profile. Fists clenched, muscles taut beneath his tailored suit, he looked like an immovable wall.
His alpha wasn’t just displeased. Oh, no. It was simmering with rage.
I knew the feeling.
“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice carrying an unfamiliar edge, that he was trying his best to mask.
“Fine,” I replied, careful to keep my tone light, despite my labored breathing and the sweat dotting my brow.
“Has he done this before?”
“Nothing happened.” My denial was too quick. Wrong move.
The gold flecks in his eyes were practically molten. “When?”
“It’s been handled.”
Cal stared at me, his brows knit tight as emotions warred across his face, but he suppressed them before I could get a clear look. Was that tender disappointment in the depths of his gaze, or a fresh sting of rejection? I couldn’t trust my own eyes, nor did I know how to proceed.
We didn’t— couldn’t —have the kind of connection that allowed an omega to soothe an alpha. I nipped that in the bud two weeks ago. Even if I wanted to reach out, to steady him, I couldn’t. We were at work, very much on the clock, leaving for a vital meeting in ten minutes.
What was I supposed to do?
Salvation came from Dr. Flemming. “I’ll handle this.”
He’d probably been there the whole time. Fucking fabulous. That guaranteed administrative intervention and an even bigger mess. Exactly what I needed—to be labeled as a problematic potential hire, an omega who can’t co-exist with alpha staff members.
The presence of a trusted confidant seemed to help Cal. Not enough to mellow him back to normal, but at least I could take full breaths again. He braced an arm against the doorframe, exchanging the occasional curt nod with Dr. Flemming as they spoke in hushed tones. Neither man stepped inside my office.
The delayed realization that I was standing at ground zero for a pheromone bomb churned my stomach. The filtration system would clear Garvey’s stink in a matter of minutes, but I grabbed the neutralizing spray anyway.
Everything was fine. The trembling fingers struggling to pull the bottle trigger were a figment of my imagination. I still had control.
The frosted desk lamp cast sail-shaped shadows on the wall. Good— center yourself . What else could I see?
I aimed a few quick bursts of spray toward my desk and turned, hunting for grounding objects. There, item number two—the reassuring outline of the pepper spray in my bag’s side pocket.
Sparing a perfunctory spritz for myself, I scanned the shelves. My gaze landed on a framed photo of Tenny and Kip as kittens, their round, fuzzy bodies curled up on my pillow, sound asleep. And—
“Good to go?” Cal’s voice broke through, unknowingly disrupting my centering exercise.
“Yeah.” I dropped the spray, grabbed my bag, and forced a professional smile as I turned toward the door. “Ready.”
Cal gave me a quick once over and a nod of reassurance. Then, he clapped Dr. Flemming on the shoulder and headed down the hall at a measured pace. His back was too stiff, his footsteps heavier than usual.
I paused beside Dr. Flemming, compelled to say something, but no words willingly offered themselves for sacrifice.
“It’s okay,” he said. His kind smile eased my lingering tension. “Go to your meeting.”
“Thank you,” I murmured.
It only took ten steps to catch up with Cal—ten, too brief steps. As if he would ever leave me behind .
I glanced up, meeting his stormy gaze.
“Were you about to maim him?” Cal asked.
“Yes,” I said with bloodthirsty emphasis.
The twisted, violent part of me regretted that it hadn’t come to blows. Garvey deserved whatever I managed to dish out, and it would’ve made the resolution far more satisfying. He’d violated my rights as an omega in multiple ways. Fireable offenses all around.
Not that the university would take that option. For all his faults, the man had a solid coaching resume.
While I was grateful for Cal’s intervention, a small portion of me resented Cal for charging in on his shining white steed of dominance. I could’ve handled Garvey on my own— diplomatically , of course.
A faint smile dug into Cal’s stern expression. As he held the connecting door to the lobby of Designation Sciences, the gallant fool winked at me.
“That’s my girl,” he whispered.
I charged past him, doubling my pace as I headed for Talia and the others congregating near the door.
Forget being thankful. I was back to being pissed.
***
“Look, where I come from, you tell the truth,” Redwing’s head of finance said, his folksy charm softening the bite of his words. “And purring your way back to health?”
He smiled, almost apologetically, as he held up his hands.
“That sounds like a scam. An expensive one at that. I don’t see how we could confidently invest company funds in something so questionable.”
Every time the man spoke, it became painfully clear why Owen had been steamrolled. His raw, unrefined dominance had nothing on this guy’s buckets of charisma.
That’s where I came in.
“On page sixty-seven,” I said, navigating to the corresponding slide on my laptop, “you’ll find a chart tracking sales data for vibration therapy units over the past decade. As you can see, profits have consistently increased year after year. Our proposal is simple—why let your competition profit from dubious products when Redwing has the technology and resources to dominate the market with proven science? ”
“And,” Owen interjected, sitting to my left, eyes as flinty as his gunmetal tie, “my team has prepared supplementary materials in the presentation index—development timelines and prototype schematics. We’re confident about this product.”
The head of finance shook his head. “Seems like an awfully—”
The door opened, and a tall woman in her mid-sixties strode in, flanked by assistants. She wore oversized red glasses, contrasting her slicked-back, unnaturally white hair. Her outfit was also white—cropped dress pants, trendy slides, and the slouchiest sweater I’d ever seen. A collection of mixed gemstone necklaces clicked softly as she moved, the longest adorned with an unusual ammonite fossil pendant embellished with garnets that gleamed like blood drops.
At first glance, Tabitha Redmond looked more like an affluent retiree heading to a pottery seminar than abioengineering genius and elite businesswoman. But I knew better. If Owen was steel, his aunt was forged of titanium—and if she ever crossed paths with Jacobi, he’d collapse into a submissive puddle at her feet.
After settling into her seat, Tabitha curled an imperious finger, compelling Owen to lean over. He brought her up to speed using the minimum number of words. From my right, Cal offered the occasional bit of context.
“I see.” Tabitha’s frosty gaze—a Redmond trademark, I was learning—fixed on the head of finance. “The way you discourage profitable innovation, I’m starting to think you don’t want me to retire.”
He began explaining his reservations, but Tabitha wasn’t listening. One assistant placed a copy of the presentation binder in front of her, already opened to the correct page, with key points meticulously highlighted and flagged. Another put down a glass of water with two slices of lemon.
A heavy silence descended over the room as Tabitha reviewed the materials. Every eye turned toward her, drawn in by her dominance—as subtle as a black hole.
I managed to catch Owen’s gaze. He held up a finger, asking me to give her a minute to catch up. A silent reassurance that this was, in fact, normal.
“Continue,” Tabitha said, flicking her hand with casual indifference, inadvertently revealing a massive, multi-colored gemstone puzzle of a ring. If it was a mating ring, it made quite the statement. Maybe even multiple statements.
A petite woman from Redwing’s legal team leaned forward, her expression tinged with muted excitement as she turned to me. “Would you mind explaining how it works one more time?”
“Sure,” I said, my voice hoarse but eager as I tabbed back a few slides.
Before I could speak again, Cal nudged my glass of water toward my wireless mouse.
“Allow me,” he said, seamlessly taking over as he explained the benefits of vibration therapy in a concise, easy-to-follow way.
As much as I hated to admit it, especially since I was still out of sorts with him, I needed the water. After talking for so long, the cool relief was welcome, a stark reminder of how little water I’d had to drink today.
The woman’s eyes grew brighter the longer Cal talked. She was probably a fellow workaholic omega who could easily envision incorporating such a helpful device into her everyday routine.
“Approved.” Tabitha’s verdict was swift and absolute, her tone leaving no room for debate. “Next.”
That was my cue. Navigating to the next section, I took a deep breath and tackled the stickiest wicket. “PheroPass is uniquely situated to address a long-standing concern in athletics—pheromone intimidation. Our team has—”
“Now, Miss Van Daal,” the head of finance interrupted. Rudely. “This is a fantastical idea with no chance of a return on investment.”
Cal and Owen leaned forward in perfect unison, their expanding forms leaving me comfortably crowded on either side.
“The doctor was speaking,” Cal said, his tone as amiable as a lion with a thorn in is paw.
Owen nodded, voice cold and sharp. “Opinions wait until the end.”
The cycle repeated for the next two hours.
I presented a concept only for a Redwing executive to voice objections, which were promptly and thoroughly dismantled by our team. Cal’s encyclopedic knowledge and Owen’s suffocating brand of persuasion served as cavalry when needed, clearing the path until Tabitha delivered her final verdict.
Pheromone intimidation? Approved. Exploring PheroPass’ ability to monitor blood sugar levels? Pending further discussion. Using it as a seizure-monitoring device? Denied.
On and on, until the Redwing executive team sat in defeated silence.
“Our team will set up a separate meeting to discuss blood sugar monitoring,” I said, scanning my extensive meeting notes. “And Redwing will take the lead on market research for vibration therapy.”
Glancing down the line of university staff, I asked, “Did I miss anything?”
“No,” Talia said, her suppressed pleasure turning the word into something delectable.
If anyone deserved to gloat, it was Owen. They’d reinstated his original vision—and then some.
Instead, he stared out the window, feigning disinterest. But sitting beside him, I felt the subtle vibration of his leg, his barely contained satisfaction betraying his stoic facade.
“Any final words?” Tabitha asked, already rising to her full, intimidating height.
The executives were too drained even to answer in the negative.
“Hearing none,” Owen said, his gaze deceptively placid, “meeting adjourned.”
Tabitha walked out the door before he’d finished speaking, the executives hurrying to follow in her wake. Around the room, Redwing staff and university personnel broke into side conversations, exchanging congratulations and making loose plans for next steps.
Owen leaned around the back of my chair to exchange a few triumphant whispers with Cal. The boys were more than content to speak amongst themselves.
Good, I thought as I disconnected my laptop from the wireless projection system. Leave me out of it.
What had started as a dull throb behind my eyes on the ride over had long since grown claws. Between stressing over my flawed CV and the confrontation with Coach Garvey, I hadn’t eaten a proper lunch and forgotten to take my pain meds. No wonder I had a headache.
“Morgan.” Cal drew my attention with a knock on the table. I must not have heard him the first time. “Can we revamp the blood sugar monitoring proposal by the end of next week?”
I pulled up the calendar on my phone and did some quick mental calculations. “It’s doable, as long as your team can help with the data.”
“Okay,” Cal said, adding a note on his legal pad. He’d written dozens of pages during the meeting. “We’ll figure it out at the debrief on Monday. If the timeline needs to change, Owen, I’ll let you know.”
Owen gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. “I’d like you to consider a dedicated sub-group for vibration therapy. There’s a lot to unpack there.”
He stood up and straightened his suit jacket, eyes cheating in my direction for a split second. Even the briefest glance from Owen was as piercing as an arrow—sharp, deliberate, and impossible to ignore—even when paired with a smug little smile.
“Nice work.”
Friendly arrows, I reminded myself as I slid my laptop into my bag, can also leave scars.
Owen departed, and most of the Redwing staff soon followed. Our team began to gather their belongings, planning to go out for dinner and drinks to celebrate.
“Sorry guys, not tonight,” Cal said while I was still trying to string a polite refusal together. “I’ve got plans. Taking Morgan back to campus on the way.”
Did Cal turn into an entirely different alpha when he wore a suit? Did shaving alter his brain chemistry? I purposefully avoided riding over with him, and I sure as hell didn’t ask him for a ride back.
Cal ignored my hard stare, content to flip through his notes, pausing to circle the occasional bullet point, waving goodbye to his staff as they departed in twos and threes.
“I’m getting a rideshare,” I said as soon as Talia and the others were out of earshot.
Cal crossed out a bullet point, not even bothering to spare a glance in my direction. “That’s not necessary.”
Anger tried to force its way through my gritted teeth. “Not your decision to make.”
“It is today.” He dug the tip of his pen deep into the paper as he underlined a few words.
I was tired. So tired. Sick of pretending that I wasn’t fueled by pure, undiluted defiance.
My hand shot out, as if of its own volition, slamming against the center of the page, knocking the legal pad out of his hands. The cardboard backing smacked against the table with a dull thud.
Cal clicked his retractable pen half a dozen times before angling his chair toward me. Unfazed by my wretched expression, he tapped his pen against the legal pad.
“Anything to add?”
I looked down, stupefied by the words beneath my fingers. They weren’t meeting notes. It was a hit list for Coach Garvey’s career.
Omega affairs office: Demand thorough investigation. Other victims?
Ethics committee: Ensure performance reviews until the heat death of the universe.
President: Apply pressure until fired. Fund male omega dorm?
Anya: Call in favor—professional exile ?
CVC III: Liquify his spine. Fists = greater satisfaction?
It was official. No more suits for Cal.
“Think it over. We’ve got plenty of time.” He stood up, stretching his arms overhead, then loosened his tie. “Do you want Indian food? Could eat my weight in samosas right now.”
“What?”
“My plans for tonight…” A crooked smile weighed heavily on his face. I wasn’t the only one drained by the day’s events. “They all revolve around you, Dr. Van Daal.”