Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Emory
“Yes, Mother, I saw the invite to the party next week, but—”
“So you’ll be going,” his mother said, using her most regal tone, intimidating even across a phone line.
Emory sighed. “No, I am not planning on going, just like I have not gone to any of the other ones.”
“And is that because you’ve decided you are in fact not taking a mate? Your father would be devastated to know that you’re past thirty and still unmated.”
Emory flicked his mouse to wake up his computer screen, hoping an urgent matter he absolutely must attend to had come up in the past five minutes. Sadly, it had not.
“No, it’s not that I don’t want a mate, and yes, I know that you and Father wanted to see me married and with cubs by thirty, but you also wanted me to take over the company.”
The line was silent for a moment before his mom’s voice came back on, this time a little softer. “I know it hasn’t been easy on you, dear. You’ve done an impeccable job. Truly, the projections for the next several quarters are outstanding.”
Emory tried to soften his tone to match hers. “Thank you for saying so, and you’re right, the numbers are looking good—”
“It’s just that,” she interrupted, her voice smooth as glass, “you’re not getting any younger, are you?”
Emory swiveled his chair around to face the giant, ornate bookshelf that sat behind his desk. “Yes, mother, I know, but I do not think that thirty-two is an age to panic over—especially since I’m not thirty-two for another four days. Could we at least wait until then?”
A very dignified-sounding harumph was all the answer he got.
“Once I’m thirty-two, I will at least consider going to a fated mate party. Is that sufficient?”
His mother sighed, still dignified but at least a little closer to the mother he knew and loved rather than the matriarch of the family he had to deal with on a near-daily basis. “I just want what’s best for you and the family, love. That’s all your father and I ever wanted.”
Emory tipped his head back against the soft leather of his desk chair, allowing his eyes to fall shut. “I love you very much, and I’m looking forward to seeing you for Fall Harvest.”
“As am I, dear.”
They exchanged brief farewells, and his mother hung up first.
Emory turned around and hung up the office phone with as much gentleness as he could muster. It must not have been quiet enough, because not a moment later, his colleague and best friend, Christopher, poked his head into the room.
“You getting told off for not bringing a mate to Fall Harvest?” Christopher asked, straight and to the point as usual.
Years ago, they’d met as colleagues at the shipping company Emory’s family owned, and their friendship had blossomed into one of the closest relationships Emory had.
As of late, their relationship had primarily been CEO to COO since Emory barely had enough time to breathe, let alone maintain a social life.
Still, he appreciated these stolen moments more than he dared to admit.
“I’m sure you know that’s why she called, since you’re probably the one who passed the fated mate party invitation across her desk,” Emory said, and Christopher smirked at him, revealing his slightly elongated canines.
Not all shifters could shift parts of their body at will, but he and Christopher had spent years perfecting their ability to shift their tongues, teeth, tails, and, for Emory, his mane.
He had shoulder-length, silky blonde hair he usually kept in a bun or top knot, but when he was feeling playful, he would let his mane out, turning his hair the colors of a golden sunset.
He only let that side of himself out for close friends and family, though.
Especially in the upper-elite spheres he had to travel in, it was viewed as uncouth to let your inner beast out.
For a long time, Emory had longed for a partner who would understand that, as the king of the jungle, lions were almost violently in tune with their animal side.
It made rutting season difficult and had made dating challenging throughout his twenties.
What had been a hopeful dream in his youth had now become yet another reason Emory wasn’t in a rush to find his mate, at fated mate parties or otherwise.
“I assure you, it was unintentional…sir,” Christopher said, his smirk turning even more teasing. “I had meant to send it to your email, but accidentally sent it to your mother’s instead.”
Ah, that made sense. Emory sank back into his chair as the weight of the day—hell, the year—settled around him. Christopher walked further into the office and cocked a hip against the other side of his desk, casting him a concerned look that was all too familiar to Emory.
This had once been his father’s desk. Emory had spent countless hours sitting on the couch in the corner, asking for advice, exchanging ideas, and spending time with his beloved father. He’d even leaned against that very corner to give his father attitude or discuss dinner plans.
His father was gone now. He’d been gone almost three years, and nowadays it was his mother who often stood at that desk corner, giving him advice on how to lead the company or asking when he was going to take a break to find his fated mate.
Like fate had done her so well. Losing her husband, her fated mate, so unexpectedly had taken its toll. Her once golden hair had turned almost entirely gray, and she’d only made it six months running the company before Emory had to take over.
When he was a child, Emory had been told that he might one day have to lead the company—that is, if his cousin Jonathon didn’t want the position.
Emory had figured that either way, it would be a long time until he had to even consider it.
Then his cousin had left the pride, and his father died, leaving him with very little choice.
His mother still consulted for the company, and on occasion, her email address would populate as CEO of the company. It usually only caused minor inconveniences with clients, but today, it was causing Emory a massive headache.
“It’s alright,” he sighed. “I’m sure she has feelers out for fated mate parties anyway. She and some of the aunts have even begun grumbling about matchmakers lately, gods forbid.”
Christopher let out a sharp laugh. “Fat chance of you agreeing to that. Knowing how traditional they are, they’re probably going to try and set you up with some meek omega yes-man or woman…or person.”
Emory smirked at the correction. Unlike Christopher, who was primarily interested in omega men—and beta men on occasion—Emory was pansexual, never minding the primary or secondary gender of his partners.
His parents had been accepting of his preferences, or lack thereof, as long as he found his fated mate and settled down to have cubs before he took on the family business.
Clearly, that plan had gone spectacularly awry and didn’t seem likely to rectify itself anytime soon.
“That would certainly not be ideal. I can’t imagine finding time to date right now, much less having to take care of someone else,” Emory grumbled.
He could barely take care of himself most days. He was far too busy taking care of his father’s legacy. Every day, there was a new fire to put out or an emergency to address.
“I know how busy you are, Em, but…wouldn't it be nice to have someone to take home for the holidays?”
Emory huffed and tried not to roll his eyes. He wasn’t sure where the older brother routine was coming from, but he genuinely didn’t have time for it. “Even if I met someone tomorrow, there’s no way I would be taking them home for the holidays.”
He would never subject his mother to the whole ‘meet the family’ song and dance for a date or a fling. His mom had experienced enough disappointment in her life. He would have to be serious about someone before even considering spending a holiday with them.
“You never know. If you meet your fated mate on the street tomorrow, maybe you’ll be head over heels by the Winter Solstice.”
Christopher also hadn’t found his fated mate yet.
Unlike Emory’s family, Christopher’s otter family was much more go with the flow about the whole thing.
Otters were very romantic, mating for life and spending almost every second they were together holding hands or otherwise connected.
They also believed that fate would decide when the time was right. Lions were a bit more…aggressive.
“Alright, well, if you’re quite finished, I should probably get back to work.” Emory dropped his feet back to the floor with a resigned huff.
“Really, Em? It’s Friday night. Shouldn’t you have clocked out by now?”
Emory stared pointedly at him, making it clear his point had no merit since he, too, was here after work hours. Christopher blinked back at him, big brown eyes the epitome of fake innocence, and Emory shook his head.
“I have to stay late to speak with our team in Alaska. If I can’t get things sorted out soon, I’m going to be on a plane to Anchorage, not at the harvest dinner. Mate or no mate.”
Christopher executed one of his flawless transitions, dropping his casual demeanor and replacing it with his straight-backed stance. “Is there something I should be aware of with the Alaska office?”
Emory turned his eyes back to his computer screen, where he’d been working aimlessly on a spreadsheet before his mother called.
The change in dynamic between himself and Christopher had been one of the hardest parts of ascending to the CEO position.
Christopher had been his best friend and confidant, someone he could talk to about the challenges of working for his family’s business and living in a strict lion pride.
When his dad died, he’d leaned hard on his few friends, including Christopher.
This man had seen him sobbing on the floor and screaming in empty parking lots.