Chapter 3
Hastings
I stared out of the window at the Thames. It was sluggish as it pulsed through the grayness of the city.
Up here, on the thirty-fifth floor, the world was silent, sealed behind the triple-glazed glass that turned the craziness of London into a mute, moving picture.
Inside the office, the air conditioner hummed with a low-frequency vibration that scratched at the back of my teeth. But that was because the advertisement hadn’t resulted in the right omega. We thought it would be easy. Money always talked.
Dark roast coffee mixed with the scent of three frustrated alphas.
"We need action," Fritz muttered as he spun his phone in his hand and paced the room.
At six-foot-four, with lean muscle that still strained the seams of his charcoal shirt, he made the expansive office feel like a broom cupboard. “We need to give the job back to the agency."
"Sit down, Fritz," Etienne said from the leather chesterfield. His ankle was resting on his muscular knee. He didn't look up from his phone, his thumb scrolling lazily. "You’re making me nervous."
"This is our future," Fritz snapped. He pivoted on a heel. "And this process is ridiculous."
"It's thorough," I said, though I wondered myself.
I went and sat behind the desk that had once been my father’s.
A slab of polished mahogany that felt cold under my palms. My reflection ghosted on the dark wood.
My dark hair had the first signs of silver at the temples, my gray eyes looked tired, and my jaw felt like it was locked in a permanent clench.
I was thirty-five years old and owned the Hastings Corporation. We built the high rises that people put on postcards. Fritz designed them, I built them, and Etienne... Well, he was the funny French rugby player whom we met when we watched England play France.
It was strange meeting a packmate under those circumstances. But we knew he was a packmate the moment we met him. We thought his omega was ours too.
How wrong we were.
So now we were omega-less but we had more money than we could ever need. We also had a home in Kensington that was empty and echoing.
We no longer needed an omega but I wanted a legacy.
A pack baby.
“Do we have any candidates that are possibilities?" Etienne asked.
"Two," Fritz said, stopping in front of my desk. "That is the sum total of six months of searching. Two."
"Tell me about them," I said, leaning back. The leather chair groaned.
"Number one." Fritz lifted a finger. "Married to a Beta. But she requires his signature for any medical procedures. Which is unacceptable."
"Agreed," I murmured. “But they’ll agree in the end. Money talks.”
"Number two. The professional." He made a face like he’d swallowed a lemon. "She brought a contract to the preliminary meeting. She wants a legal team present for the insemination.”
“Insemination.”
“She wants to turn the conception into a board meeting."
"Only two?" Etienne finally looked up. His hazel eyes danced with amusement. He was the most relaxed of us, the French charm masking a predatory streak that was just as sharp as mine. Stubble darkened his jaw, giving him a rugged look.
"There could be a number three," I groaned, "She calls. She breathes. She hangs up. Four times today already."
"Maybe she’s feeling intimidated," Etienne said, stretching his legs out. "A pack of alphas. It’s scary for an omega. We may need to woo her."
“Omegas love alphas. She’ll be begging for us to knot her.” Fritz took a seat opposite me, laughing.
"We only need an heir," I said, my voice cutting through their banter. "We don't need romance. We don't need a mate. We need a biological arrangement. Something clean and simple."
"Right, a baby," Etienne corrected softly. "We only need a baby."
We were silent for some time thinking about that.
I needed an heir. Etienne probably wanted a family, and Fritz... well, Fritz wanted someone to call his own, not just a baby.
But that was the trouble, we were a pack without an omega, since…
And now we were all over thirty, and successful in different ways. I’d conquered the business world, but the house was too quiet. There were no toys on the floor. No reason to come home early. Just three alphas circling each other, and working until we dropped because there was nothing else to do.
The private line on my desk rang.
And it wasn't the trill of the office phone. It was the harsh, mechanical ring of the direct line listed in the blind ad.
Fritz threw his hands up. "It is her again. The Breather. I bet you fifty pounds."
"Ignore it," I said, reaching for a pen. “We need someone less flighty.”
The phone stopped but immediately rang again. She was already annoying.
"Answer it, Henry," Etienne said, sitting up. "Put her out of her misery if you’ve given up."
I snatched the receiver up, my patience snapping. "Hello." My voice was a low growl, the kind that usually made subcontractors sweat and apologize for delays.
The line would be silent if it wasn’t for the static. Then there was a sharp intake of breath.
"If you hang up again," I said, "I’ll have your number blocked."
"Sorry. Hi," a voice squeaked.
I stopped. It wasn't a polished voice. It was bright, terrified, and undeniably Northern. It sounded soothing, like rain on the roof.
I put her on the loud speaker.
"I’m calling about the job," she rushed out.
Fritz stared. Etienne went still on his seat.
We were all alphas; our hearing was tuned to a frequency most people missed. And I was sure I could hear her pulse jumping through the earpiece.
"Which job?" I asked..
"Oh... Yeah. I’m calling about the... err... the womb to hire?"
Etienne clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh. Fritz’s eyes widened, his eyebrows shooting up toward his sandy blond hairline.
Womb to hire.
It was so crass, so devoid of the flowery language the agency used for the first three months we’d looked for the perfect surrogate, that I almost smiled.
"We prefer to use the term surrogate.” I made sure she heard the annoyed tone in my voice.
"Right. The ad said 'remuneration is to be discussed at the interview'. Does that mean...money? Like, actual bank-transferable funds? Or is this one of those 'paid in experience' things? Because the land owner doesn't accept experience."
"Actual funds," I confirmed. "Substantial funds."
"Oh. Okay. Good. That's good."
She was rambling. With every breath she took, I heard the adrenaline pumping around her system, and the flutter of her heart beating too fast. But beneath the nerves, there was something else. She had grit. A refusal to back down despite the obvious terror.
"What’s your name?" I asked.
"Presley."
"Presley. As in Elvis?”
“As in Presley Prince. Now are you the pack leader? Or just the guy who answers the phone and asks stupid questions? Because if it’s the latter, can you put me through to the pack leader?”
Etienne was shaking with silent laughter now. Fritz looked like he’d been slapped with a wet fish. No one asked if I was the guy who answered the phone.
"I’m the alpha who is looking for a womb to hire," I said, letting her words settle in the air.
"Right. Okay. You’re the alpha. Got it. Erm..." She paused. "So, do you want to... interview me? I have references. Well, I have a character reference from my err…my boss, but she’s also my best friend, so she might be biased. But I'm clean. And I’ve good teeth and a straight nose."
I closed my eyes and rubbed the bridge of my nose. "Good teeth and a straight nose?"
"It’s genetic, right? You want good genes. I've never had a filling and your child won’t be asking to have a nose job when it turns fourteen. Mine is quite cute."
I glared at Etienne and Fritz who were both laughing now.
"Can you be in London tomorrow?" I asked, cutting her off before she could list any more of her qualities. Though, really, I should have thought about things like that before.
“For an interview?”
“Yes. You don’t get the job because you haven’t had a filling and have a cute nose.”
"But tomorrow? In London?" Her voice dropped, losing its manic energy. "I... I’ll have to... I need to check the Megabus. I don't get paid until Friday." A pause, painful and quiet. "Can you wait until Saturday? The off-peak tickets are cheaper."
She was haggling for a bus ticket.
"No," I said. "I cannot wait until Saturday."
"Oh." The sound was small, almost defeated. "Okay. It was worth a shot. Thanks anyway."
I looked around the office. At the Italian leather chairs, the bookshelves with first editions and artwork that cost more than anyone should ever pay for paint on a canvas. And then out at the city we called home.
"Give me your address," I commanded. The alpha instinct surged as I bypassed logic. It wasn't a decision; it was a compulsion.
"What?"
Etienne smiled. Fritz just looked shocked.
"Your address, Presley. Give it to me."
"Why?”
"I’m going to send a driver."
"A driver? I live in Ripon? Do you know where that is? It’s past the Watford Gap."
"I am very aware of the topography of the United Kingdom." It was hard to not snap but I tried to keep my voice even and grabbed a notepad. "Address."
She rattled off the address for a caravan park.
I wrote it down.
"Perhaps the helicopter will be better. Yes. Be ready at five this afternoon," I said. "The helicopter will bring you to Hastings Tower. I’ll have a hotel room booked for this evening and I will expect you in my office tomorrow morning for an interview at eight o’clock sharp."
"Eight," she repeated. "Okay. Should I...dress up? I don't have a suit."
"Wear something comfortable," I said. “If you get the job, I’m sure I’ll burn every item of clothing you turn up with.”
“You’re making assumptions, Hastings.” Her voice had an edge that omegas didn’t normally have. Strangely, I liked it.
“It’s Mr. Hastings. And we could always cancel.”
"You’re probably right anyway,” she whispered.
“What?”
“Your assumptions about me are probably right. I’m probably not the right person for this job. I’ll be terrible…”
My jaw clenched. “The helicopter will be there at four.”
“You said five.”
I turned away from Etienne and Fritz and smiled. “See you tomorrow morning, Presley.”
“Okay. Thanks. I mean... yeah. Oh… Thanks."
The line clicked dead.
I held the receiver for a moment longer than necessary before placing it back in the cradle. The room was quiet, but the air had changed. The static charge of boredom was gone, replaced by a confused electricity.
"Womb to hire," Etienne whispered. He looked genuinely shocked. "She sounds... messy."
"She sounds like a liability, but fun," Fritz said, though he was already pulling out his phone. "Ripon. I’ll call the transport team."
I walked to the window and stared out at the gray ribbon of the Thames. "Send the helicopter with the heated seats."
Fritz paused, his thumb hovering over the screen. He shot me a look. "Heated seats?"
"She sounded cold," I said. There was a shiver in her defiant tone.
But I didn't need to explain it to my pack mates. They were alphas; they understood the instinct to provide warmth even when it made no logical sense.
"She lives in a caravan park," Etienne mused as he stood up to join me at the window. "This will be a culture shock. For her, and for us."
"She’s a potential candidate," I said, my voice hardening. "If she wins the contract, she’ll give us a baby. Nothing more. We need an heir. She needs money. It’s a transaction."
"Ja." Fritz put the phone to his ear and turned to me. "A transaction with a woman who lists her dental hygiene as a primary qualification. This will be fun."
I watched a boat cut a wake through the water below.
Presley.
Even her name annoyed me.
The conversation annoyed me. But for the first time in months, I wasn't dreading the interview. I was looking forward to talking to an omega who might actually bring something different.