Chapter 6 Etienne
Etienne
The office usually felt like a sanctuary, a fortress of glass and wood where Hastings controlled the world. But today, the air was suffocating as I leaned back against the edge of the desk, my nostrils flaring.
They had since yesterday when Presley Prince had walked out of that door, and now her scent lingered in the fibers of the carpet and the grain of the leather chairs. In fact, it hoovered with every molecule in the air.
It was a soft, clean perfume and nothing like the heavy, cloying smells of the other candidates. Most omegas who applied for this position smelled like a walking fruit bowl; strawberries, peaches, or overly ripe citrus. They were sweet to the point of being sickly. But Presley? She was different.
My inner alpha let out a low, territorial snarl that stayed trapped behind my teeth.
I looked at Hastings and Fritz, my pack.
Usually, our scents were a chaotic mix of leather and cedarwood, but right now, we were all carrying a hint of her.
Because we all carried the scent of rain. If only they could smell it too.
It was rare for an alpha to share a base note with an omega. Rarer still for three alphas in one pack to share that connection with a single omega. It made her unique. It made her ours in a way that defied the logic of the contract we were trying to sign.
I couldn't think about that. Not now. Hastings would say one scent wasn’t enough and we had made a pact after Greta left us.
She had been our lesson in deception. The "perfect" omega. She was, on paper, at least. She was elegant, high-society, and supposedly devoted to us. We’d opened our lives to her, shared our bed and our secrets, only to find out she was siphoning funds and using heat-suppressants because she never actually wanted to carry our children. She’d wanted the Hastings name and the bank account to go with it, but not the pack.
She’d nearly broken us, leaving a trail of legal battles and emotional bitterness that had soured the very idea of a mate.
After the legalities finished, we agreed to no more omegas. No more hearts on the line. Just an heir, maybe two. Any omega would be purely a biological transaction.
"Fiona Appleton is a no." Fritz broke the silence. He was pacing again, his heavy boots thumping against the floor.
Fiona was an omega who was interviewed at nine-o'clock yesterday morning. Her interview was immediately after Presley’s.
While Presley was blonde and curvy, and obviously an omega.
Fiona wasn’t right. It wasn’t her dark hair, or that her make-up had been applied so perfectly or that she was wearing a suit that had me doubting her.
It was the way she acted and Fritz agreed with my thoughts.
"She doesn't even act like an omega," Fritz continued, his German accent thick with irritation. "She acted like she was interviewing us for a position on her board of directors. She had no softness. Not like Presley."
Hastings grumbled, his hand moving to rub the back of his neck. "I hate that she was the most perfect of all the omegas we interviewed."
"Then what is holding you back, Henry?" I asked, watching him closely. His fingers twitched. He was fighting something.
Hastings looked up, his gray eyes stormy. "There’s something about her... it frightens me."
I laughed. "Maybe you’re scared that once she’s in her heat, you’ll realize you’re her scent match."
"I don't have a scent match," Hastings snapped, his voice a low warning. "I have an extra scent and it’s unusual for an omega to have four scents. Nobody will match me."
"The actress Jenna Atkins has four scents," I argued, crossing my arms. "She discussed it on the Jonathan Rothchild show last month."
"She also hasn't found a scent match and doubts she ever will," Hastings countered.
"I’m just pointing out that you’re wrong," I said. “I could smell vanilla and rain on her. That’s two. We don't know what her other note is or perhaps two notes because she’s not in heat. But when that rain note hit me... it was home."
Fritz stopped pacing and looked at us. "Can we just discuss if we’re any closer to agreeing on an omega?
Presley is weeks away from her next heat.
And then there is Geraldine who interviewed at the beginning of the week.
She’s prepared to use a heat enhancer to bring hers on earlier. She’s ready to start tomorrow."
"I don’t want Geraldine," Hastings quipped. "I think her husband is coercing her into doing it."
"And Presley?" I prompted. "She was the only one who didn't actually discuss the money until we forced the numbers on her. She only wanted enough for a deposit on a cottage. And a cat. She’s not looking for a way to fleece us."
Before Hastings could respond, his private line rang. He answered it, his face smoothing into a mask of professional boredom.
“Hastings.” His voice was a low agitated growl before he looked at me and smiled. “It’s the agency we spoke to a month ago.”
It was the one that specialized in finding omegas for busy alpha packs who didn't have time for the messiness of dating.
Hastings listened for a moment as a satisfied smile spread across his face. "Lilies and strawberries? Yes... that sounds perfect. Have her here for an interview tomorrow morning at ten."
He hung up.
"What about Presley?" I asked, my chest tightening.
"I'm sure she'll be happy to spend another night in the suite.
Send flowers, chocolates, and the best food the hotel can provide to her room," Hastings said, already looking back at his tablet. "Let her know we’ll get back to her tomorrow afternoon. And we’ll pay her for her time.
First, we need to do our due diligence."
The next morning, the Perfect Omega was sitting in the chair Presley had occupied. Her name was Chloe. She was blonde, petite, and wore a dress that was cinched at her tiny waist. She smelled like a wedding bouquet of lilies and strawberries.
She was everything the agency promised, yet I wanted to throw her out of the thirty-fifth-floor window.
She was giggling at something Fritz said. The tinkling grated on my nerves. She was omega-sweet, yet, but she was so wrong. She just smiled and nodded. There was no grit. No talk of turkey basters or field mice or cottages.
I stood up abruptly, my chair screeching against the floor.
"We’re done." My voice was cold enough to frost the glass.
Chloe blinked at me, her big blue eyes wide. "I'm sorry?"
"The interview is over." I walked around the desk. "You’re a lovely girl, Chloe, but you’re not for us."
I didn't wait for Hastings to intervene. I led the shocked omega out of the room, through the reception, and watched the elevator doors close on her confused face.
When I returned to the office, Hastings’ face was like thunder.
"We haven't found anyone yet, Etienne," he warned, his voice vibrating with alpha command. "You cannot just dismiss a tier-one candidate because you’re in a foul mood."
"Did you smell her?" I roared. "Presley? Because I did. And I slept on it all last night! I’d waited for you to realize.” I didn’t tell them that I sat in my room with her scent wrapping around me like a ghost while I stroked my dick until I was raw, because all I could envisage was a blonde waitress with her pink ribbon, her turkey baster, and her big dreams. “I don’t understand why, but I can’t breathe in this room without wanting her! "
“We agreed we didn’t want an omega!” Hastings yelled.
I slammed my hand down on the wooden desk, the thud echoed through the office. "I thought we were a pack! If we’re a pack, you should be going crazy like I am. I can’t stand the thought of another woman having our child."
Fritz stood up, his expression solemn. "I agree. Chloe was... empty. Presley is the only one who feels real."
I spun to him. “Her scent is rain.” I turned to Hastings. “You both have rain too. You must be able to smell it on her.”
Hastings’ grip on his pen was white-knuckled. A pulse jumped in his jaw. "We’re looking for an heir, Etienne. Not a mate. We tried that before. We opened the door to an omega and she nearly destroyed the corporation. This is supposed to be clean."
"The time is right," I growled, my heart pacing. "And if we don't move now, we're going to lose the only thing that's felt right in years."
“You thought Greta was right too,” he countered, but I didn't wait for his permission. I picked up the desk phone and dialed the fourteenth floor.
It rang and rang. But nobody picked up.
A cold pit formed in my stomach. I dialed the front desk.
"This is Etienne from the thirty-fifth floor. Connect me to the guest in suite one four one two. Miss Prince."
As I listened to the receptionist, my blood turned to ice.
"She checked out of the hotel yesterday?" I repeated, my voice dropping to a whisper.
"Yesterday?" Fritz growled, stepping closer.
"She didn't wait," Hastings said, his voice laced with a shock he couldn't quite hide.
"No." I disconnected the phone and looked at them. "She probably overheard us discussing other options."
I grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair.
Fritz sighed as he looked at me, then at Hastings, who was staring at the empty chair where Presley had sat. "Have we picked an omega?"
Hastings stood up slowly. He looked out at the London skyline, then back at the desk. Finally, he looked at us and said, “Tell the pilot to prepare the helicopter. We're going to Yorkshire."