Chapter 20 Nelly #2
The hawk-nosed man with the glasses cleared his throat, calling my attention towards him as he adjusted his position to get a better look at me.
But he said nothing. Compared to the intimidating Betas, this man’s gaze was nearly apathetic.
He looked down, waking up his tablet and tapping a few times.
He glanced up again, seeming to appraise me with professional detachment.
Down once more, tapping and reading. He did this half a dozen times and I wanted to scream at him to take a damn picture.
I shuffled, trying to ignore him. My eyes locked on a picture behind Vince.
Red roses. Thorns on their stems. A black void of a background.
I didn’t know what was happening, but I refused to show them how terrified I felt.
"Have a seat," Vince spoke, and I risked a glance at him. He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. I quickly looked back up at the painted roses again.
"I'd rather stand," I replied, my voice steadier than I felt as I counted each sharp, piercing thorn. “Can you tell me why I’m here?” I did my best to keep it casual, to not show I was falling apart inside.
"Ms. Shaw," Vince began, then he paused. And, dammit, I looked at him. He was the one avoiding my eyes this time. He looked just past my head to the right. People did that when they needed to deliver bad news. It was the same thing I was doing to avoid hearing bad news. Shit.
He restarted. “Ms. Shaw, I need you to clean out your personal belongings from the club."
The floor tilted, like I was on a ship at sea during a storm. No time to adjust. No sea legs. No life preserver if I fell overboard.
“What? Why?” This had nothing to do with the pervy Alpha I’d turned down. There was something else going on… something worth firing me over.
Vince didn’t answer my questions, he simply continued like I hadn’t spoken at all.
“Whatever you leave behind will be discarded. The terms of your contract do not obligate the club to return any personal items to you once you’re no longer employed.
These gentlemen,” he cocked his head slightly left and then right, indicating the large Betas, “will escort you to the changing area and staff bathroom. "
My heart hammered against my ribs, anxiety coiling in my belly.
“I don't understand. I’ve made so much money for the club. I’m already more requested than the other girls. What did I do wrong? Why are you treating me this way?”
Vince finally locked eyes with me, and his gaze was hard and unyielding. "I think you know exactly why.”
The way he said it…
But he couldn’t know the one secret I’d safeguarded so carefully.
I’d never forgotten to charge the bracelet from Crystal.
It was always soaked and potent. I’d never slipped up talking about my past. Well…
except that one time. I’d mentioned Imperial and my ballet days, and I hadn’t thought that through.
One of the other dancers had tried to look me up on her phone.
If she’d been successful, she’d have found Nelly Shaw, not Lucky.
She’d also have found my biography, where my secondary gender was clearly posted.
The joke was on me though. The Imperial had scrubbed me from their website.
To them, I didn’t exist anymore. The only proof there was that I’d been a principal dancer with a promising career existed in a memory box of photos and awards.
Being erased by Imperial hurt. God, how it had hurt.
But their erasure protected me. So, I got over it.
And then there was the club itself, the very nature of which provided another armor to my secret. It was always full of heady, noxious Alpha cologne, the smell of liquor and smoke, dancer perfume and powdery makeup. Even a trained bloodhound couldn’t scent me out here.
I shook my head.
Vince couldn’t know.
"We don't hire people like you, Nelly." Vince steepled his hands, elbows pressed against his desk's glossy surface. "It's illegal for Omegas to work in establishments like this. We could lose our operating license if the government found out."
The word fell between us like a hammer blow.
Omega.
It slammed the nail into the coffin.
Omega. Omega. Omega.
The designation I'd been concealing since my ballet career ended. The secret I'd protected because I knew what happened to Omegas in this society—relegated to maternal roles, expected to scent-match with compatible Alphas, stripped of autonomy. The truth that would force me away from the last chance I had at a dance career. I’d come to love Club Midnight. It was my new home after my old one betrayed me. I no longer judged myself for stripping. I’d found that stilettos could elevate me just as beautifully as pointe shoes.
"There must be some mistake," I attempted, but my voice wavered.
The slick-haired Beta to Vince's right smiled without warmth.
His companion offered a cruel smirk, mirroring him on the other side of Vince.
The unsettlingly apathetic man with the tablet spoke.
“There has been no mistake, Ms. Shaw.” He flipped open the folder, holding the tablet beneath it.
“It may take specialized blood testing to detect Omega classification, testing which is not generally done during normal health screenings which is why you flew under the radar before now. However, scent samples have unmistakable visual markers. The tech knew you were an Omega before the samples even arrived at Eros. Once those samples were tested, his professional assessment in the field was confirmed.”
My throat constricted, remembering the way the lab tech had admired my scent samples.
Remembering the way they had shimmered.
I recalled the words the tech wrote on each tube: ‘rush, anomalous.’
I should have known.
But I didn’t want to know. So, I’d put my blinders on, hoping fate would be kind.
Hadn’t I fucking learned by now that fate was always my worst enemy?
"You’re well aware of Omega restrictions. You put my business at risk," Vince’s tone held anger now. “The federal mandates tightened last year, which is why I made a deal with Eros. Free testing for me, and no questions asked if one of my employees turned up an Omega.”
Eros. The name sent ice through my veins. What did I know about the Institute? The mobile clinic... the advertisement I’d seen for the ferality blocker... What else? I racked my brain, for some reason picturing a ridiculous fat cherub surrounded by arrowed hearts.
A flyer. I’d seen the company’s name on a flyer pinned to a shelter’s billboard that I passed on my morning runs. Dozens of information tabs already yanked off the bottom. Money for Omega scent samples. The possibility of changing your life for the better.
Not that the memory mattered. What mattered was now.
And I was losing everything again.
"I don't need an escort," I said, taking a step backward. "I'll get my things and go. I am sorry that I caused you trouble, Vince. I hope you know how much dancing here meant to me."
He stared at me for a heartbeat, saying nothing.
I started to turn, but he stopped me.
"Nelly,” my former boss used my name in a way that made me feel like a small child afraid of the dark, who doesn’t believe the monster in the closet isn’t real. “You can’t leave on your own.”
“You’ve fired me. I’m pretty sure leaving is what you want me to do, Vince.”
He looked down at his fingers, still forming church steeples. He frowned, then lowered his hands out of sight to rest against his lap. He said nothing. I waited.
“I’m leaving Vince.”
This time it was the man with the tablet who spoke, just as I was ready to escape again.
“Contracts. People just don’t read them thoroughly before signing.” It was almost like the asshole was lecturing me.
I glared at him. “I signed a contract with Club Midnight to dance. Now, I’m fired. End of story.”
“I’ve highlighted parts of your contract for clarity, Ms. Shaw.
” He pulled a stapled bundle out of the folder, closing the gap between us and shoving it towards me.
I didn’t want to touch it. It might as well be flame ready to scorch.
He waved it a little, prodding me to take it.
When I did, I was surprised to find the paper cool.
“Section A, part three, paragraph four,” he directed me.
I flipped over the first several pages before my eyes found glaring yellow. The man must have memorized the legal jargon, because he began precisely reciting it out loud as I read it myself.
“Employment with Club Midnight requires mandatory, quarterly health screenings outsourced to the Eros Institute. In the event the Eros Institute is unavailable, a subcontracting medical company with gather samples and deliver them to Eros. By agreeing to this contract, the employee understands their responsibility to present themselves clearly, and without guise, as their physical, biological, and federally registered gender classifications. In terms of primary gender, Club Midnight will recognize employee’s chosen identity if it is legally registered.
In terms of secondary gender, Club Midnight will only recognize the classification at birth which was legally registered.
Willful deception of gender classification will not be tolerated by employer.
In the event deception leads to federal fines towards Club Midnight, employee will be financially responsible.
Please note, working an unsanctioned job for your secondary gender can also result in additional personal penalties and jail time for the perpetrator.
” The man, who’d been speaking in a never-ending stream of words, pausing only for quick shallow breaths, finally stopped.
Yet before I could say anything, he directed me to another section of the contract. “Section D, part two, paragraph two.”
Mechanically, I changed pages. Why had I not gone over this carefully? I’d just wanted to dance so badly…