Chapter 5 #3
“Yeah,” I say, matching his posture, sprawling out just enough to look relaxed but not like I’m trying too hard.
“Online posting, engagement strategies, content creation, and some graphic design. I’ve done freelance work for a few years now, mostly with lifestyle brands, a tourism board, and a boutique gear company. Smaller accounts, but high engagement.”
I leave out the names on purpose. They didn’t ask, and the recruiter never pressed.
It was one quick virtual interview, a few follow-up questions, and just like that, a job offer.
No Zoom call, no ID check, no one bothering to see my face.
Lucky break? Or just desperate to fill the role?
It’s a temporary position and paid cash in hand, so I’m not going to complain.
Either way, I’m here. And it’s not a total lie. I really have worked with companies like that, helping with content creation and managing their social media.
“That’s perfect,” Mason states, straightening a little. “We need help building out our online presence. Word of mouth gets us through the summer rush, but if we want to grow? We need to be consistent. Professional.”
“Social media is huge for that,” I say, easing into the conversation. “Instagram and TikTok are ideal for tourism content. Behind-the-scenes, action shots, location highlights, they do really well when paired with the right audio or trend.”
“Exactly,” Dylan says, grinning. “See, Mason? I told you we needed someone who actually understands this stuff.”
“I never disagreed,” Mason replies, dry. “I just said I’m not filming TikToks or doing those damn dances.”
Dylan leans in closer to Mason, like he’s done this bit before. “You’re photogenic enough. You could be the face of the brand. Seem to be already popular on Instagram, Certified Snack.”
I try to hide my growing smirk.
“Absolutely fucking not,” he growls.
Dylan glances at Mason. “You know we’ll need some updated shots of the crew. Professional ones. Not the blurry ones you took with your phone last season.”
“They weren’t blurry. You just moved.”
“Because a crate of bait slid into my leg.”
“That’s called being on a boat.”
“Still your fault.”
Mason huffs out a low breath that’s almost a laugh. “Fine. We’ll schedule a shoot. Just don’t put filters on everything and call it branding.”
“I like clean visuals. You like hiding behind beanies and sunglasses. We’ll meet in the middle.”
I watch them, curious as hell. They don’t step on each other.
They don’t posture. Mason keeps his tone measured, his eyes steady.
Dylan leans back in his chair like he owns the space but gives Mason the floor when it counts.
It’s the kind of professional relationship that doesn’t happen by accident.
They are more than work colleagues and really close friends.
There’s a solidness to them.
I didn’t expect that. I expected egos. Control. Maybe even a little competition.
But what I’m seeing is something else entirely. They’re a team.
And for the first time since stepping into this building, I don’t feel like I’m about to be chewed up and spit out.
Not yet, anyway.
“So what exactly will I be doing? Mostly social media?” I ask, trying to steer the conversation back to something useful. “Day to day?”
“Managing our social media accounts,” Mason says, ticking items off on his fingers. “Creating content for posts, stories, reels. We’ll need you out on the boats sometimes to get footage and photos.”
“We also need help with our newsletter,” Dylan adds. “We send one out monthly, but it’s pretty basic right now. Could use more personality.”
“And we need new promotional materials,” Mason continues. “Flyers, banners, that kind of thing. We do a booth at the local festivals, and our current setup is pretty dated.”
“Plus any event representation,” Dylan explains. “The town holds a lot of markets. We need someone to man the booth, talk to people, and hand out information.”
I’m nodding along, mentally remembering everything. “That sounds amazing. Really. I love this kind of work.”
“Good,” Mason says. “Because we need someone who’s actually excited about it. We’re better with boats than computers.”
Nina appears with my coffee, setting it down with a flourish. “Here you go, handsome.” Her fingers trail across my shoulder as she leaves, and both Mason and Dylan notice.
“Looks like you’ve already made a friend,” Dylan says, his grin turning wicked.
“She’s very tactile,” I manage.
“That’s Nina,” Mason says. “She’s sweet. Bit enthusiastic. And an incredible baker.”
“I noticed.”
Dylan leans forward, elbows on the table, coffee mug in hand like he’s settling in to read me. “So, what really brings you to Mistberry for a job? Why not stay in the city?”
Right. Time for the casual-guy routine.
I shift in my seat and try to copy how Mason sits, solid, one arm resting on the table, shoulders loose.
I pick up my mug and take a sip the way Dylan does, like it’s no big deal, like I’m not desperately trying to seem like I belong here with these two very real Alphas and their very real arm hair and competence.
“I needed a change,” I say, keeping my tone low, breezy. “City life started feeling… crowded, I guess. Too many people, not enough space. Everyone rushing around like it’s a competition no one’s winning.”
Mason nods like he gets it.
“And honestly?” I add. “I think this will be good for my sister too. Fresh start. Slower pace. Just us now. Our parents aren’t with us.”
The space quiets for half a beat, respectful. Most of that isn’t a lie.
“She’s lucky to have you,” Mason says simply.
I clear my throat. “Yeah, well. She’ll say otherwise when I finish all the snacks.”
That earns the faintest twitch of a grin from Mason and a full smirk from Dylan.
“She’ll settle in fast,” Dylan says. “Nina’s got a good setup with the café. Omegas around here stick together.”
I nod like I totally know what that means.
“And yeah,” I say, stretching a little, trying to take up space without looking like I’m doing it on purpose, “there’s something about a place like this, quiet harbor, smaller community, breathing room.”
Mason studies me for a second, then stands. “You’ll fit in fine here,” he says.
Dylan stands too, stretching his arms overhead. The movement makes his flannel shirt ride up, exposing a strip of tanned skin and the edge of what might be a tattoo.
I force myself to look away.
“You ready to see where you’ll be working?” Mason asks.
“Ready,” I answer and mean it.
We head toward the door, and I catch Nina’s eye from behind the counter. She waves, blowing a kiss, and I awkwardly wave back.
Outside, the morning air is crisp and clear, the sun bright on the water. We stroll down the main street toward the docks, and I’m acutely aware of both men flanking me. They’re taller, broader, and their presence is almost overwhelming.
We reach the docks, and I’m gobsmacked by the view, snow on the edges of the streets and the shore glinting in the sunlight.
Boats stretch out in every direction, tied in neat rows. Fishing vessels. Private crafts. A couple of older boats with chipped paint and rusted trim. And then four that stand out from the rest.
Charter boats. Sleek, well-maintained. Dark navy hulls with crisp white trim, polished metal rails gleaming in the sunlight.
Names painted in bold block letters along the sides: Silverfin, Orca’s Reach, Hollow Wind, and The Wilder.
All lined up at the end of the main pier like they belong there. Like they know it.
The air smells like salt and diesel, the kind of scent that settles into your clothes and hair and makes everything feel like it belongs near the ocean.
In front of the boats, a wide wooden pier stretches out, sturdy and worn smooth.
At the far end, steps lead up to a massive blue building with a peaked roof and tall windows.
The words Wilde Charters are stenciled across the top in clean white letters.
The whole place looks like it came straight off a travel brochure.
Except bigger. Busier. More established than I expected.
Mason stops beside me and gestures toward the building. “Welcome to Wilde Charters. This is where we work.”
I nod, unable to hide my reaction.
They built something serious here. Real boats, business, and an operation that doesn’t just survive out here in the middle of nowhere. It seems to thrive.
And despite the layers of deception I’m standing in, despite the panic tightening under my ribs, I feel it. A flicker of excitement.
This is where it starts.
My investigation. My chance to find out why Omegas keep losing their jobs here. Why the whispers keep coming in through my radio show.
I’m here to figure out the truth. Maybe even make a difference.
And if I happen to enjoy the job while I do that? Fine.
But no attachments. No trusting the wrong people.
And definitely no getting distracted by these Alphas.
That would be asking for it to end badly.