13. Jeremy
Chapter thirteen
Jeremy
Job interviews are nobody’s favorite time of day, and I seem to have more than my fair share of the darn things. But somehow, this appointment doesn’t feel like all the others. The flutter of nerves in my stomach says quite a bit about how I want this meeting to go.
I pause in the carpark to adjust my button-up and straighten my belt.
The aloe vera and witchcraft worked wonders on my skin overnight, the wounds nearly closing and leaving only red patches which look more like birthmarks than injuries.
At least I can wear a shirt and light bandages without bleeding through.
Discretely I adjust my balls; Joel insisted I manscape before coming, just in case anyone does a physical. Or inspects the goods or whatever. I didn’t even know what he was talking about, but apparently that’s something his missus requires.
Shaved—or trimmed—ball fluff equals good, apparently.
“Well, wish me luck,” I mutter, sliding my hand across my new truck.
She’s not as beautiful as my old one, but I’m still in shock that Joel gave me a car.
Convenient, yes, but the intention behind the gift is even more valuable.
Tears mist my eyes, making the sunlight twinkle in my vision.
My twin didn’t berate me for being a loser or failing at another job.
Yesterday he was simply my brother again.
Having him around felt amazing. His presence filled a black hole that’s been sitting in my chest for months. Years even. I’m sorry he and his fiancé are having relationship problems, but I’m grateful he came to see me, despite the discord.
I swipe my collar up to dry my eyes before straightening the edge again. Look at me, tearing up as if I’d found a long-lost relative or some shit. Hope my eyes don’t look red-rimmed now.
Well, I can’t be late for this interview. Squaring my shoulders, I cross the parking lot in long strides, headed directly to the four-story glass and steel modern building that will determine my career fate.
The Heat Wave clinic sparkles, as nice inside as it is outside. All the glass lets plenty of natural light in to swathe over cream tones complimented with dusky rose and misty blues, with picture frames and accents in brass. A handful of potted plants softens the corporate lux edge.
In the ground floor lobby, a security station and front desk sit directly ahead. I grab some scent blocker by the door and rub the lotion into my hands and throat. I get it. Needy omegas must walk through this door every day, and they don’t need to breathe extra alpha scents.
And this place has thought of everything the omegas could need.
A hydration bar on the other side of the waiting lounge emits the aroma of fresh orange and pineapple juice and boasts an ice machine plus a small fridge full of snack bars.
Nearer to the entrance sits a kiosk with the label “Apothecary.” I step closer to look at the heat packs, calming creams, teas, and packets of brightly labelled supplements.
Mom would approve, no doubt.
“Are you Mr Williams?” the receptionist asks, coming over. Her lack of a strong scent proclaims her beta designation.
“Oh, yes. Hi.” I rub my head and then drop my hand, hoping I haven’t spoiled my hair do. Joel’s last instruction before leaving for work this morning was “no hats.” I clear my throat. “I’m here for my interview.”
“Of course. We’re ready for you now, if you’ll follow me?”
She leads me into a cozy conference room where two senior staff wait for me. They introduce themselves as Logan, the director of Human Resources, and Lafaye, the general manager.
I wave, the nerves bubbling like crazy behind my belt. You’d think with the number of interviews I’ve done, I’d be immune to the fear. Not quite.
“Tea, or coffee?” Debbie asks.
“Coffee, white and sugar, please,” I say.
Best to have something to occupy my hands with.
Once I have my steaming paper cup, Debbie heads out and shuts the door.
“Thank you for coming in for an interview,” Logan begins. “We’d like to ask you a few questions, and then outline the process involved in becoming a Heat Wave service officer.”
Well, that’s a fancy name for it.
“Sound okay?”
“Yes.” I nod. “That’s fine by me.”
Lafaye laces her hands together. “What brought you to Heat Wave, Jeremy?”
My mouth dries up in an instant, so I sip my coffee.
“Two days ago, I stopped on the side of the road to help a lady with a flat tire. After that, my boss fired me because I was late to work.” I hold the manager’s gaze.
“I like helping people. I’m multi-skilled and to be honest I’ve had a lot of different jobs.
But when all the other things boil down, I like helping people. ”
I swallow hard and drop my gaze. “I think I’m built right for this job, and I used to drive past the building every day, so when I saw the ad, I wanted to apply.”
Logan shuffles through a few sheets of pages. “Your application didn’t mention a job in the past three months.”
Oh, shit. “Um, I didn’t list it because I was only there for three months, on probation.”
My right leg starts jumping nervously.
“Okay, noted. And have you ever helped an omega through her heat?”
“Yes. I had an omega girlfriend back in late high school.” More accurately, we had a girlfriend, me and Joel. I keep the unnecessary information locked away. “I helped her through her very first heat, and we were together for about a year.”
Their pens twiddle as they jot notes on legal pads.
Lafaye smiles at me. “And how did you find the experience?”
I falter. It was a decade ago, but the memories are still clear. Especially the painful parts. But we had a lot of good times, before the relationship crashed and burned.
“Very . . . satisfying.” Heat burns in my face. “I don’t mean sexually, per se. I mean, I liked how it was a whole experience, the touch, the nesting, the sense of being needed.”
I never would have let her go, if Joel hadn’t . . .
Logan asks the next question, tearing my thoughts away from the past. We go into my medical history, my sexual preferences, my availability.
They seem to like it when I say I can be on call day and night.
Many times, they circle back with sly questions intended to gauge how I view omegas and how tight my self-control is as an alpha.
Understandable, considering how vulnerable omegas become during their heats.
Logan sets down his pen. “Okay, let’s talk about what certification involves. You’ve already got your police clearance, which is great. From here, if we hire you, you’ll need a few more things.”
He ticks them off on his fingers.
“A medical evaluation, your first aid certificate, your level-one omega support ticket, a psychological evaluation, Swedish massage training, and our in-house training for heat assistance. That involves learning guided breathing techniques, scent therapy, and our emergency protocols.”
I nod. Sounds like a lot. “How long does all that take?”
“Well, usually two weeks. But we do offer half time pay while you’re getting up to speed.”
Phew. An inner tension unwinds slowly. The bank account’s looking pretty dry and things would get dicey if I’m unemployed for a month.
A knock sounds on the door, and Debbie peeks in through the glass window. She grimaces in an apologetic way and waves urgently at Lafaye.
“Please excuse us for a moment,” the manager says before they both go to the door.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” Debbie whispers. “But we have a booking problem.”
Logan passes through the door, closing it behind him. The only other words I catch are “omega” and “short-staffed.”
I drink up my coffee and stretch my long legs out. Through the glass, Logan crosses to a desk in a set of cubicles and picks up the telephone, stabbing roughly at the dialing numbers.
Can't really expect such a professional place to give me a job since my work history looks like a crossword puzzle.
Landscaping, construction, dishwasher; I've done all sorts of unrelated things. Even completed my Alcohol Service ticket and did a stint working in bars. The atmosphere was okay, but so many people treated me like I ought to be available for more than just pouring drinks, and I didn’t like that.
I scoff under my breath. So why am I here, where I purposefully need to act like a stud? Maybe that’s why Joel’s digs annoyed me so much. But I can’t shake the times I helped our ex through her heats. It was different to regular sex. More primal, more special.
Maybe I’m missing being in a relationship.
The door swings open, making me jump.
“Jeremy, I have a question for you,” Logan says, striding in.
I swivel in my chair as much as my long body can. “Shoot.”
“Are you at all interested in a fast-track program?”
A what now? “Er, what does that entail?”
“It means we work with you to get all your licenses in . . .” He checks his watch. “Three days. Which will mean some very long hours to get it all signed off.”
I gulp, the noise audible in the silent room. “You mean . . . you want to hire me? Now?”
“Yes.” He flashes me a lopsided smile. “If you’re willing, we’ll do the medical and psychological checks now, and if all goes well, start you on your first aid. We work with a college that offers the theory online, and then a practical. They’re holding the next one in two days.”
Logan leans both hands on the table, studying me.
“The truth is, we’re short staffed right now, and we’ve got more requests for home visits than we have service officers for.
I don’t like rushing the process, but since you have experience with omegas, it’s not a terrible idea to get you up and running at double speed. What do you think?”
I blink hard. I got the job? Pending checks, of course.
“I . . . well, I don’t have anything else on my plate right now.” I spread my hands helplessly. Of course I don’t. I’m unemployed, single, and barely have hobbies. I chuckle and clap my hands together. “Why not?”
Logan grins and his shoulders relax. “Wonderful! Let’s get you over to the med team right away.” He straightens. “Oh, do you happen to be a dog lover?”
“Yeah, I like dogs. Don’t currently have one, but I did as a kid.”
“Phew. It was a special request from an omega.”
Sounds like this was an emergency and I was here at just the right moment. That’s the funny part. For all my varied jobs, I’ve never been without work for long. Luck? Charm? Who knows, but I’m grateful.
I shove my chair back. “Lead the way.”
Thank God Joel insisted I clean up and heal my scrapes as much as possible. He’s pretty clever when it comes to social stuff.
As I follow Logan through the building, a staff member walks past, gently shepherding an omega. The thick, nutty scent streaming off her says she’s started her heat and I unconsciously draw in a deep breath. My loins tingle with the invitation in her scent.
She disappears into the elevator, and the scent diminishes to a faint tinge.
It hits me that by the end of the week, I’ll be the one entering those rooms to help some omega plagued by her monthly cycle. My dick and alpha knot will become part of the therapy used to soothe her fever and wash out her pheromones.
And when she’s done with me, she’ll walk away without ever looking back.
A tremor runs through my hands, and I jab them deep in my pockets. What the hell was I thinking, signing up for this?
Yeah, I was thinking I needed a job. But at what cost?
And who is this dog-loving omega I’ll be meeting at the end of the week?