Chapter 6 #2
More than I should. More than I want to, honestly. But that's what happens when you live in a small town and refuse to leave despite the lack of opportunities.
I lean against the elevator wall, crossing my arms over my chest. "A few. I guess we all have to do a bunch of jobs to survive in a small town. So much to do but also feels like there's so little to progress with, you know?"
She sighs, and something in her expression shifts—like she understands that feeling all too well. "Yeah. I know exactly what you mean."
There's a story there. Something heavy underneath all that brightness. I want to ask about it, want to know what put that look in her eyes, but she's already moving on.
"Oh my god, you probably need to leave. I'm so sorry—I'm holding you up."
I push off the wall, reaching past her to press the ground floor button. My arm brushes hers—just barely, just enough to catch another wave of that vanilla-caramel scent. Focus, Nash. Stop acting like a teenager with his first crush.
"Ladies first," I say simply.
The elevator starts moving, and she seems to relax slightly. "Thanks. And thanks for, you know, catching me. Again. Even though we're basically strangers, you made things a bit easier. I really needed that today."
Again? Have I caught her before? The furniture incident, maybe? She'd stumbled when I'd taken the box from her hands. Or is she talking about something else?
"And what do you have to figure out?" I ask, genuinely curious. Which is weird. I don't usually care about strangers' problems. But there's something about her that makes me want to know more.
She laughs, but it's slightly hysterical.
"Well, I need to find a pack if I want to get a twenty-five-thousand-dollar brand deal that would set me up for success for the new year after my ex-pack screwed me over in every way—financially, emotionally, probably in the actual bedroom too if we're being honest—or it's going to be given to someone else.
Which would be incredibly shitty because opportunities like this don't just fall into your lap. "
Wait. What?
She needs a pack. For a twenty-five-thousand-dollar deal. Her ex-pack screwed her over. She's going to lose the opportunity if she doesn't find one.
And she just told me all of this in an elevator like it's casual conversation instead of deeply personal information that most Omegas would guard carefully.
Her voice cracks slightly on the last word, and I can smell the anxiety spiking in her scent—turning the vanilla sharper, more acidic. She's trying to play it off as a joke, but this is clearly eating at her.
The elevator dings. Ground floor.
She turns back to me, forcing a brighter smile. "Nice to see you again, Nash. Thanks for the quick chat and for catching me. I've been clumsy these last few days, jeez."
She steps out, then pauses, glancing back over her shoulder.
The elevator doors start to close, but her scent lingers. Clinging to my jacket, my skin, the air around me. That sugar-plum-fairy sweetness that makes me want to follow her out of this building and figure out what the hell is going on.
Having an Omega as bubbly as her would probably be a death sentence.
The thought hits me as the doors close completely, trapping me with the lingering traces of vanilla and caramel.
She's all sunshine and energy and enthusiasm.
We're three grumpy, serious Alphas who can barely manage our own shit, let alone deal with someone who has that much life radiating from her.
Grayson's got a spark—but only on good days. Days when the seasonal depression isn't crushing him. Days when he's not lost in his own head, wondering if his writing is worth anything or if he should just give up and accept that he's going to be a rancher forever.
Theo's too broken by his past, by the things he saw overseas, by the people he couldn't save.
He goes through the motions—works at the hospital, bakes in the middle of the night when the nightmares won't let him sleep, teaches self-defense classes because helping people feel safe is the only thing that makes him feel useful.
And me? I'm just angry. At the world, at myself, at the fact that I'm stuck in this town fixing cars and doing legal work I hate because leaving feels like giving up and staying feels like slowly drowning.
We'd crush someone like her. Dim that light until there's nothing left but disappointment and regret.
But my heart aches at the thought. Actually physically aches in my chest, and I press a hand against my sternum like I can somehow stop the feeling.
It has to be the seasonal changes. That's all. The fact that winter's coming and everything feels heavier and I'm probably just latching onto the first Omega who's shown me kindness in months. Nothing more.
But her scent is still clinging to me, and it reminds me of a sugar plum fairy—sweet and magical and completely out of my reach.
The elevator reaches the third floor. Time to focus. Time to handle this legal consultation and get back to the Aston Martin and stop thinking about Omegas with vanilla scents and sunshine smiles.
I push the interaction aside as I step into the hallway, my expression settling into something professional and serious. Conference room B is easy to find—third door on the right, exactly where the receptionist said it would be.
I knock, two sharp raps against the wood.
"Come in!"
Charlotte Webb is exactly what I expected from her phone voice—professional, polished, the kind of Beta who runs a tight ship and doesn't take shit from anyone. She's sitting behind a sleek desk, tablet in front of her, wearing a burgundy suit that probably costs more than my truck payment.
The office smells like expensive perfume and coffee—the good kind, not the burnt crap they serve in the lobby. Everything is organized within an inch of its life, color-coded folders on shelves, motivational posters that actually look tasteful instead of tacky.
"Mr. Nash," she says with a warm smile, standing to shake my hand. "Thank you so much for showing up on such last minute notice. I know it's asking a lot."
I shake her hand firmly. "Not a problem. What do you need?"
She gestures to the chair across from her desk. "Please, sit. Can I get you coffee? Water?"
"I'm good. Let's just get to it."
No point in dragging this out. The faster I handle whatever she needs, the faster I can get back to work.
Charlotte settles back into her chair, pulling up something on her tablet.
"We're expanding our influencer roster significantly this quarter.
Bringing in multiple content creators for various campaigns, which means a lot of contracts.
A lot of contracts. We wanted to make sure we had a lawyer on standby for contract signings—someone local who understands the specific needs of our creators and can be available for questions or concerns as they come up. "
I nod. "Straightforward enough. You need someone who can review contracts, handle signings, make sure everything's legally sound."
"Exactly." She smiles, tapping her tablet screen. "We have a few influencers we're particularly excited about. Top-tier talent that we've been wanting to work with for quite some time."
That's when my eyes catch on a photo sitting on her desk.
It's a professional headshot—the kind content creators use for press kits. Honey-gold hair with orange tips styled in loose waves. Big eyes that somehow manage to convey warmth even through a photograph. A smile that's genuine and bright and makes something in my chest tighten.
The Omega from the elevator. The one whose scent is still clinging to my jacket.
"Oh," I say casually, nodding toward the photo. "I recognize her. The girl from TikTok."
I don't actually follow her on TikTok. Don't even have the app downloaded. But Grayson does, and he's mentioned her before. Something about book recommendations and positivity and the kind of content that makes you feel good about the world.
Charlotte laughs, delighted. "Well, that's a good sign! If someone like you—who I'm guessing barely has time to be on your phone—recognizes her, that speaks to her reach and impact."
She picks up the photo, looking at it with obvious fondness. "She's huge potential. Our favorite choice, actually. We've been wanting to scout her for years, watching her content evolve, waiting for the right campaign to approach her with."
Her expression shifts slightly, becoming more businesslike but with an edge of disappointment. "She was actually going to be one of the main reasons I wanted you here for a signing. With lawyer representation and everything. But..." She sighs. "I don't think we're going to give it to her."
What?
I frown, leaning forward slightly. "Why? Did something go wrong with her interview or—"
"No!" Charlotte shakes her head quickly. "No, everything is divine. The meeting went perfectly. She's exactly what we want—authentic, enthusiastic, professional despite her circumstances. The payout is amazing too. Not every day a media company offers a twenty-five-thousand-dollar advance."
Twenty-five thousand. Same amount she mentioned in the elevator. So this is what she was talking about.
"Then?" I prompt, my voice coming out rougher than intended.
Charlotte sets the photo down carefully, like it's something precious she doesn't want to damage.
"The poor girl needs a pack. She's an Omega, and obviously this day and age is encouraging independence—which we support wholeheartedly.
But realistically, Omegas still need packs to thrive.
It's biological, psychological, fundamental to their wellbeing.
And for this particular campaign, showcasing pack dynamics during the holidays is a core component of the narrative we're building. "
She spreads her hands in a helpless gesture. "So unless she can find a pack, I'll have to give the contract to someone else. And I really, really don't want to do that."
She needs a pack. That's why she's going to lose this opportunity. That's why she was panicking in the elevator.
"What's the deadline?" I ask, my mind already racing through possibilities I have no business considering.
Charlotte's smile turns sad. "End of November.
We need to have everything locked in to launch the campaign December first. So she has maybe two weeks, give or take.
And between you and me—" She lowers her voice conspiratorially.
"—it's first come, first serve with the other candidates.
If someone else signs before her, the position is filled. "
Two weeks. She has two weeks to find a pack or lose twenty-five thousand dollars and the opportunity of a lifetime.
I nod slowly, my hand reaching out almost unconsciously to pick up the photo. I study it closer—the way her smile reaches her eyes, the genuine joy captured in the image, the subtle orange tips in her hair that match the personality I've glimpsed in our brief encounters.
Charlotte watches me examine the photo, her expression softening.
"I feel like her story would be aspiring, you know?
Apparently she was with an old pack that wasn't the greatest. Abusive.
Negative. Controlling. If you look at her old videos—the ones from a year ago—the difference is superb.
You can see the light and joy shining in her eyes now when she looked practically lifeless before. "
Abusive. The word hits me in the chest. Those bruises during the self-defense class. The way she'd flinched when I'd moved too quickly. The determination to learn how to protect herself.
Charlotte continues, "Most Omegas would relate to her journey—from surviving a bad situation to thriving on her own terms. That's why we're desperate to work with her.
But the campaign rules are final. We can't compromise on the pack requirement without undermining the entire narrative structure we've built. "
She escaped an abusive pack. Built a life for herself. And now she's going to lose this opportunity because she doesn't have what she ran away from.
Unless...
"Does she need to come back to sign the papers?" I ask, my voice carefully neutral. "If a pack decides they want her?"
Charlotte shakes her head. "No. You know the government rules—archaic as they are.
As long as the pack signs the dotted line, it's all good.
The Omega doesn't even need to be present for the initial agreement.
Even if it's temporary or a trial period, as long as there's official pack documentation, it satisfies the requirement. "
So theoretically, a pack could sign for her without her even knowing. Could make this happen without asking permission. Could give her this opportunity on a silver platter.
Is it ethical? Probably not. Is it the healthiest way to start a pack bond? Definitely not. But nothing about this situation is conventional anyway. She's desperate for a pack to save her opportunity. We're three Alphas who haven't found the right Omega. Maybe we're all exactly what we need.
I nod, lowering the photo back to the desk carefully. My fingers linger on the edge of the frame for a second longer than necessary. The decision crystallizes in my mind—reckless and impulsive and probably the dumbest thing I've done in years.
But the pieces fit too perfectly to ignore.
Grayson talked about her. The Omega from the bookstore who recommended books and made him smile—actually smile, not that fake polite thing he does for strangers.
Theo mentioned someone from his self-defense classes who worked harder than anyone else, who showed up with bruises and left with confidence.
And I've run into her three times now. Three separate occasions where the universe decided to throw us together. Each time leaving me wanting to know more. Each time her scent lingering in my mind long after she's gone.
Maybe this isn't as crazy as it sounds. Maybe it's fate or destiny or whatever romantic bullshit Grayson would write about in one of his books. Maybe three grumpy Alphas and one sunshine Omega could somehow balance each other out.
Or maybe we'll crash and burn spectacularly. But at least she'll have her twenty-five thousand dollars and her campaign. At least she'll get the opportunity she deserves.
"Well," I say, my mouth curving into a smirk, "I guess you'll need a new lawyer."
Charlotte frowns, confusion flickering across her face. She tilts her head, her perfectly styled hair not moving an inch. "Why is that?"
I stand up, sliding my hands into my pockets, my smirk widening into something that probably looks dangerous.
"Conflict of interest."