CHAPTER FOUR
D octor Medina can’t get me a new prescription right now. With the illegal sales of experimental drugs running rampant, I’m glad that I took a photo of the bottle in the toilet at the bar before I left. The company who makes the TruBond pills just needs to review, and verify that I’m telling the truth before they can renew my prescription. Monday, at the latest, they said.
At least I can do my job from home. Calling in sick had been easy enough, I just wish that I had remembered to do a grocery run a few days ago. While I wait for my lunch to be delivered, I work on answering another Knotty Omega submission.
Dear Knotty Omega,
My first heat is approaching, and I don’t have a pack. The doctors say my system isn’t compatible with heat suppressants, so that’s not an option for me. Being away from my nest for my heat makes me nervous, and I don’t want just any random alpha to help me through it. How can I ensure I don’t suffer through my heat alone, but also not hate myself when it’s over?
Signed,
Don’t Bring the Heat
I sigh. This is a more common issue than people think. The pressure to find a pack becomes insurmountable when an omega’s first heat starts to approach, especially when they can’t take heat suppressants. If someone is lucky enough to not have a family that will try to set them up with a horrible pack, their options are either a heat clinic, the “Alpha-Helper” app, or…the OMS. Heat clinics are great for those who aren’t looking for a commitment, but the app is…sketchy at best. They vet the alphas who register to some degree, but they come to your home, and there is nobody there to monitor for unwanted bites. The Omega Matching Service however…nobody registers at the OMS looking for a heat helper. It’s about as serious as you can get when you’re looking for a pack. Because they’re government funded, it’s a free service for the omegas. They have alphas who imbue cards with their scents so the omegas can have a sense of what they smell like and choose who they’d like to meet, and then provide bodyguards for the meetings.
I’m planning on never having a pack, but if I was, that’s who I would go through.
Dear Don’t Bring the Heat,
Are you against the idea of finding a pack right now? If you don’t have an alpha you know and trust to help you through your heat, and you don’t want to go to a clinic with trained helpers, the only other option is to go to the Omega Matching Service. They can provide you a real chance at finding a pack that you might be interested in courting long term. Better hop on the OMS train before things get too heated !
Signed,
The Knotty Omega
There. Another response sent to Grady.
My phone dings with a text from Archie.
Before I can type out a response, there’s a knock on my door signalling the arrival of my food has me putting my laptop on the coffee table, and I stand, waiting a good thirty seconds before walking to the door. Don’t need anyone getting a whiff of my unbonded scent. Reggie weaves between my legs as I approach, causing me to almost trip over him.
Little bastard.
I open the door, ready for a heaping serving of chicken and hummus, but instead—
“Laura?” I yelp in surprise, my eyes widening at the woman who is standing in my doorway holding a small tupperware container of soup.
“I just thought I’d bring you some soup since you're sick and say hi to you alpha—” She’s cut off by Reggie hissing at her.
“Reggie!” I scold, then snap my mouth shut, hoping to hell she didn’t just hear me.
Shit, shit shit!
Her eyes have widened to saucers as she looks between me and my little demon.
Then her nostrils flare and I pray to the sun, the moon, and whatever the hell else is out there that she is actually really stupid and won’t put two and two together. But I can see the wheels turning, running through everything I’ve ever said about Reggie in response to her nagging and realizing I never actually called him my alpha.
“Your scent— You—”
Without another word, she snaps her mouth shut, turns on her heel, and walks away.
So she’s not as stupid as I hoped.
God fucking dammit.
Slamming my door, I throw myself back onto the couch and toss an arm over my face.
No doubt Laura is running back to the office as we speak, eager to blab my biggest secret to everyone. I can’t even find myself to be mortified that I’ve let them assume my cat is my alpha for the last year. Instead, every single worst case scenario of what’s going to happen when I go into the office on Monday morning runs through my mind.
That chicken and hummus better be worth it.
***
My phone dings a second time, reminding me of the text that I’ve promptly been trying to forget since it popped up when I entered the lobby of the ABO Magazine building and passed through the de-scenter chamber.
I keep my head held high as I stride across the lobby to the elevator that will take me to the Omega Magazine floor. The ABO Magazine is comprised of three different sections — Alpha, Beta, and Omega. So really, it’s three different magazines, but all under the ABO umbrella.
Nobody seems to notice the stench of unbonded omega, so it’s safe to assume that the TruBond that was delivered to my door late last night is working.
Once on my floor, I meet Archie’s worried glance with a grim smile as I walk past his desk, then continue down the hall to Grady’s office. Time to get this over with.
Gently knocking, I crack the door open when I hear a muffled, “Come in.”
The first thing I see is Grady, sitting behind his desk. He’s looking tired today, his graying hair sticking up like he’s been running his fingers through it. He’s a decent size, especially for an alpha, but he’s been nothing but kind to me since I started working here.
Even if now, his usually unoffensive scent of cedar and cinnamon is tinged with stress.
The second thing I notice is Laura, standing behind Grady with her arms crossed, smirking at me.
“Cady, please, have a seat,” Grady says in a tired voice before I push the door closed with my foot and head to the chair at the desk across from him, my heart beating out of my chest.
They can’t fire me. They can’t . It’s not illegal for unbonded omegas to work anymore, and the Omega Privacy Act keeps me from having to officially disclose my pack status.
I have fucking rights, godammit.
“I assume you know why you’re here?” He asks, looking at me like he’s disappointed.
“Not really,” I lie. Maybe Laura only ratted on me for not actually being sick.
“You lied about being bonded,” Laura hisses, uncrosses her arms and taking a step forward. Welp, there goes that hope.
“Calm, Laura.” He nearly barks, and she straightens, shooting daggers at me.
“First of all,” I adjust in my seat, preparing the little tirade I had rehearsed multiple times while stuck in my apartment this weekend. “I never lied about anything. I mentioned Reggie by name, not as a cat, and everyone just assumed he was my alpha. Every single thing I’ve ever told you about him is true.” I hold up my fingers, ticking off random facts. “He has black hair. He’s an asshole. He hates when I leave for work. He hates pools. He’s needy for attention. He has no say in how I spend my money.” I raise a brow at Laura’s increasingly furious expression. “Second of all, I am under no legal obligation to disclose my pack status. I am protected in that.” I give her a pointed glare. “I take TruBond — a legal experimental drug, prescribed by my damn doctor, to ward off advances from unwanted alphas since scent blockers make me break out. Am I going to be prosecuted for taking the steps I need to protect myself?”
Grady lets out a frustrated sigh. “Of course not Cady, that’s not the issue here. Yes, the OPA protects you from having to disclose your pack status. But how do you think it’s going to look on the magazine if we have an unpacked omega handing out pack advice?”
I stare at him in shock. Half of what I write is common sense, it doesn’t take being bonded to understand.
“I grew up in a pack,” I defend myself anyway, knowing that argument won't get me anywhere. “Four alpha dads, an omega mom, and three alpha brothers. I think I have a pretty good grasp on pack life.”
“Like we’d believe you now,” Laura mutters.
“Out, Laura,” Grady does bark this time, dominance lacing his tone. Barks don't affect betas like they do omegas, which I'm sure is the only reason he used it. She manages to look terrified though, and shoots me a nasty look as she skitters out the door.
“It’s like…” Grady sighs, looking up at the ceiling, “having someone write expert pieces on cooking who’s only ever looked through the kitchen window. We can’t let this continue. It threatens our credibility.”
My mouth gapes open. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. Maybe I really am sick and this is just a fever-induced, hyper realistic hallucination. The Knotty Omega column is my baby .
“Is the quality of my writing in question?” I ask, my voice shaking slightly. Everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve done to gain my independence from my family is about to flushed right down the fucking toilet.
Grady sighs again, “No, but—”
“Do we not have hundreds of thousands of shares a month on my online posts? Is the article not the most popular in the Omega Issue—”
“You know the answer to both of those questions,” Grady suddenly snaps, looking irritated. “But that doesn’t matter. Do you think the whispers won’t start the second someone finds out that the writer of the most popular Omega Advice column in the country doesn’t even have a pack ?”
The question hits me like a slap to the face. I have no words. For all the reasons I hid my unbonded status, this was not one of them. It hadn’t even crossed my mind.
“When did that become a stipulation?” I ask quietly, not trusting my voice to not waver.
“It…I guess I never said it was. But when I met with you, you smelled bonded.”
Well, shit.
He sits forward, crossing his arms. “If you were even courting a pack, that would be one thing. But…”
Courting a pack? I can work with that. Maybe I can even meet a nice pack of alphas that I have zero sexual interest in and explain the situation. But first…
“Wait…” I shake my head, trying to focus on what he said a minute ago. “Why is the possibility of people finding out my identity suddenly a thing? My one condition was that my identity stays a secret.”
“About that…” Grady says looking suddenly more than a little guilty. “It’s from above me, Cady. The owners of the company…they think it’ll be a big hit if we do a reveal. Of the face behind the Knotty Omega. Killan Roberts is near feral over the idea. He's pushing the other two owners to turn it into a huge spectacle.”
My heart drops in my throat. Killian Roberts is one of the three owners of ABO magazine. Naturally of the three owners, there is one of each designation. Killian is the beta, Hank Hanson is the alpha, and Yvonne Cartier is the omega.
“What?!” I almost shout, panicked. Why would this happen? Who even thought this up? “It was my one stipulation, Grady!”
“When I agreed, we didn’t know how big of a sensation your article would become. The agreement we made…it wasn’t in writing, Cady. I verbally agreed to keep your identity under wraps. Unfortunately, the owners don’t care about anything unless it’s in a binding contract. It’s already set. The reveal is going to happen at the beginning of next quarter.”
Fuck. That’s in two months.
Trying to keep myself from hyperventilating, I attempt to calm myself down.
Okay.
So, the owners of ABO Magazine want to do a giant “The Knotty Omega” reveal, which will destroy my closely guarded secret. None that even matters though if I don’t have a pack and they replace me.
…Fuck.
Okay. One issue at a time.
“What if I find a pack?” This is apparently the last thing Grady expects me to say because he stares at me in shock.
A plan…the OMS…I have a little time to find one. Even if they aren’t great, if I can just get through the next couple of months…it’s a stupid plan. One that sure to end poorly without my heart or my job in tact.
But it’s all I have.
“If you found a pack…” Grady says slowly, as my heart threatens to pound out of my chest, “then nobody would be able to have any sort of opinion on your bonding status.”
Oh thank fuck. I don’t let loose a sigh of relief though, I have to see how he reacts to my stupid, stupid plan.
“Okay.” I nod, standing up. “Here’s what I propose. I’ll keep answering The Knotty Omega submissions, and stay on the TruBond for the time being. In the meantime, I’ll join the OMS. I’ll make it an article. An in-depth look at what the process looks like. No names, no identifying traits. Just an up-close walkthrough of the Omega Matching Service process. I’ll get a pack, you’ll get an article, and in two months, this will all be behind us.”
Grady regards me for a moment, his eyes calculating. After what feels like forever, he finally nods. “Deal. You have sixty days, Cady. Don’t make me regret this.”
I leave his office with my pulse racing wondering how the hell I’m not going to make myself regret this.