Page 4 of Bidding on Her Orc Boss

I make my way to the baggage claim, my mind drifting to the upcoming company event. As someone who’s more comfortable with numbers than people, the thought of small talk makes me want to crawl into my suitcase and ship myself back home. But that’s not what bugs me about coming on-site. The problem is, what’s going to stop them from requiring more meet and greets in the future?

One moment, it’s a once a year thing like this national sales meeting. But then, it’s a special project or another all-hands meeting.

Soon, it will “make the most sense” for all of us to just get back into the office.

Ugh. I did not become a social pariah taking college level classes in high school, and testing out of nearly all of my gen-eds in university, choosing to take summer classes all so I can graduate early with a double degree only to be forced to be a team player now.

I’ve earned the right to enjoy my soft and cozy, comfy girl era. Self-care era. One where productivity isn’t tied to my feelings of self-worth.

I’ve earned the right to work in my pajamas and have deep conversations with my houseplants.

As I wait for my suitcase, I can’t help but marvel at the diversity around me. Faeries flitting about, trolls lumbering by, and is that a dragon in a Hawaiian shirt? It’s like Comic-Con met a supernatural zoo and decided to have a party in an airport.

A few minutes later, another anxious knot relaxes when I see my bag. I pull it off the conveyor belt and check my phone next. Thankfully, our company phones are already equipped with the technology needed to work within the Obsidian Rift network of cities.

Just as I’m about to send a text to my manager, I hear a familiar when I hear a squeal. I turn to see my manager, Caro, stride over to me. She’s wearing the harried millennial mom outfit—long cardigan, high waisted jeans, no show socks, low top sneakers. Her fluffy hair somewhat tamed into low ponytails hidden by a ball cap. Her backpack is hoisted over one shoulder, a wilting go-cup of coffee in her opposite hand.

She gives me a quick squeeze. “Lord, I forget how tall you are! In video calls, I imagine you’re like a tiny little peanut.”

“Tiny” and “peanut” are not the words to describe me. Even though I’m Filipina, I tower over others in my community at five-nine. With my platform sneakers, I’m easily pushing six feet. Couple that with my thicker hips and thighs and top heavy bosom, I’m definitely a genetic anomaly. All of which I hide under XXL sweaters and wide legged pants.

Caro clocks my all-black outfit, giving a slight nod of approval. Then her gaze lands on my suitcase. “Don’t tell me you packed a checked suitcase.”

“Of course I did. If I’m supposed to dress up, I need to make sure I have all my options. Besides, I want the option to stay longer if possible.”

“Stay longer?”

“Don’t be like that. I’m not a hermit or anything. I’m just really particular about my work days.”

“You can say that again,” she says, taking a last swing of coffee before tossing it to the trash. “Is that all you have, then?”

“Yup.”

“We’re supposed to meet our driver in the pick up area--and I think he found us.”

I follow her gaze toward a wall, upon which is a sign no bigger than a place mat with our names on it. Just beneath our names is our company’s name: Vormugh Enterprises.

It took a moment to realize that the wall is coming toward us. I look up and keep looking up to see a figure of a man with the face of a blackened skull. By man, I mean it in the loosest definition in that he stands on two legs and has two arms.

But whatever he is, he is not human.

His face is adorned with intricate tattoos that accentuate his features to resemble a skull. It’s both terrifying and oddly beautiful. “Ladie,.” he rumbles, his voice like gravel in a blender. “I am Skull.”

I take in his impressive face tattoo. “Of course you are,” I answer without thinking.

The rictus grin that stretches across his face makes my heart rattle in my chest. I shouldn’t find something as scary as Skullattractive, but I’m not going to lie. I’m sort of a size queen. I love big boys, and Skull is the biggest boy I’ve seen...ever.

Maybe I ought to re-think the idea of working on site, if everyone in Obsidian City looked like him.

“Is that all your belongings?”

Caro’s jaw is still slack and malfunctioning, so I answer for her once more. “Yes.”

He simply grunts in response, effortlessly lifting our bags as if they weigh nothing, and leads us out of the airport exit. Two other men materialize on either side of us as we walk. They, too, were brawny.

Out of the corner of my eye, one is an orc, while the other looks to be a shifter. Though he looks like an ordinary man, no man walks like that. Like a predator on the hunt.

Skull leads us to a black SUV that’s so shiny, I can use it as a mirror. At the vehicle, we’re introduced to Krothu, an orc with surprisingly kind eyes and easy smile, and Maven, our hawk shifter driver.

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