Page 17 of Chosen Beta

“You might want to brace yourself for some angry calls,” I warn her. “I’m not going to sugarcoat it. There are some pretty pissed off donors and parents …”

“But I’m getting paid for the work, though, right?”

“You are.”

She looks way happier than she should for someone who’s about to spend the day dealing with angry people over the phone. I guess I always took it for granted that I’d get a job after college. For a lot of Omegas, it’s not something they usually get to do.

They’re so protected.

Only the Omegas who choose to live as Betas have an equal shot.

I’m not sure Erika was ever given that option.

I walk her out to the reception area, and I take another look at her elegant dress.

“You can go change first, if you’d like,” I offer.

She shrugs. “I don’t have any casual clothes other than my pajamas, and I don’t think any actual visitors would appreciate my sleeping kitty print as much as I do. Besides, I’ve been dressing like this for so long, I’m used to having pinched toes and poker straight posture.”

That’s true. She’s been here for years, and she’s always worn the designer garments she’s been supplied with. A lot of the Omegas do.

Some don’t, and some aren’t consistent about it, but Erika’s been keen to please from day one.

“Well, let me know if you need some regular clothes. I can have some brought in for you.”

“Really? That sounds awesome. Flats, and pants and blouses. I’ll look like I actually work here!”

I guess I’m adding a quick shopping spree to my list now. An online spree, over my lunch break most likely. Sounds fun, actually. It’ll be nice to surprise Erika when the stuff arrives, too.

“Okay,” I say as we get to the desk. “The phone system is on answering machine mode. I had to do that to go grab a coffee. You see that flashing light? That means we have messages.”

She nods. “It’s the same as the landline in my suite. I press this button to play them, right?”

“Right,” I agree. “Most of the donors will rant about their rights or threaten legal action about the rule changes, but I have a script I can email you for speaking to them. Our lawyer drafted it, and she gave us letter copy we can send out if we need to.”

“What other kinds of calls should I expect?” she asks, as she positions the chair and sits down.

“Parents asking to speak to their daughters. Obviously, they can be put through. There’s a room list on the desk if you need the extension numbers to transfer them to.”

“And this is the transfer button I use first?”

She points it out, and I nod.

“That’s it. If you get any calls for me, take messages. I’ll check them at noon. You can break for lunch when you want, just make sure you put the answering machine on. I’ll log you into the reception email.” I put the PC on while she picks up a pen and opens a pad of lined paper.

“This is so exciting!” she taps the button to play the messages on the machine.

The first one is an angry rant, and the caller hangs up in frustration.

“Donor call?” she asks.

“You’ve got it. If they actually leave details, you can call them back and go by the script. If they don’t, just erase the message. I’ll email the script over once I’ve got you logged in. If you needto send out any emails this week, copy me in. Just so I can monitor things while you’re in the training phase.”

I’m probably giving her too much slack, but it’s not going to be possible to spend the day standing over her, showing her the ropes step-by-step. She’s enthusiastic and intelligent enough to work through problems on her own. I don’t think there’s much she could say or do to make anyone any angrier than they already are.

I log in to the reception email, and I’m almost surprised by how few emails are in the inbox.

That’s probably only because I’m the one the donors are pissed off with.

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