Page 4 of One Last Chance

“I have a call in a minute. Need to go,” I say firmly. Now that I’ve dealt with this, I need to get back to work. “And please, never put Riley in a position to keep things from me, alright? She is my secretary. I am her employer. You can’t just make her a part of your illegal match-making service,” I add, feeling like if I don’t, Mother would think I'm angry with her.

She chuckles. “Of course. But she was the one who suggested the restaurant. Said you enjoy eating there. The girl is perceptive.”

I roll my eyes.

“The girl works for me. She’s paid to be perceptive. She is also engaged. Goodbye, Mother,” I mumble out of annoyance and end the call. “God,” I whisper to myself and rub my face. The reminder for the incoming business call pops up in the corner of my screen.

In an attempt to get my head back in the game, I sip my cold coffee and focus on my reflection. I loosen the tie a little and study my beard. It’s getting too long. The salt and pepper that found its way on it—thankfully not on my head just yet—makes me look older than I’d like. I will have to find some last-minute appointment to get it trimmed if I want to make this person’s dinner at least a little worth it. Even if nothing will come out of it.

Fighting the heavy feeling telling me there is no point in even hoping, in expecting anything but another disappointment, I roll my head back and take a deep breath.

She didn’t even tell me his name.

A male omega, huh?

My chest tightens, differently to the usual anxiety. A familiar sensation, coming from somewhere deep within. It’s been too long… It has been too long since I felt the warm sense of satisfaction. Comforting, steady.

The phone rings, springing my attention back. I straighten my back in the seat, clear my throat, and hover my hand over the phone. If there is one thing in my life I feel fully confident in, it’s my work. Let’s forget about this foolish date and get back to making things happen.

“Rowland Hall, speaking.”

Chapter 3

Dayton

Fuck…I feel like I’m going to throw up. Why am I so nervous?Checking myself in the shop's reflection again, I shift on my feet, staring at the message I just sent.

Are you sure the address you gave me is the right place?

Cursing her in my head for not responding straight away, I look up again. If this person is really meeting me in this ritzy part of the town, in a restaurant like this, am I going to be completely out of place?

My entire outfit is a disaster. I’m glad I wore my fancy trench coat, but the patterned shirt might be too casual.

Was I always this lanky? My hair is somehow a mess, even though I barely have two inches of it. I should’ve taken my septum piercing out. He’s going to think I’m some punk—some idiot who tries to look hip to compensate for his withering youth.

I don’t even know how he looks. I should’ve made Mom send me a picture or something. This is ridiculous.

Of course it is. Thought you said you didn’t care. ;P It’s sooo sweet how anxious you get before dates. I really have a good feeling about this one!

Easy for you to say. You met the love of your life in school and stayed with her.Unfortunately, not all of us are that lucky. Not all of us believe in some fated mate, or pheromones magically bringing two people together. And even those who do don't always receive the privilege.

Life is hardly what we want it to be.

Once I notice the time, I feel the contents of my stomach—the croissant, coffee, and a pack of strawberries I had at work—threaten to spill out. I hurry across the street, to the restaurant a few buildings down. The city’s lights shine bright against the night sky. The air is as cold as I would expect for this time of theyear, so I hope it is the reason I’m shaking, and that it will go away once I get in.

The restaurant, Brickland Grove, has an impressive array of decorative, dry grasses and flowers twisting all around the entrance, making it seem like some luxurious jungle. After all these years of working hard, I thankfully make just enough to afford to eat at a place like this, but it definitely wouldn’t be my first choice. I hope the drinks are good, at least.

Standing in front of the entrance, I purse my lips and draw in a deep breath. The low whistle I make is my stupid way of calming down, and it works, mostly. Determined to not stall any longer, I grab the door and…push instead of pulling.

The host near the door sees me struggle and quickly jumps in to open it for me.

The date didn’t even start and I already want to end myself.

“Sorry. H-hi,” I mumble, trying to make my voice deeper and more stable than it is. People like me don’t go to places like this. One glance and I see fancy couples and groups, all holding themselves like royalty, drinking expensive wine and exuding the confident aura of privilege. “I’ve got a reservation. Hall, I believe.”

The man is good at hiding whatever judgment he must have made about me—he’s probably paid well enough to not care. Nodding, he steps to his terminal and taps on it a few times while I anxiously run my eyes across the room.

There area lotof people. Unsurprisingly, a pretty heavy mix of pheromones, too.

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