Page 16 of Building My Pack

"Bryce," a soft voice says as someone grabs my elbow. Chloe's worried expression comes into focus. "What's going on? Did he give you the day off?"

"More like the rest of my life off," I spit out angrily.

"No," she gasps. "Why would he fireyou, though? You weren't the one who did that to your own office."

"He fired me because I'm an omega and not a beta," I tell her, seeing no sense in hiding the secret anymore. "He's worried about getting sued for me using myomega wilesto influence alphas to buy houses."

"Oh, my God," she quips in disbelief. "He actually said that?"

At my quick nod, she adds, "There's got to be some law against this. It's discrimination."

"Well, I wouldn't bother wasting your time trying to find one!" I snap. "He could offer me a million dollars and a mule to come back and I wouldn't take the offer. He can shove this whole place right up Stephanie's bum where George has been hiding. If you need me, I'll be at home drowning my anger in the bottle of chilled Chardonay in my fridge."

She opens her mouth to say something else, but I don't give her the chance. Nor do I return the wave John sends my way as he steps out of his vehicle across from mine. I'll find a way to apologize to both of them later, but I'm going to try to make it home before I have a mental breakdown.

It feels like there's lead in my stomach, and I keep having to repeat Sean's word into my quiet car to help the floodgate of tears from opening up. Pulling into my driveway and putting my car into park, I give up. Screaming my frustration out until I'm out of breath. I'm so mad that I'd have steam blowing out of my ears if I was a cartoon character. On my way inside, the rose bushes that line the garden bed in front of my porch have been looking desolate for weeks now catch my eye. I'd called my lawn service several times and they've told me on numerous occasions that they'd take care of them. Yet, here they sit looking as pitiful as ever.

Without thinking about it, I start plucking dead branches and stems off with no gloves. Every thorn prick that slips into my finger fuels my anger until I'm yelling at the bushes as though it's their fault my world cracked in half and caught fire today.

I haven't even made it through the first one when a voice calls out from the side of the house, "Ms. Hartley?"

In hopes that if I ignore it then it'll go away, I keep plucking and breaking branches. A gloved hand reaches in front of me to tug my hands away from the bush.

"Miss?" the voice says again.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I look at him. A guy at least four years younger than I am stands in front of me with a concern written on his face. He's attractive with slate-grey eyes and longer blond hair pulled back into a slight bun. His white sleeveless shirt does nothing to hide the six pack he's got going underneath. Definitely not the muscles leading down his biceps into his forearms.

Then it hits me what a mess I must look like in comparison to this young, hot guy. I'm sure my crying has caused my makeup to run down the ruddy cheeks that are a typical reaction to my tears. My hands are dirty and bleeding. There's a long cut in my skirt which I have no clue how it happened. Oh, and let's not forget that I'm now a jobless, fat loser.

A sob bursts from my chest and he catches me as I'm dropping.

Chapter 9

Bryce

This must be what a mental breakdown feels like. When reality flashes from one moment to the next and you can't remember how it happens. Both my brain and my heart hurt from the beating they've taken today, and I can't seem to stop crying. Leading us over to the porch steps, the stranger doesn't let go even as we take a seat. He keeps an arm thrown around my shoulders, letting me cry into his shirt. There's a very prominent smell of a man who's already been working hard in the humidity of the morning but underneath, it's more soothing, making me relax into him further. The one time I've ever been to the beach was last year and it's easy enough to remember the way the ocean air always had a fresh, salty fragrance to it. Something akin to nothing that can be bottled and sold. Now, here sits a man who smells just like it. A man that's total beta if I'm guessing right. His presence doesn't come off as strong as an alpha.

Calming down has the shame start setting in. "Oh, my God," I start lifting my face and sitting up straight to put some distance between us. "I'm so sorry. I don't normally freak out and cry on strangers." Then it really hits me. I have no clue who this man is. Soothing scented beta aside.

He shrugs as he brings his knees up so that his elbows can rest on them. "We all have those moments. I mean, I don't think I've cried on a stranger either, but we've experiencedthosefeelings that caused you to do it."

"Well, I'm grateful you were so prepared to deal with the crazy. Even if I don't know who you are," I tell him.

Laughing under his breath, he apologizes, "Sorry, I didn't about that. I'm Kit with your lawn care service."

I take his offered hand and shake it. "I'd give you my name, but it seems you already know it."

"Yeah, the boss is a stickler for making us know client's names. Better for more personal business, you know?" he states with a soft smile.

"Sure," I tell him, more than a little dazed by how attractive he is.

A couple minutes of comfortable silence pass by, and I close my eyes, listening to the birds in the trees. My stomach is still in knots and my chest hurts from the anxiety of the morning, but I can enjoy this small sliver of peace before I have to open my eyes and have the world fall to dirt around me again.

Kit gives me as much time as I need and waits until my gaze finds his again before asking, "Anything it would help to talk about?"

Teasing, I retort, "So, you're a paid therapist now, too?"

He laughs quietly again. "Sometimes. I'm a man of many ventures."

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