Page 9 of The Knotty Omega

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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. Theycan’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 amprotectedin that.” I give her a pointed glare. “I take TruBond — alegalexperimental 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. Thiscan’tbe happening. Maybe I really am sick and this is just a fever-induced, hyper realistic hallucination. The Knotty Omega column is mybaby.

“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 countrydoesn’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.

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