Page 1 of Executives' Omega
Chapter 1
~January~
Ibalanced my laptop on my knees, scrolling the latest job postings and opening any that seemed interesting in a new tab.
A bottle of beer appeared in front of me, making me jump in surprise. I fought to keep my laptop from falling and just managed to catch it.
“Christ!” I shouted. “Don’t scare me like that, asshole.”
“Sorry,” my alpha cousin, Owen, replied. “I thought you heard me coming back down.”
I closed my eyes and let out a long breath, then took the beer. “Nope. I was pretty focused.”
Owen sat on his futon—which doubled as his bed in his basement room—and opened his own beer. “Ryan, you know I don’t mind you coming over. But I would appreciate your company when you’re here.”
I sighed, shifted, and set my laptop on the floor. “Sorry.”
He shook his head. “It’s ok.” He paused and took a pull from his beer. “Ok, spill. You’re usually way more talkative.”
I ran a hand through my brown hair, then scratched my short beard. “Just frustrated.”
He frowned, set his beer on the floor, then walked over. He picked up my laptop and stared at the screen. “Still job hunting?”
“Yeah.”
“Want to come work for me? I need a delivery driver.”
“Thanks, but wouldn’t your boss get mad?”
He shrugged. “I really don’t think he’d care. It’s not like driving pizza around is a desirable nepotism job.”
I snorted. “I guess not… unless you’re a teenager.”
He laughed. “Not even. Insurance says no delivery drivers unless they’re over eighteen, and the owner wants them to be at least twenty-one so they have a few more years of driving under their belt.”
“Makes sense.”
“Job’s open if you want it,” he teased. “Drive around all day, make your car smell like pizza.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’d rather stick to desk jobs.”
“You sure? You never seem satisfied with them. Maybe it’s time to try something else.”
I sighed, motioning to my slender frame. “Look at me. I’m not exactly the type for trade work, and neither retail nor the hospitality industry is something I can handle. I’d screw up around a customer and be shown the door in record time.”
“You have to deal with people doing reception work, you know.”
“Not at the same scale. I answer phones and direct calls to the right person. I make appointments and give directions. I do filing. My work supports my bosses more than the public.”
“Ok…” he mused, returning to the futon and sitting. “No trade, no retail, no hospitality. That still leaves a lot of options.”
“Like what?”
“Realtor, travel agent, b-to-b sales. I’m sure there are different types of data analyst jobs or other desk jobs you can do besides reception and administrative assistant work.”
I sighed, stood, walked over, and plopped myself on Owen’s lap, curling against him.
He wrapped his arms around my middle automatically, holding me steady.
