Page 67 of Pack Rivals, Part One

"Is this a date?" he says with no hint of a smirk.

"No." I roll my eyes. "This is meant to be a job. A job that will allow me to pay the bills."

"It is. It will."

I stalk closer to his desk, trying with all my might to hold my breath. "Is there even a job or is this some ploy to …" I wave my hand through the air unable to find the words.

"Yes, there is a job. Mrs. Finch has been asking me for some time to find her an assistant. So I have."

"I knew this was too good to be true." I should have known when there was no interview involved. Who hires someone without meeting them first? Someone as stupid as the person who accepts a job without meeting their employer first.

"It's a real job," he says seriously, leaning forward and dragging his keyboard towards him, "and it pays real wages. You'll be working for Mrs. Finch, not me."

"You're not playing fair," I say with frustration.

"Sweetheart," he says, his silver eyes meeting mine, "I never do." When I glare at him, he rubs his hand across his chin. "Look, you said you needed a job. You said you were finding it difficult to find one. I'm only trying to help. I have no other motivations here."

I stare into his eyes and search for the truth. He meets my gaze without flinching and the intensity of it has me glancing down at my toes.

"Honestly?" I whisper, tired. I really need a job.

"Bea, honestly."

I peer up at him. "Any funny business and I walk."

He smiles. "I'm wondering what you mean by funny business, sweetheart."

"That! That is what I mean by funny business," I cry, wagging my finger at him.

He chuckles, and the door opens behind me.

"Mr. York," Mrs. Finch begins. "I'm sorry if Miss Carsen–"

"It doesn't matter, Mrs. Finch. Just a misunderstanding. Miss Carsen's keen to start, aren't you?"

"Yes," I say with determination. "I am."

* * *

I suspectMrs. Finch believes this arrangement is as fishy as I do. As a consequence, she sets me through my paces, throwing a string of instructions at me like rapid fire and giving me no time at all to write notes or take account of what she's telling me. When she's finished with her instructions, she sets me to work, asking me to file a stack of paperwork and type up a load of notes within the next two hours. I do it in one and her mouth twitches with what I hope is admiration. We continue in this fashion through lunch and into the afternoon, she setting me more and more challenging tasks and me meeting each one.

It's good for the ego and the soul. My job at the diner was never stretching and Karl would never let me do anything else. He was the breadwinner, and he said there was no use in me finding another job as I'd be staying home to raise our kids eventually. It's good to know I can do this stuff.

The only spanner in the works comes in the very large shape of Axel York. Every now and then he wanders out of his office to talk with Mrs. Finch or he'll pass through on his way to a meeting.

Although he takes no notice of me, I'm pretty certain his eyes fall my way each time and his gaze automatically warms my skin. Then there's his scent too. It lingers in the air the whole time, but whenever he's near it intensifies, setting tingles racing across my skin. I shuffle on my seat uncomfortably each time, trying to ignore the way my body feels and the way he speaks so confidently and assertively, issuing orders like a general on a battlefield. It's insanely hot.

Mrs. Finch eyes me each time this happens and I wonder if I'm one of many omega assistants Axel York has enjoyed torturing in this way.

At five o'clock, Mrs. Finch approaches my desk, where I'm tidying up a spreadsheet for her.

"Time to go home."

I glance at the large clock ticking on the wall above her desk.

"Already?" On the whole, the day has rushed past. All except the moments Axel has been present, then time seems to stretch out and warp entirely.

"Yes, already."

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