Chapter 1
The very first thing that you do when you wake up is to check your phone. It’s an unfortunate habit that you’ve picked up--just like the rest of the professional world. Even though you clock in at 9, the workday never really begins or ends.
Sure enough, there are already two work-related messages blocking the faces on your lock screen wallpaper. The Media & Marketing departments are calling an impromptu meeting at noon. Waldo from your team is going to be out sick.
Looks like it’s going to be a long day at the office.
“Mmm’morning,” a sleepy voice mumbles from beside you while you read the texts.
You stick your phone back on the nightstand and partly roll over. Namjoon is resting comfortably in the sheets, blinking the sleep out of his eyes with a yawn. He smiles and reaches up, a long arm to pet a strand of your hair. His tan upper body is loosely wound in the white sheets.
“Good morning,” you say, leaning down to give Namjoon a little kiss. He smells different than usual. Must be because he normally smells like cologne and now he just smells...clean? Like nothing in particular.
Time to get up. You need at least 45 minutes to get ready for work and with all that’s going on today, you need to be there early. You toss back your silk covered duvet and hop out of bed.
“What time is it?” Namjoon asks, confused.
“A little after six.”
He props himself up on one elbow and struggles to talk through another yawn. “Leaving already?” The way that his sleep-heavy eyes follow your every movement tells you that he wants to ask you to come back to bed and cuddle for awhile. This is your first ‘morning after,’ after all, and he might be feeling a shift. Normally you send him off at night.
But there’s work drama. You have to go.
“Sorry, Joonie. Do you want a coffee real quick?”
He gives up fairly easily, climbing out of bed and beginning to dress. “No, it’s ok. I guess I’ll just go into work early.”
The way he says it--like it’s an absolute last resort and quite a bummer--makes you shake your head in amusement. You go in early nearly every day! It’s not unusual for you to meet men who have less professional ambition than you but it catches you off guard every time.
It’s not like you planned on being a career woman since you were young or anything, but now that you’re in that world, you’re going to give it your all. That’s just the kind of woman that you are.
Being a woman in the workplace is hard, but being an omega female in a mid-level position at a large company is even harder. You have to be on your A-game at all times. Any little slip-up, any sign of weakness, any second-guessing and you know that there are at least a dozen people just waiting to fuck you over.
Both figuratively and literally.
“Do you want to get dinner later?” Namjoon asks casually. You can see him pacing around behind you in the mirror as he gets dressed for the day.
“I can’t. Sorry.” You glance back at him in the reflection before starting the eyeliner on your second eye.
“How come?”
“I’m going out with some friends,” you retort at once. It’s true and it serves as an impregnable defense against any further plans for today. And thankfully it works. Namjoon gives an exaggerated sigh and comes straight up to your back, wrapping his arms around your midsection,
“Okay. Call me when you’re free,” he practically whispers against your ear. Then he kisses your temple and hovers until you turn to kiss him on the lips.
It’s a good kiss--he’s a hell of a kisser--but you don’t have time for morning romance no matter how handsome he looks with his dress shirt half undone and a mop of bedhead.
With one more quick peck to send him off, you turn back to the mirror and finish your makeup with a spritz of setting spray.
When you first got to work at 7:30 am, there were only three other people there: the Northwest Regional Manager, the Head of Financing, and your immediate inferior Kim Taehyung, Vice President of Purchasing.
You greeted everyone--always important to be extra polite when you’re under constant scrutiny from every side--made a basic plan of action for the day now that you had plenty of drama to take into account, and sent the secretary out for coffees as soon as she arrived at 8.
“Better get an extra one for her,” Taehyung joked to the secretary as she tapped today’s order into the Starbucks App. He jabbed his thumb at you sideways but you pretended not to notice. “It’s gonna be a long day. You know how she needs her caffeine.”
Was that a slight or a harmless joke to lighten the mood? You always have to wonder. Even the people in your own department aren’t all big fans of having someone like you as the President of Purchasing for the entire Northwest.
When you first got this office, you had a feeling of excitement and validation like you had never experienced before. This was the biggest promotion that you could have hoped for at this stage in your career. You got a huge raise, tons of new responsibilities, and a window office!
And even more satisfying, the final two candidates for the position were you and an alpha male. It was the ultimate triumph!
But that feeling lasted all of ten minutes before you were gracelessly reminded that you had not one, not two, but three strikes against you in many of your coworkers’ eyes.
Female.
Omega.
Relative.
It’s hard to say which one is the worst. They’re all damnable for a professional and when combined--yikes. Not that the CEO being your estranged great uncle has done you any favors, but still, those three words are all that most people will ever see you as.
Sure, you could have done a lot more to minimize the effects of those three handicaps, but its your choice not to take suppressants and it was your choice to keep your last name even though it highlighted the obscure relation.
You are who you are. You don’t see why you should have to change to be successful.
And besides, aside from the obvious issues with experiencing heats, choosing not to suppress has many benefits. You’ve never understood why people shit on inbred instincts so much.
But they do. That’s how it’s always been.
But you’re a big girl. You can handle it.
“Here you go, ma’am. I just got you one. If you want another coffee later just--” the secretary gives a perky quirk of the shoulders and smiles sweetly, “--send me again!”
“Thank you, Natalie.”
She does a ridiculous little courtesy in her business pencil skirt before she leaves your office.
Girls like her as always welcome in the office, you think, taking a sip of your coffee. Nobody has anything bad to say about cutesy beta babes.
But as soon as you think that, you feel bad. It’s not her fault that society is the way it is. She’s a great secretary. Maybe you should buy her lunch sometime.
The morning passes in a blur. With Waldo out sick, your entire department has to pick up the slack and this is an especially bad time because your quarterlies are due in just a few weeks. Being short on personnel right now is a special type of nightmare.
You don’t end up eating lunch until after 2. It’s in front of a LeanCuisine microwave meal that you finally notice Namjoon’s text.
Kim Namjoon 10:08 am”How’s work going gorgeous?”
Ahhh Namjoon. You take a big bite of your lunch and think as you chew. He’s a nice guy. Smart guy. Mature. And a good lay, too. He’s probably a pretty good match for you all around--both of you being financially independent professionals on the rise.
You met about two months ago at a more upscale lounge bar that one of your friends recommended to ‘change it up’ and have been sporadically seeing each other ever since. As your current dinner partner of choice, he is also booty call number one and vice-versa, but it’s been going on for a while and it’s starting to seem like he wants a relationship.
Last night was the first time that he stayed until morning.
The phone on your desk does a little hop as it vibrates over a paper clip. You typed back some standard reply a few minutes ago and he has already responded.
Kim Namjoon 2:21 pm”That’s good. You rushed me out so fast this morning that I forgot a sock.”
What a dork. Rolling your eyes, amused, you text him back promising to return it to him if you find it.
Having a serious boyfriend might be nice, you think as you scrape up the last of your lunch. That would make Mom happy. At 30 years old, your parents are starting to worry that you’ll never settle down and make grandchildren. They love to pester you about it. You know that they have the best intentions, but you don’t even know if you want to get married let alone having kids. Just because you’re an omega doesn’t mean that you have to procreate. It’s the 21st century!
Which makes Namjoon a great option. He’s a beta and he can’t get you pregnant.
Proceeded by a knock, Natalie pops her head back into your office around 3. “Excuse me. Sorry. Just so you know, I changed your 4:15 to 3:45 at the client’s request. You didn’t have anything else in that slot.”
“4:15?” you double check, glancing down at the planner on your desk. Looks like a new supplier meeting. Just a simple rundown before the shipments go out. It shouldn’t be a problem. “Okay. Thank you, Natalie.”
“Also--” the secretary hovers instead of leaving. She waits to go on until you turn your eyes away from the computer screen and onto her. “Also, the Regional wants a new hire in to replace Waldo by Monday. When would you like me to start interviews?”
What?! “Interviews?” This is news to you and you do not like being left in the dark. A disturbed flutter sweeps up into your chest and sets your heart thumping. “Since when are we replacing Waldo?” The fact that you didn’t hear anything about this means someone is trying to circumnavigate your authority.
Again.
“He called the office about an hour ago. Apparently,” she lowers her voice dramatically like she’s about to reveal a frightening piece of gossip, “he’s very sick. It might be cancer.”
“Cancer? Oh no...” His poor family! His poor, stay-at-home, omega wife is expecting if you remember correctly. The company provides good enough health insurance in most cases but if he’s off for too long, he likely won’t have the same position when he returns. You make a show of frowning sadly and trace a distracted fingertip over your left eyebrow. “What type? Did he say?”
“He said something but I don’t know what it was. Maybe cancer, I think.”
At first, you just stare at Natalie--not understanding--but eventually, you realize that she has no idea what is wrong with Waldo. He must have said some big words that she didn’t understand. It’s just as likely that he said some form of fungal infection or degenerative tissue disease as any form of cancer. Oh geez... With a heavy sigh, you ignore her mistake and press on to something within your control. “So they want to hire a temp to get us through quarterlies until he comes back?”
"If he comes back. It sounded bad.”
You’ll have to get more details on the Waldo situation from a more reliable source later on, but for now, you schedule initial interviews on Taehyung’s agenda for Wednesday. Whichever candidates make it through will face the final hiring committee on Friday morning, which you will personally attend.
Normally you don’t bother with the nitty-gritty of hiring temps. Taehyung does just fine in that area. But if someone is specifically trying to keep you out of the loop, you have no choice but to flex a little.
Staying late at work is a near daily occurrence--especially so close to end of the quarter--but you’re itching to get out in time for girls’ night. Luckily you send Taehyung home by 8 and you’re on your way to the club by 8:45 pm.
The girls are waiting for you. They already have a circular booth near the bar.
“Oh my god, hi!” Jenny croons, waving a thin hand while you’re still ten yards off. “Finally!” She’s obviously tipsy--giggling at the sight of you approaching in your work clothes.
“Hi guys, sorry.” You sling your bag onto the bench and scooch up next to Amber. A quick glance around the table tells you just how much you’ve missed. They’ve already finished eating and had a few rounds of drinks before the club started to fill up. It’s only 9:20 pm, so things haven’t gotten crowded yet, but Amber co-owns the place and she opens early for your monthly friend group get together.
“Did you bring clothes to change?” Jenny practically yells over the music and chatting that has just now become overbearing. Still, she could talk a little softer.
You glance down at your outfit and shrug. “What? Don’t I look cute?”
“Bitch, you’re the hottest thing here. Stop,” Amber chuckles. She raises her martini in salute and throws the last sip back. It’s not true but your girls always make you feel like a million bucks, even rolling into a club full of college kids with a white dress suit on.
“At least shake your head around. Poof your hair a little~” Jenny suggests, fluffing her own hair to demonstrate. “You look like the boss bitch. You’re gonna scare the boys.”
“Good,” you retort with a wicked grin. “I don’t want a little boy. Bring out the men.”
The girls laugh in agreement. Then someone asks you about Namjoon and you brush the questions away. “It’s just casual,” you wave your hand dismissively and smile. Maybe you’ll get together, but for right now you are single and you’re going to enjoy your evening.
You go to the bar for a whiskey sour and when you return the lights have dimmed and the place has filled up even more. As you brush by the throngs of young singles on their way to the bar or the dance floor, you can sense who’s who: fellow omegas--some sweet, soft, and deep like you, others with only a faint hint about them, clearly suppressing--alphas--the heavy, musky scent of open ones and the dulled warmth of those who choose to suppress--and the cologne or perfume of scentless betas.
A tall, skinny alpha boy with a strong shroud around him glances down at you as you slip around his side. Yuck, you think. Your face screws up at his scent and you hurry back to your table. Some alphas really stink.
Catching up with the ladies at the table is fun, but pretty soon the music is calling you. “Do you guys want to dance?” You look at each one of the girls around your table in turn. Jenny is sloshed. Amber is distracted with texts from employees, but she doesn’t dance much these days anyway. She’s constantly getting hit on by younger omega females if she makes an appearance. Minji and Sunny are up for it, though. You ditch your blazer and head out in just your lavender silk camisole and high-waisted white trousers.
Nothing takes your mind off of work drama like dancing. You feel so good getting around on the dance floor, letting your body just move on instinct as the music courses through you. It’s almost ritualistic for you. Plus, you’re damn good at it. You’re having fun, you look hot as fuck, and the boys are on you in a matter of seconds.
A nearly scentless omega male is in front of you, trying to keep your attention. He must be suppressed to the point where he can’t even tell that you’re an omega, too. Poor kid. You feel a little bad for these young kids who think they have to hide this part of themselves just to fit in. Looking at him is bringing your mood down, so you turn straight into the arms of the guy who’s been glued to your ass for the last five minutes. Without looking all this time, you already know that he’s a beta and he wears some very sexy smelling cologne.
Oh. And he’s handsome, too, you think appreciatively when you finally see his face. You grin up at him and toss your hair over your shoulder. A second later his strong arms are wrapped around your waist. “Hi!” you shout near his ear. The thrumming bass drowns your voice out almost completely.
Somehow he hears you. “Hey.” You feel his hands spreading out over your back, fingers pressing into your flesh as he gently pulls you closer. You like being close to guys on the dance floor but you don’t like to stop dancing. Your movements keep making your hip bump into his crotch. “Can I buy you a drink?” he calls into your ear after a few songs have passed and you’ve moved on to flat out grinding. He’s got a great body under those clothes--you can’t help yourself! Plus, he’s wearing a real Rolex so he must be pretty successful.
You give a bubbly little nod and send him off with your drink order.
But fifteen minutes later he still hasn’t returned.
Well shit... You’re stuck in between a pair of harmless betas and that sad omega boy with no drink and no hunk. Where the hell did he go? Your girls, too, have taken a break and are back at the booth. They look about ready to call it a night. Craning your neck to see above the crowd of bobbing heads, you try to make him out among the bar people.
It’s too hard to tell from here.
Normally you wouldn’t chase a guy like this, but he was pretty good looking and he seemed about your age, which isn’t always the case in these kinds of places. Fixing a few stray strands of hair, you worm your way out of the dance crowd and go to the bar to find him.
You scan everyone that’s gathered around the long bar but you don’t see him.
Maybe he left.
Damn it. He was hot.
Well...
You could still use a drink. Work was a doozy today and you’re getting a bit too sweaty to pass off as dewy anymore.
Coming up to lean your elbows on the dark mahogany of the bar top, you give the bartender a little wave and then wait your turn. He serves two girls before you who look barely legal and then, finally, it’s your turn. The bartender raises his eyebrow at you, ready to hear your order, but when you open your mouth to talk, someone else slips into the space beside you,
“Three shots of whatever silver tequila.”
Your mouth drops open, annoyed, as you turn on the form next to you. But when you see him, everything freezes.
That’s--
--it’s--
You don’t know who he is. You’ve never seen him before. He’s hanging halfway over the bar, pointing to random bottles of liquor and stealing your turn to be served. But he’s--
He’s your mate.
“Yeah, yeah. Yes. That one,” he’s instructing the bartender. Clearly, he doesn’t know his alcohols and the fact that he’s making you wait with this shit should be maddening, but all that occupies your mind at the moment is this primal, instinctual, gut feeling that he’s--
The One?
What the fuck? What does that even mean?! You stare at him as you second guess yourself. He’s got to be about five years younger than you. He’s completely oblivious to the fact that he cut you off--in fact, he doesn’t seem to see you there at all. He’s wearing light-colored jeans and some sort of black, wind-breaker bomber jacket.
The thing that you notice most of all, though, is his strange scent: some mix of cologne or strong deodorant and the telltale wisp of heavily suppressed alpha.
“Thanks.” He grabs the three shot glasses of tequila and looks as though he’s about to go, but then he turns back. He downs one of them and says, “And actually can I get two rum and cokes, too? Thanks.”
Oh lord...what...? You can’t stop staring at him. It’s like a trance.
You’ve had a lot of inexplicable intuitions in your life thanks to your refusal to suppress, but never anything like this. You’re hot all over, your heart is hammering like a nervous school girl with her first crush, and the blush that is creeping over your face is so warm you can feel it radiating outward.
It’s like everything inside of you is drawn to him like a magnet--like you’re trying to crawl out of your skin.
“Excuse me,” you say, reaching out a nervous arm. You have to talk to him. You have to know his name or something--anything! You lay your hand down on his forearm and watch with butterflies as he turns his head a little to finally look at you. When his glossy, ink-black eyes meet yours, you feel weak in the knees.
But then he looks away. “Oh yeah, sorry. One sec. He’s got ’em.” He jerks his chin in the direction of the bartender who returns a moment later with the two rum and cokes. “Thanks, man!” he says, flashing the bartender a short smile. He somehow manages to grab all of the various drinks and then just like that, he vanishes back into the crowd.
“Wait--” you call weakly as he goes. He doesn’t hear you and a moment later the back of his blonde head is gone, lost in a sea of other young people.
“What’s the matter with you, dancing queen?” Sunny teases when you collapse in the booth with your drink a few minutes later. “Done already?”
You nod. All of a sudden your feet hurt and your energy is sapped--well...sapped from your legs, at least. Your body is heavy as your mind races through the possibilities, and the tiny little bit of energy that’s left over is all pooling in a very embarrassing wet spot between your legs.
You wanted to follow him but you just couldn’t. You’re not twenty years old anymore. It would have been humiliating, so you held on to your dignity and retreated to the booth in a cloud of strange, moody emotions. What else could you have done?
“Did you get that guy’s number?”
Huh? Your head pops up at Amber’s voice. Did they see him too?! “Who?”
“Minji said you were dancing with someone for awhile.”
Oh. “No. I think he left,” you admit with a disappointed frown. But on the inside, you couldn’t care less. You had already forgot all about him.
All you can think about for the rest of the night is that boy at the bar.
By Friday morning you have done your best to forget that strange encounter. Omega instinct or not, there’s no way that that guy from the club could be your mate. It’s actually laughable the more you think about it. You certainly aren’t one to believe in fairy tales and the last thing you need is a rude child as your life partner.
Sure, he was very, very, very, very handsome and the memory of those eyes sends you off into a momentary daze every time that you think about them--
No.
If you’re going to get serious with anyone, it’s going to be Namjoon. He’s responsible. He’s just as good looking, and he’s been around for much, much longer. You’ve never even talked to that fuck boy at the bar. He flat out ignored you, so...
Nope.
“Good morning!” Natalie exclaims cheerfully as you stroll into the office. 8:15 am--pretty late for you even though you’re still 45 minutes early.
“Good morning, Natalie.” Your heels clip clip clip on the tile as you walk past her desk in the foyer.
“I love your outfit,” she gushes as you go. “Oh! You have the final interview panel at 9 sharp.”
“Thank you.”
A hot coffee is already waiting on the desk when you enter your office. You remind yourself again to take Natalie out to lunch sometime. She’s a sweetheart. Who cares if she’s a ditz?
A knock on the door interrupts you midway through the very first sip. “Come in.”
Taehyung comes in wearing a light gray suit with a pink tie. “Is it Easter already?” you tease, eyeing him over the rim of your cup as you take a better swig of joe.
“What do you mean? We match,” he notes with a satisfied grin, sweeping his eyes up and down your outfit. You don’t usually wear pink or lace but this particular blouse was just calling to you this morning. The fine white lace that runs in parallel lines up and down the middle of your chest matches the overlay on your skirt perfectly. It’s not a perfect match with his pastel get-up, but he’s basically right.
You smile, bested, and change the subject. “What’s up?”
Taehyung taps the edge of the manila folder that he’s carrying with his thumb before crossing the room to place it on your desk. “Names of the last two applicants,” he explains. “And resumes. Take a look real quick and meet everyone upstairs. The first one starts at 9:15.”
“Thanks--wait,” you catch, pointing a questioning finger at him. “Natalie said 9 sharp.”
“No, they delayed it to 9:15. See you up there,” he says.
Then he leaves you to it.
By the time the coffee is gone, you’ve skimmed through the files and it’s time to head upstairs to the conference room. You bring the manila folder with you. Your watch says 8:58 am. Better late than never isn’t in your vocabulary. Better early. Period.
And thank god you trusted your gut because when you arrive, the room is already filled. Taehyung and all of the other members of the hiring committee are already in their places around the long table. You shoot him a suspicious glare as you walk to your seat.
Taehyung just shrugs apologetically and mouths some excuse. Whatever it is, you don’t believe it.
“Ok? We’re all here?” the Head of HR begins diplomatically. He looks around the table one last time and then pages the front desk. “Natalie, you may send in the first applicant.”
In the silence that follows, you scan each face--wondering--Which one of these assholes is trying to fuck with me? You would never talk like that out loud, not in front of this crowd, but these corporate games really bring out the worst in you. Internally, at least. Had someone misinformed Taehyung about the meeting start time and just had him pass it along? Why would he have been here so early then?
Your gaze ends up back in your lap, sullen and frustrated. Not being able to trust the people you work with absolutely sucks.
The big doors on the far end of the conference room open, then, drawing you out of your thoughts as the candidate is ushered in.
“Thank you,” the Head of HR says to Natalie. She ducks out with a nod and when she goes, the line of sight between you and the candidate is finally clear.
Your eyes widen, stunned, and that rush of butterflies and instinctual magnetism bubbles up so fast that you have to bite your lip to keep from gasping.
It’s him!
“Yuta Nakamoto?” Everyone else at the table is glancing at his resume but you’re staring like a dumbstruck school girl--just like you did in the club a few nights ago.
Oh no... fuck...
“Yes. Hello. I am Yuta Nakamoto. Nice to meet you all. Thank you so much for taking the time to see me this morning.”
“Yes. Have a seat.” The Head of HR waves a hand at the free chair at the end of the table nearest the door and this guy--Yuta--respectfully obeys, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he bends to sit. He folds his hands on the table and looks around at the committee.
When his eyes get to you, you quickly look away--ashamed to have been caught staring in such a setting. The last thing you saw before you looked down was a faint smile ghosting over his face.
You pretend to examine his resume instead, desperately hoping that none of the other committee members noticed. The change in your outward appearance does nothing to calm the waves of emotional and instinctual arousal that are smashing around inside of you, though. Your heart is beating in your ears so loudly that you hardly hear the Head of HR as he begins the interview,
“We have a few questions for you, Mr. Nakamoto.”
