Page 6 of One for the Money
But am I really?
This man is a strange Alpha, I am alone with him in a confined space, and his hands are on me.
History says this is not a position I want to be in.
I struggle out of his hold, and he lets me go easily, watching me curiously as I get my fear response under control.
“Please refrain from dragging me around,” I say quietly, but firmly. “You shouldn’t be putting your hands on any of your employees, but I need to make it clear nowthat I cannot and will not be touched without my consent.”
Jude scrubs a hand down his face, having the decency to look a little sheepish. “Look, Alex,” he begins.
“Since you seem to have forgotten professional courtesy, you can call me Dr. Shields,” I interrupt.
He rolls his eyes, flopping into a leather chair behind a small desk in the corner of the room.
I can take in the trailer now that I’ve calmed the flight response that threatened to overwhelm me. The door I entered opens up to a sitting room that has a couch, a television, and a desk in the corner. I see two small doors off the back of the room, which must be the bedroom and bathroom. On my right is a small, half-kitchen that is bereft of dirty dishes.
Work and play in one space, it appears. I assume I will have to do the same.
“Dr. Shields,” he says, voice tight. “I don’t know what kind of trick you’re trying to pull here, but clearly this partnership is not going to work.”
“I’m not pulling any tricks, Mr.Oliver.” I sit across from him, in one of the chairs in front of his desk. “You never once asked my sex, my gender identity, or my designation. Your employment agreement does not stipulate what my designation must be. You have no valid reason to end our contract.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, shutting his eyes, and I take the opportunity to get a good look at the man I will be working for.
Jude Oliver is massive, with broad shoulders, a rounded belly, thick thighs, and hands like dinner plates. He’s wearing a blue striped shirt and a pair of worn jeans that are stretched tight across his legs. He’s got a head on me in height, at least, and I’m not petite for an Omega. His skinis a rich brown, covered with shiny white scars. His dark, curly hair falls to his chin, and he keeps it tucked behind his ears.
He’s handsome and has such strong Alpha energy that I suspect if I were off my suppressants, it would bowl me over.
I’m aware that I’m in his space, and I should be able to catch a hint of his scent, but my suppressants not only make it hard for others to recognize my pheromone profile, but also for me to register the smell of theirs. Right now, even though I am grateful that he cannot take in my scent, something in his presence makes me want to go off them so I can get the complete picture of Jude Oliver.
“Do you even understand what you’re getting yourself into?” he finally asks after a prolonged, awkward silence. “This is a circus of Alphas. We have Betas on the crew, but overwhelmingly, the talent that you’d need to treat are Alphas. Forgive me for being crass, but how are we supposed to accommodate you during your heat cycle? A rutshow isn’t the kind of show we put on here.”
I picture him in an old-school ringmaster outfit shouting “Welcome to the RutShow!” to a crowd of screaming people. The visual almost makes me laugh out loud, but I squash it and refocus on the situation at hand.
“It is illegal to deny employment on the basis of designation,” I remind him. “But regardless of that, I am on very strong suppressants. My heat will not be a concern, not that I am obligated to share that information with you.”
He props his elbow on the desktop and rests his chin in his hand. “Is that why I can’t smell your pheromones? I can tell you’re an Omega, but it’s a blank spot after that.”
My face heats with a fierce blush. “Why do you assume I would wear my pheromones like a perfume, Mr. Oliver?”
He blanches and pushes back from the desk. “I didn’t… I don’t… Fuck, see? This is why we can’t have an Omega here. These guys are crass. They’re assholes. This place is not somewhere for someone with delicate sensibilities. They’re going to eat you alive.”
Delicate sensibilities.
He doesn’t know who the fuck he’s talking to, if he thinks I’m delicate.
He couldn’t survive half the shit I’ve been through.
I grit my teeth and tighten my hands into fists, speaking slowly so I don’t get labeled an over-emotional Omega again. An Alpha can kick and scream all he wants, and he’s just passionate, with leadership potential.
I firmly assert my boundaries, and I become difficult and hysterical.
“I am qualified for this job. I am so qualified that you hired me sight unseen. You need a doctor, and I need to get away from Goldcrest. Do you think it’s been easy being an Omega doctor?” He stares at me blankly, which further pisses me off. “Do you? I was the only Omega everywhere I went. Medicine is almost exclusively Alphas, and I spent all of my schooling and residency having to prove to people that I was just as good a doctor as they were. I’m a great doctor, not despite my designation, but because of it.”
I push back the chair and jump to my feet, crossing my arms over my chest as I stare down the Alpha, who is gaping at me like I’m speaking another language.
“Now, are you going to show me to my trailer, or should I wander around opening doors until I find it?”
