Page 11 of Pack Choice
An alpha bark is pretty impossible to ignore. The order penetrates straight through my nervous system and down towards my toes. My legs slow.
Damn it. Before I can fight the response off, he’s by my side, his hand on my elbow.
“You really don’t like having a chaperone, do you?”
“I like Phil, my usual chaperone,” I clarify, shaking off his hold, even though it feels warm against my skin, little sparks of electricity darting down my arm.
“I’m just doing my job.”
“Well, can you do it a little less obviously? I don’t want the first impression everyone has of me to be this meek little omega who can’t protect herself. It’s hard enough finding a job as it is.”
Which is only partly true. It’s not like I’ve spent months and months searching. I messaged Mack, and he said yes. Perhaps that label spoiled omega isn’t as wrong as I make it out to be.
Still, I don’t want my work colleagues to think I’m any less capable of doing the job just because of my designation.
To my surprise, Ford takes my feedback on board, and steps behind me.
“Thank you,” I say, inhaling as I push through the glass doors at the bottom of the tower and stride up to a receptionist waiting behind a huge desk. Her hair has been curled to perfection, her lipstick is a striking red and her outfit sharp.
I peer down at my blouse and skirt and realize I’m going to need to up my game.
“Can I help?” she asks, looking me up and down before her eyes stray towards Ford and linger there.
“Yes,” I say loudly, recapturing her attention. “I have a meeting with Mack Turner at 11 am.”
Her gaze falls to the computer screen resting on the desk and she clicks the buttons of her mouse. “And you are?”
“Molly …” I hesitate. “Stormgate.”
The receptionist’s eyes leap straight back up to my face and she mouths the word ‘Stormgate’ slowly, before returning to gape at Ford.
The Stormgate name has a completely different effect on women than it does on the majority of men. Whereas on men it acts as a repellent, on women it has them swarming like bees around nectar. The Stormgate pack is legendary in this city. Wealthy and hot. And very much in love with their omega.
“Is he ready to see me?” I ask.
The receptionist jolts and picks up the telephone, holding up her forefinger to indicate for me to wait.
She presses some buttons, whispers into the receiver, then replaces it on its cradle. “If you could just sign into the visitor’s book,” she says, turning it my way, “and put on this lanyard,” she slides one across the surface, “then make your way up to the 15th floor, Mr. Turner will be waiting for you there.”
I begin filling in the book, when I hear her address Ford next.
“Can I help you, Sir?” she practically purrs.
“I’m with Miss Stormgate,” he tells her.
“Oh, you’re not on the visitor’s list.”
“I don’t think Mr. Turner will mind.”
“I think I’d better–”
I don’t let her finish, grabbing my lanyard and bleeping both me and Ford through the security gates.
As we wait for the elevator, I sling my new lanyard around my neck.
“I think she was hoping I’d have to leave you behind with her,” I tease, peering up at Ford who has adopted his soldierly posture once again.
“And yet you chose to take me with you,” he says, eyes swiveling to meet mine.
