Page 3 of Feeling the Heat: Part Two
Camille,
Thank you so much for meeting with me today. I don’t know how to say this, but we won’t be able to offer you a position at DesigNation.
There’s an article on Alpha Net that has gained traction over the past few days. One we weren’t aware of until after your interview. I’ve provided the link in case you’re also unaware of it.
I feel sick writing this, and while you have no reason to believe me, I tried to advocate on your behalf. Mr. Diaz is adamant that he doesn’t want to associate the DesigNation brand with the discourse on this subject. I can’t express any more of my thoughts here, but if you’d like to discuss this with me privately, I’ve provided my personal contact information below.
Again, I’m truly sorry that we won’t be working together again. I wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors.
Sincerely,
Alex Montgomery
Dread courses through me as I read, then re-read the email. The link stands out to me like a beacon. What could it possibly be? I’m terrified to click on it, but confusion and worry win out.
I gasp as the page loads and I’m confronted with my Pulse PR website headshot, and a giant headline.
Designation Deception: Omega Lies Create a Dangerous Workplace
What. The.Fuck.
I close the link before I can read any more, heart racing.
I can’t believe this. Did I do something to cosmically piss off the universe?
I swallow down the bile rising in my throat and open the link again, scrolling further down. I can’t focus enough through the pounding of my heart to read it, but words pop out at me.
Old Omega.
Omegas make the workplace toxic.
Got what she deserved.
More regulation of designation.
At the bottom, it shows how many likes and comments the article has gotten.
22.4k likes and 400 comments.
Oh god. A whine tears out of me, and I drop my phone, then stumble into my nest and burrow under the blankets.
Tears spill down my cheeks as I futilely try to soothe myself. I dig out the t-shirt I’ve had wedged in my pillowcase for months, pressing it to my nose in a pathetic attempt to get a hint of Jackson’s long-faded scent. It’s a good thing I left my phone in the other room, because the urge to call him or Ambrose and beg for them to come hold me is overwhelming.
A rough sob punches out of me as grief from losing their pack mingles with everything else crushing me.
I’m a pathetic old omega who is the laughingstock of the internet, with no job prospects and nowhere to turn.
I cry until I pass out, my omega whining over and over for someone to save me, even though I know I’m on my own.
2
In the light of day,my reality is only marginally less devastating. My throat is sore, and my eyes are puffy from hours of crying and whining, and all I want to do is spend the day wallowing in my nest in the dark. But not doing the bare minimum to take care of myself will only make things worse, so I force myself to shower and eat enough so I can take my meds. The last thing I need on top of the shitshow that is my life is my heat suppressants failing because I missed a dose.
As I head into the living room, I almost step on my phone, sending it skating across the laminate when my toes collide with it.
Goddammit, now my toe hurts, and with my luck, I cracked the screen.
Tears well in my eyes as I squat down and grab the phone. Thankfully, it looks intact, but that doesn’t stop the tears from spilling down my cheeks as I check my notifications.
