Page 71 of Heat & Deceit
And that’s as close as we’re willing to get to admitting we both feel more than we should. Carmine’s a beta...or is she? Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe we’ve been so set on finding an omega, thinking that, because most packs find happiness with omegas, that’s where ours would be too. There are societal expectations for alphas to mate with omegas, but alphas mating with betas isn’t as radical as it used to be.
Am I really thinking about this? We hardly know anything about her. Maybe it’s time to remedy that and discover everything there is to know about Carmine. There’s still a chance she’s an omega in hiding, but even if that’s not the case, there’s something in her past worth knowing.
One way or another, I’ll find a way to figure her out.
Nineteen
ROME
The in-depth background report takes seven days. Carmine doesn’t have a sister. She had a brother, at one point. A family that appears to be distant, based on everything I found from scouring the internet over the past week. Her social media presence is almost nonexistent, but that’s not surprising. Carmine seems like a private person. She’s not the type to showcase her life with photos and videos.
According to the paperwork, Carmine is one-hundred-percent beta. But who is she buying the suppressants for? A friend? Why lie and say it’s for a sister? Something doesn’t feel right.
The phone on my desk rings. I snatch it out of the cradle. “Yes?”
“Your parents want to see you in their office,” my assistant tells me.
“I’ll be right there.” I hang up and scowl at the phone, wanting to do anything but go talk to my parents. Seeing as they run the company, and I’m a lower-level manager, I have no choice. Not unless I want to start drama, and I’m not in the mood for family bullshit. Grumbling, I push away from my desk and head to their office.
My mother is perched on the edge of the desk, wearing an all-white power suit. She’s smoothed her curls back into a ponytail, and she’s wearing just the right amount of makeup. To an outsider, she’s picture perfect, but I know what lurks beneath. The same greed and ruthlessness that my father wears like armor. Where my mother is polished power, my father is haphazardly put together. His button-up is wrinkled, which I’m sure is pissing off my mother, but with the white lab coat he’s wearing, none of that matters. The coat demands respect.
“Good morning,” I tell them both, going to give my mother the kiss on the cheek she expects.
She hums as my lips brush over her skin. “It’s nearly afternoon,” she tells me as I step back and take my seat. The office chairs were two grand each, but there’s no relaxation to be found sitting across from my father.
“We know you’ve been stealing,” he says without preamble.
Of all the things I expected to hear, that wasn’t it. I remain calm, keeping my body still and maintaining eye contact with my father. “Oh?”
His features darken. “Oh?”
“Rome,” Mother cuts in. “Why would you do such a thing? You know this company will be yours someday. You can’t just steal from it—”
I scoff, and her mouth snaps shut. She has the audacity to act like she’s never taken a dime from the company? I’m not an idiot.
“Save me the lecture, Mother. I know you’re taking money.”
She huffs. “There’s no proof of that.”
“Are you sure?” I lift my eyebrows and look at my dad. “Any auditor would catch that sloppy bookkeeping.”
“Don’t change the conversation. We’re here to talk about your transgression.” My father shakes his head. Here comes the guilt trip. “I never thought my own son would steal from me. From your mother.”
“Yeah? Well, I never thought my own family would be so comfortable being crooks,” I snap. “Do you know how much a month’s supply of—”
“Oh, spare me your bleeding heart,” Father says with a laugh. “This is a business.”
“And it’s the only company that produces Zylotil. That medicine can save lives, and you think it’s okay to charge three hundred dollars a pill?” I grip the arms of the chair to keep myself grounded.
“Rome, you work in a different department. Perhaps you don’t realize this, but laboratory costs—”
“Are not that expensive,” I counter before Mother can finish.
She sighs, the sounds long and full of disappointment. “Just tell us why you’re stealing. Apologize to your father, and we can move on from this.”
This is a joke. They want me to apologize? Absolutely not.
“I’m not apologizing for giving the community the medicine it needs.” Not after watching that documentary on how the pharmaceutical industry is causing more harm than good. Guess which company is the worst culprit when it comes to charging too much?
