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I feel it again. This time the chill is like ghost fingers are stepping down my spine.
I lift my hand and rub on the back of my neck, wishing I wore my hair down and in its naturally curly form. Instead of trying to look elegant and wearing it in a high plaited ponytail.
To finish the look, I complimented the blazer I’m wearing with wide legged trousers in a matching cream color. The cut hides my less than perfect thighs. Underneath my blazer, I’m wearing a baby blue top. My last attempt to look sophisticated.
I feel, with the navy high-heeled pumps, I’m looking the part of the professional woman. I want to look like the businesswoman I don’t feel I am.
Fake it till you make it.
And I could be an alpha, a beta. It shouldn’t matter that I’m an omega right now. My business is what I hope will speak volumes.
“You’re late,” a deep voice says in my ear.
My body responds to his voice with a deep shiver and I’m glad I’m wearing a panty liner to contain the slick that has gushed from me.
I try to hold it together before I spin and catch the pale gray eyes of the Professor. Then I inhale and smell buttery croissants, and my gaze wanders to the kitchen area.
“Only two minutes. The traffic was horrendous.”
“Two minutes of my time that I wasted waiting for you.”
“Then I’ll finish my pitch two minutes early.”
He smiles. “Follow me.”
I fall into step behind the Professor, my heels clicking against the marble floor as we make our way through the elegant crowd to a secluded corner of the room, away from prying eyes.
He turns to face me, his piercing gray eyes searching mine for any hint of weakness. I hold my shoulders back, which intensifies his gaze.
I don’t know who’s in control. Me or him?
“Begin. You have two minutes less,” he reminds me, his voice low and authoritative, reminding me he’s in charge.
I’m just glad he is focusing purely on my business and not on me, as Jake thought he would.
Taking a deep breath, this is my opportunity to get my business up and running. I gather my thoughts and begin my pitch as I take out a box which holds the first toy I created and then I take the toy I made for betas.
Sheepishly, I look around the restaurant before I take the toys out of the boxes and lay each one on the table.
“You should never be worried about what people think,” he says. “You have to be proud of what you’re creating.”
“I am.” I nod and give him a small smile. I’m happy for every small encouragement. “This toy is currently being tested by betas and the feedback is pretty positive.”
It’s a small lie.
The feedback from Sienna was mainly positive until she told me the toy stuck inside her and she felt like she couldn’t breathe until it deflated by chance.
But I never developed it to go in an asshole.
The toys have piqued the Professor’s interest. His eyes narrow, but he listens intently. But I’m not so happy about the small smirk lifting on one side of his mouth.
He leans back in his chair, an air of authority enveloping him. His gray eyes almost look silver under the lights. He stares like he’s searching for something beyond my carefully curated appearance.
“What are your sales to date? And your projected sales for the next three years?” he asks.
I swallow as I take a moment to gather my thoughts before launching into my well-rehearsed pitch.
“We have a manufacturing problem.”
