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Sheryl gave me a knowing look. “I know he can be a little intimidating, but he’s a good man and respects his employees. No need to be afraid—”
“Jesus Christ, that was intense,” a new voice interrupted.
A short, plump blonde stood on the other side of the desk, her green eyes gleaming with excitement as she stared at me. The scent of petrichor and damp Earth accompanied her; a fellow wolf shifter.
Any residual tension from Mr. Ambrose’s attention seeped out of me. I couldn't quite make out her unique scent, but just knowing that another wolf was here was enough to settle my nerves.
“Managed to catch the boss's attention, huh, newbie?” the woman asked.
“Be nice to her, Agnes,” Sheryl warned, glaring halfheartedly at the newcomer. “I’m going to leave you, Aria. You need anything, you call me, darling. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am. I mean, Mrs. H.”
Sheryl left after another pointed look at Agnes, who was still staring at me.
She stuck her hand out. “I’m Agnes Louison, but everyone calls me Aggy. You’re Aria Gribald, the new receptionist, and awolf.”
I blinked. It wasn’t a question—she knew exactly what I was. “Right. Nice to meet you, Agnes—“
“Aggy,” she corrected.
“Aggy,” I amended. When I opened my mouth again to ask her what the deal here was, the phone rang.
I glanced at it in horror.
Aggy giggled. “I’ll be back later, newbie. Have fun.”
After that, my day flew by.
One would think that after an interview process like the one I had gone through for this position, I was going to be privy to top-secret information or something. Instead, I’d spent my present-day answering calls from women claiming to be pregnant with—or have previously had—either Azazel or his eldest son, Sariel’s, child.
Sariel Ambrose had never been in the media, was rarely in the public eye, and didn’t attend events with his family. The likelihood of him siring a random woman’s child was slim to none.
Plus, everyone knew Azazel was obsessed with his current wife of thirty years. Lucy Ambrose was it for him, and he was never afraid to let the world know.
At some point, I had even fended off calls from journalists and writers claiming to have some next big story. I could relate to the desperation of wanting to get a story out, or at least getting someone to appreciate what you’ve written, but bombarding one of the biggest media houses in the world with calls was crazy.
I settled into my job pretty easily. It’d taken me a while to get a hang of the system, but Mrs. H was patient with me, and Aggy had even swung by to have lunch with me.
My work day ended with a call from Maximus DeGale, author of multiple international bestsellers, two of which had been turned into movies in the last decade. He was the only openly supernatural author that I knew of. The vampire had admitted to writing some classics under a different pen name during an interview a few years ago, but still wouldn’t reveal what said pen name was.
Needless to say, I considered my first day a success.
Rebecca was waiting for me in my apartment when I got home. A bottle of chilled white wine and a box of pizza waited with her.
I sometimes thought that giving my sister my spare key was a terrible idea, but other times, I come home to this, and then I’m reminded of why I had given her the key in the first place.
“So? How was it?!” she asked excitedly.
Rebecca was one of the most jovial people I knew. Her entire personality was preppy and happy. It made me dizzy with how excited she could get over the simplest things.
She had managed to remain a bubbly person through everything we had gone through during our teenage years, and was now happily married with two little girls who were exactly like her; tiny, beautiful balls of energy who enjoyed driving their father crazy, sometimes convincing their mother to go along with whatever sinister plan they devised during the day.
Well, sinister for three-year-olds, in any case.
Rebecca managed a clothing store on the other end of the city, but kept her own hours, so she always had time for her family. Harry, her husband, worked weird hours as a firefighter and was always on call, which made Rebecca’s job perfect.
“It was good.” I sighed, taking the glass of wine from her and reaching for a slice of pizza. “Great, actually,” I breathed around a mouthful.
