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1
VICTOR
“Where the hellam I gonna find a new assistant this time?” I threw my huge paws up in frustration. The rest of the alphas around the massive oval oak table just stared at me.
“You mean you ran off another one?” asked Trevor, sitting to my right, smoothing his hands over his Hermés tie as he smiled in amusement. I slammed my paw down on the table, almost breaking it. I shifted my paw back into a human hand.
“It’s not funny, Trev, this is my third assistant this year.”
“Maybe try not being such a damn lion all the time. All that roaring is making them all run for the hills, Mr. King of the Jungle.” I was a lion shifter and I was never afraid to show it. As the CEO of a multi-billion dollar athletic shoe and apparel corporation, I needed to make sure my voice was heard at all times, even if people didn’t like the volume. If anyone decided they wanted to oppose me, then they’d see my actual lion come out.
“Forget about it,” said Richie, “The scotch is fantastic.” He poured a finger of the rich imported scotch into a crystal lowball glass and slid it across the table to me. I caught it with one hand and lifted it in one fluid motion, taking a sip. It was smooth, strong, and smoky.
Our billionaires’ club had gotten together just to bullshit, as we did a couple times a month when our schedules allowed for it. It was an escape for all of us, to mastermind and sometimes just shoot the shit with a group of like-minded alphas with something in common; our money and power.
“What happened with that last omega, Trev?” asked Palmer, sipping his scotch and leaning back in his chair with a smug look.
“Omega number three-thousand five-hundred and six?” I asked, laughing.
“Something like that,” Trev replied, grinning devilishly. “She was alright. One of the ambitious ones. I could just see how badly she was itching to try and be my girlfriend, and then my wife.”
“Stick to the sugar babies, Trev. They’re more your speed.”
“Yeah, at least they understand the game.”
I gave him a little shove. “Asshole.”
“What about you, Vic? Anything interesting on your radar?”
I shrugged, looking out of the floor-to-ceiling windows at all the other skyscrapers in the city of Mondello, California. “I have my share of interested omegas, and I have my fun, but I don’t have the time nor interest in being an omeganizer. I have no desire for any of them to stick around long term at all. I have a company to run.”
“Someday, you’ll realize that life’s too short not to get your dick wet as much as humanly possible. We are filthy rich and powerful, after all. We deserve to live it up.”
“First of all,” said Brecken, the member of our club who was closest to being known as a “sensitive” person with “feelings,” “you’re disgusting. Second of all, we’re not all base animals like you.”
Trevor held his arms out wide. “Come on, man, yes you are. We all shift into something savage. We need to soothe our savage beasts.”
Richie laughed. “There’s no infusing any class into this idiot.”
“Someday,” said Brecken, “all of you are gonna meet that one omega that brings you to your knees. I’m gonna have a field day giving you shit.”
“Same’s gonna happen to you, Breck, and who’ll be laughing then?”
“Still me. I’m ready, unlike the rest of you filthy animals.”
Trevor raised his glass. “To our fated mates, the omegas who tame us, if indeed they do exist.”
“I’ll drink to that. Cheers.” We brought our drinks together in the middle of the table. The sentiment sounded okay, but I doubted I’d ever find an omega that held my interest for more than five minutes, let alone my fated mate to make me fall head over heels. That shit was for the movies.
We all ate our gourmet catered meal in Trevor’s sixtieth-floor conference room in his company’s skyscraper in downtown Mondello. We blustered and bullshitted for the next couple of hours, letting the scotch loosen us up. We were always busy, always on the go, so we played as hard as we worked.
When it was time to leave, we all clinked our glasses with one last sip of scotch and left the cleaning for someone else to do. We had more important matters to attend to.
I got in the back of my Rolls-Royce, which was idling, waiting for me on the street in front of the building.
“Back to the office,” I snarled at my driver. I was still sour about my assistant situation.
His eyes were wide in the rearview mirror. “Right away, sir.”
