Chapter 7 A surprise
Claire's POV
I stared at the blinking cursor on my screen, mechanically clicking "send" on yet another résumé—the fifth one today, the umpteenth one this week. Each application felt like shouting into a void. My inbox was a graveyard of rejection emails and automated responses, all variations of "Thank you for your interest, but..."
The pharmaceutical companies that had once courted me during my final semester—impressed by my research on rare werewolf neurological disorders—now wouldn't even grant me a phone screening.
After four hours of this futile exercise, my eyes burned from staring at the screen. I stretched, wincing as my spine cracked in protest. The cheap desk chair Jennifer had rescued from a sidewalk wasn't doing my posture any favors, but furniture upgrades were the least of my concerns.
A new email notification appeared with a familiar automated subject line: "Regarding Your Recent Application." I clicked it without much hope, scanning the polite corporate rejection. This one at least had the courtesy to be personally signed rather than a generic HR address.
As I moved to close my laptop, a sudden warmth bloomed in my mind—the distinctive sensation of a mindlink connection opening. My mother's gentle presence brushed against my consciousness.
Claire, sweetheart? Her voice, though only in my mind, sounded strained.
Mom? Is everything okay? I instinctively sat straighter, alert to the tension in her mental voice.
It's your father... A pause, heavy with implication. The doctors say his condition is deteriorating faster than they anticipated. Without the specialized treatment...
She didn't need to finish the thought. Without the treatments we couldn't afford, my father would slip further away, his consciousness trapped between human and wolf, unable to fully inhabit either state.
How much more do we need? I asked, though I already knew the answer would be beyond our reach.
Another forty five thousand for this month alone. Her mental voice wavered. Claire, I'm so sorry. We've drained everything we had for your education.
My throat tightened. My parents had sacrificed everything to send me to a prestigious university, determined that their Omega daughter would have opportunities they never had. Now my father was paying the price for that investment.
Have you considered asking Adrian? Her question was hesitant, delicate. I know things have been strained between you since graduation, but he's your mate, and his pack has resources...
A bitter laugh escaped me before I could suppress it. My mother didn't know—I'd never told her about Adrian's public rejection, his cruel proposal afterward. I'd been too ashamed, too hurt.
Don't worry, Mom, I assured her, forcing confidence into my mental voice. I'll figure something out. Dad's going to get the treatment he needs. I'll visit soon, I promised. Give Dad my love.
As the mindlink closed, I slumped in my chair, the weight of responsibility crushing down on me. My eyes burned, but I was too exhausted to cry. I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyelids, trying to think through the fog of despair.
Warm hands settled on my shoulders, squeezing gently. Jennifer stood behind me, her expression mirroring the concern I felt through our roommate bond.
"That bad?" she asked softly.
I nodded, letting my head fall back against her stomach. "Dad's getting worse. They need another more money this month for the treatment."
Jennifer's hands stilled. "Shit, Claire." She didn't ask where we'd get that kind of money. We both knew the answer was: nowhere.
"I'm sorry I can't help," she said, genuine regret coloring her voice. "If I had anything..."
"I know." I reached up to squeeze her hand. "It's not your burden."
But it was mine. Looking back at my screen full of rejection emails and pending applications, the walls seemed to close in around me. Was this how it would end? With me crawling back to Adrian, accepting his disgusting terms just to save my father?
The thought made my skin crawl. Adrian's smug face swam before my eyes, his voice echoing in my head: You'll come crawling back eventually. They all do.
The computer chimed with a new email notification, startling me from my dark thoughts. Probably another rejection. I clicked it automatically, expecting the usual form letter.
Instead, I found myself staring at an interview invitation from VM Group. For a secretary position I hadn't even applied for.
"Secretary Position?" I read aloud, confusion momentarily displacing my despair. "Interview scheduled for tomorrow at 10 AM."
Jennifer leaned over my shoulder, scanning the email. "Holy shit, Claire. Look at the salary!"
The figure made my eyes widen. It was nearly triple what I'd expected to make in an entry-level pharmaceutical position, more than enough to cover my father's treatments and still leave something for living expenses.
"This has to be a mistake," I muttered, searching my sent applications folder. "I never applied to VM Group."
"Who cares if it's a mistake?" Jennifer exclaimed. "Go to the interview! What's the worst that could happen—they realize they invited the wrong person and you wasted a morning?"
She had a point. And we both knew I had no other options.
"I don't even have anything appropriate to wear to an interview at a place like VM Group," I protested weakly.
Jennifer was already halfway to her bedroom. "You can borrow my charcoal suit, the one from my cousin's wedding. And those black heels I never wear because they make me too tall. They'll be perfect."
Thirty minutes later, I stood before the mirror as Jennifer fussed with the suit jacket, pinning it where it hung too loosely on my smaller frame.
"There," she said, stepping back to assess her work. "Conservative but not matronly. Professional but not boring. You look like secretary material to me."
I smoothed my hands over the unfamiliar fabric, trying to ignore the flutter of anxiety in my stomach. "Do you think they'll ask why I'm applying for a secretary position when I have a degree in pharmaceutical research?"
"Just say you're looking to broaden your experience," Jennifer advised, handing me a pair of simple pearl earrings. "Or that you admire the company's mission. Make something up—it's not like you have better options right now."
She was right. Again.
The next morning, I left our apartment an hour early, determined not to be late. The VM Group headquarters occupied the tallest building downtown, its gleaming glass facade reflecting the morning sunlight like a beacon.
As I entered the soaring lobby, my confidence wavered. Executives in tailored suits strode purposefully across polished marble floors. Security guards with military posture monitored multiple checkpoints. Everything about the place screamed wealth, power, exclusivity—a world far removed from my own.
I approached the reception desk, forcing myself to stand tall despite my borrowed clothes and mounting anxiety.
"Good morning," I greeted the impeccably groomed receptionist. "I'm Claire White. I have an interview at ten o'clock for the secretary position."
She tapped briefly at her keyboard, then nodded. "Yes, Ms. White. You'll need to check in with security for a temporary badge."
As I turned toward the security checkpoint, something caught my eye—a large corporate logo mounted on the wall behind the reception desk. The stylized logo of VM Group was immediately recognizable, but it was the smaller emblem beside it that made my blood run cold.
The Crescent Moon Pack symbol—the same one Adrian wore on his cufflinks. The same one emblazoned on the Crescent Moon Pack's official communications.
My steps faltered as realization dawned. VM Group was owned by the Crescent Moon Pack. This wasn't a legitimate opportunity—it was another of Adrian's cruel games. Perhaps he thought if I was desperate enough to sell myself to Theo, I'd be desperate enough to accept his terms now.
I considered walking out immediately, but a small, stubborn part of me refused to give him the satisfaction. Better to face whatever humiliation he had planned directly than skulk away like a defeated omega.
With renewed determination, I approached the security checkpoint, prepared for whatever trap awaited me upstairs.