by Aiden Bates
His mood improved even before he exhaled his next breath, as he set about making himself a pot, measuring out the grounds and filling the pot with water from a filtered pitcher. He flicked the switch on, leaning against the side of the counter and listening to the familiar, soothing sound of the coffee pot gurgling to life and preparing his drink.
Even as he looked forward to the coffee, and the comfort and energy that he would no doubt glean from it, his whole body felt off-kilter, like he hadn’t fully recovered from his panic attack the previous night. His back was sore, though that was to be expected from how sick he’d gotten at the restaurant, and if that was all that had felt off about him, he might have been able to just ignore it and deal until he could go home and rest. But there was this peculiar, off-balance feeling, like he was leaning but wasn’t, and he couldn’t place why he was feeling the way that he was. And he was just so warm, he noted as he tugged at the collar of his shirt. His exhaustion wasn’t helping, though he couldn’t place precisely why he felt as tired as he did. He had slept, though it didn’t feel like it, and it was almost as though his limbs were weighed down with lead for how lethargic and heavy he felt.
He wanted so desperately to take off his jacket and roll up the sleeves of his shirt, but he had a meeting starting in a little over half an hour, and he had to keep his suit intact for it. And the journalist interview that he had scheduled for today…and all four of the client appointments that he had after lunch. With a groan, he rubbed at his temples, strongly debating on taking two more Tylenol capsules in the vain hope that they would help him feel at least a little more normal.
His day had barely started, and it was already long.
Still, he coped, and even as he fixed himself a cup of that delicious smelling coffee in preparation for his day, he managed a smile when there came a knock at his door, signaling that the first of the people that were attending this meeting was arriving. When they barged in the door before he could answer it, complaining about their day without greeting him, that smile grew significantly more forced, but he managed to keep it there. He took a seat at his chair and took a deep breath, counting down the seconds until the meeting was over and trying not to think about the fact that it technically hadn’t even started yet.
It was absolutely going to be one of those days.
Once everyone had actually shown up for the meeting, it went surprisingly smoothly, and had even ended a few minutes early, much to his delight. Pleasant as it was to have a few more minutes to himself before he had to address the next item on his agenda, it did nothing to make him feel less like he was burning with fever. He made a mental note to grab some cold medicine to try and combat whatever bug it was that he had caught to make him feel the way that he was feeling. With the end of the first meeting of the day came a chance for him to have another cup of coffee—or two, in his case, draining his first cup in four long gulps. The first meeting hadn’t been anything of incredible import, merely the morning meeting they had twice a week to assess how the company was progressing on its current projects and where there was room for improvement. It was easily the most straightforward meeting that he would have to attend today.
The interview to take place within the next half an hour or so was one that had been scheduled a week ago with a journalist that had requested to interview him specifically for an article about Omegas in the business field. He’d really only agreed to it because he knew of the publication that the journalist worked for—Subversive Submission was an Omega-centric publication that helped fight stigmas surrounding Omegas—not the least of which was the idea that they were too weak or too submissive to be effective leaders—while also frequently working with charities to help keep Omegas independent and safe, including funding shelters for those who were displaced or those with disabilities that needed assistance. One such charity was what had helped him get his first temp job when he was at his lowest point, so any way that he could give back, even if it was just for a fluff piece about how great Omegas can be in leadership positions, he was more than happy to do so.
Still, he couldn’t help the way that his skin tingled in anxious anticipation, wondering what on earth the interviewer was going to ask him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was going to need to work even harder to exude an air of calm professionalism than normal for the interview; he was clearly not feeling entirely himself, and he could already tell what energy he had gleaned from the copious amounts of coffee that he had consumed was already starting to burn out. It was motivation enough for him to reach into the cabinet below the counter, pull out his oversized thermos, and pour the remainder of the pot of coffee into it along with a generous amount of sugar. No sense in any pretense at this point; he was going to need more than a coffee cup.
To pass the time, he pulled up his pending approvals and began to look over them, arbitrating over each that he felt he could make a solid decision on, until his phone went off again—this time from the secretary’s line.
“Mister Thomas, Miss Wilson is here to interview you.”
“Please bring her in, thank you.” He sighed softly into his thermos before taking another drink as he flicked the button to cut the line. Setting his thermos down on his desk and straightening his jacket, he took a few deep breaths to mentally prepare himself for the interview. A few moments later, there came a quiet knock at his office door, and he stood to answer it. “Ahh, thank you for coming, Miss Wilson,” he greeted the smartly dressed woman that stood at his doorway. She inclined her head with a professional smile, adjusting her glasses with the hand not carrying her briefcase.
“And thank you for accepting my request for an interview, Mister Thomas,” she said politely as he led her into his office, gesturing for her to take a seat at the chair in front of his desk while he sat behind it. “I have to admit, I was afraid that you would be too busy for one.”
“You happened to catch us just as we finished up one of our major projects, Miss Wilson.” He said with a smile, resisting the urge to take a drink of coffee; why was it so difficult to just be a professional today? He felt a spark of agitation at the thought but managed to quell it as he folded his hands in front of him. “I always like to take time to answer questions people might have—anything I can do to help the public realize that having an Omega at the helm doesn’t hurt business, it is a worthy investment.” She smiled brightly.
“Then we’re of the same mind in that regard,” she rummaged in her bag and pulled out a tape recorder. “I’m recording the conversation starting now, so I can most accurately quote from the interview for the article.” She set the recorder on his desk, in plain sight, and tapped the red button to start the recording function. “I figured that was a no-brainer, but I like to do all I can to have full disclosure with people I interview, so they’re never wondering what’s going on.”
He nodded in understanding. “I’m glad of it—transparency is something of a rarity in some circles, but I’m glad that you’re taking such important steps.”
“Of course,” she said with an emphatic nod. “I’m a little new to all this, so I’m a bit nervous—pardon if I stutter or repeat a question.”
“You have nothing to worry about—we’re all new once.” He laughed and took a drink of his coffee. At least the interviewer was nice, that was a relief. He could go through this, and perhaps take a nap on his lunch break. Maybe that would be enough for him to regain some of the energy that he seemed to not be able to hold onto today. Now he was sure he was coming down with something.
“Thank you.” She smiled and leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Right then,” she cleared her throat. “Let’s begin, yes?” He nodded. “Good, good. Now then, you’ve been the CEO of Principium Finis Industries for the last two years, and you’ve managed to bring the company seemingly back from the brink.” She started with a soft ball question—typical for an interview such as this. “How did you manage to accomplish such an impossible task? Nearly every market expert in the
industry was convinced that Principium Finis was, well…finished.” He had to refrain from twitching the corner of his eye at the reference to many of the headlines that had all thought they were their own brand of clever back when he had started out in the company—‘Principium Finis is Finito?’ ‘Principium Finis is Finished!’ All different brands of the same message that he had fought desperately to prove wrong—and nearly entirely fueled out of spite for those headlines.
“I wish I could say that it was solely on my own shoulders, but that would be doing my team and my employees a criminal disservice.” He set his thermos down. “The people that I have under my employ are some of the most tenacious and creative individuals I’ve had the pleasure of working alongside and leading. For however many problems I observed in the company on my way up, my employees have found an elegant and cost effective solution for them. Though, I imagine you want an answer specifically to how I managed to lead the company out of turmoil.” He took another drink of his coffee. “I had every intention of working my way up to the top, and I knew that I had to be observant about the road there. I took note of every problem I saw in every department, paid close attention to every sinkhole the company was losing money from, so that when I made it to a position where I could do something about it, I knew exactly what the issues were.”
“That’s…rather to the point, but the results are hard to argue against.” She noted, tapping her chin in thought.
“I’d tried to bring up the issues beforehand as well, though management had an...alarming knack for making issues someone else’s problem while not giving them any tools to succeed in fixing them.”
“From former employees’ accounts, that was a large part of why many of them had left,” the journalist commented idly. “How difficult was it to persevere against such indifferent management?”
“It was a constant struggle just to get through more than half of our projects without there being some roadblock that we had to overcome in some way that management would either approve of or just not outright refuse to allow us to do. More often than not, the solution we came up with was one that management just didn’t hate, so we ran with it before they could change their minds.”
“Sounds almost like you had to fight your way to the top.”
“Tooth and claw.” They shared a sensible chuckle. “Honestly, I managed to luck out; more than half of the board were simply retiring by the time I was poised to take over as CEO, and what few holdouts there were left on principle.”
“Because they were loyal to the former CEO?”
“Because I’m an Omega.” He grimaced. “Many of them were convinced that my taking over would be the death of the company and didn’t want to watch the ship sink.”
“So you rose to the position with almost no support?”
“None,” Myrick sighed and drank more of his coffee. “Just as well; it was a fresh start, a clean slate. For the company, and for myself.”
“Has it been easy to find people that you can rely on in the company?” He considered the question for a moment, unsure of what to say. He relied on a lot of people to get things done, and they had yet to let him down in that regard, but was that a good enough answer?
“When I looked out to each of the departments after I took this position,” he began slowly after another moment to contemplate his words. “I saw several leaders present themselves, many of whom realized the flaws in the systems that the company had in place at that time. So I reached out to them, let them know that I supported choices and changes that would benefit their teams, that would make their jobs more efficient.” He leaned back in his chair. “Even team leaders need to know that someone has their back and their best interests in mind. It does wonders for their work.” He shrugged. “I may be their boss, but I’m still on their team. I don’t look for problems so I can take things out on my employees; I look for solutions that can ease their burdens.”
“Is that why you recently promoted one Tristan Chefant to be your new vice president?” She tilted her head. He flinched, if barely, though he should have guessed that this was where the conversation was going to go.
It always did.
“Mister Chefant was chosen because he was the best man for the job.” Myrick fell back to a generic, though no less true answer, hoping that that would be the end of it. “He has tenure leading the marketing team through several successful campaigns—”
“And he’s an Alpha,” the journalist supplied, as though that was helpful. “Surely showing the world that Alphas can listen and follow the commands of an Omega played a part—”
“As I’m sure you’re aware,” he cut her off, his tone as candid and calm as he could manage when she was, however inadvertently, undermining him and his leadership skills—diluting them down to, ‘the Omega wants his turn in the spotlight,’ and he didn’t much care for where the conversation was going. “There are laws in place that stop me, as well as any other employer from hiring or promoting someone based on any demographic that they have no control over—such as what someone presents as when they come of age.” He gave her a pointed look, and she withered ever so slightly under it. “Mister Chefant being an Alpha has nothing to do with why he was offered the position, and his status as such has not affected his work in any way.” He smoothed his hands over his pants. “I have complete confidence it will stay that way.”
“Yes, of course,” she said in a voice that only broke slightly, though it was enough for him to note. He must have made it clear enough to her that this was where the conversation ended, because she cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders. “Ah, one last question then, if you’ll indulge me.” He nodded. “What are your goals for the company?” Probably the safest question she could ask, and a decent enough place to bring the conversation to its conclusion, though his mood had soured considerably.
“Without tipping my hand too much,” he said, rolling his shoulders, “the company is always looking to expand, and there are a great many exciting projects on the horizon.” He smiled thinly. “I hope our clients look forward to it.”
“I see,” she smiled in an almost guilty way, as if she had realized that she had tried too hard to push a narrative that was not welcome in this space, as far as he was concerned. “Thank you so much for your time, Mister Thomas.” She leaned forward, plucking the recorder off of his desk and switching the button off. “I think this was an interesting interview, to say the least.”
“I hope you got enough for your article.” He said, a polite rewording of, ‘I’m not answering another question from you so kindly see yourself out,’ and she must have caught on, shaking his hand and beating a hasty retreat, closing the door behind her. He heard her heels clacking against the floor outside in a brisk walk, and he breathed a sigh of relief, rubbing at his temples and wondering if it was too soon to take more Tylenol.
He was going to need more coffee either way.
Thankfully, lunch was taken in solitude, and more Tylenol was taken with lunch because the hell with it. It was apparently going to be the day that tested whatever nerves managed to survive yesterday’s emotional breakdown. He’d debated on going to have his lunch with Tristan to have conversation that he would actually enjoy for the first time since…well, since the last time he had talked to Tristan today. He opted to just stay in his office and enjoy what quiet he could get before the remainder of his day was completely filled with noise, meetings, and a gaggle of other things that he would just have to deal with, so he took his quiet moments where he could.
It was when he had finished up his lunch and began to work in preparation for his next meeting when he heard someone approach his door. He had a sudden urge to just hide under the desk and pretend that he wasn’t there but knew how completely baffling and unprofessional that would be on his part. So, he forced the urge down. The agitation and need to hide dissipated when he realized he recognized the brawny mass on the other side of the frosted glass of his door.
“Hey, boss?” He he
ard Tristan on the other side of the door call out as he knocked. “You got a second?” Myrick spared a glance at the clock on his computer, pleased that he still had about fifteen minutes until his next appointment.
“Come in, I’ve got time,” he called while drinking the last of his water from lunch. He was glad for a distraction, something that would let him think of something other than work and how tiring everything was to him today.
“Thanks, boss,” he grinned as he stepped inside and shut the door behind him. “Sorry to bug you, I know your schedule is packed today.”
“No, no, by all means,” Myrick waved a hand, an easy smile forming on his lips without him even thinking about it. He seemed to be doing that with increasing regularity whenever Tristan was around, though he pretended not to know why that was the case. “I could use a friendly face.”
“I’ve got a bit of business to handle, I’m afraid,” he smiled apologetically.
“Well, that is what we’re here for. What have you got for me?”
“Mostly just some documents that need your approval, honestly.” He slid a folder he’d tucked under his arm out, and Myrick was surprised that he hadn’t seen it before. “They’re nothing too taxing, just look them over, and if they look good, sign off on them so I can get ‘em off my desk.” Myrick nodded, and Tristan walked closer to the desk to hand him the documents.
As Tristan neared his personal space, Myrick’s head suddenly felt...light, like he had a sudden rush of blood that his body couldn't adjust for. He was aware Tristan was speaking—he was discussing the fact that some of the materials that were used could be purchased wholesale cheaper from a different manufacturer with the same quality at half the cost, but his words seemed far away, and eventually faded, overcome from the rushing of blood to his ears. He was suddenly very glad to be sitting, for he felt wrong, like he was nauseated and warm and it was suddenly very hard to swallow around his swollen tongue. Breathing was doable but difficult with the air suddenly feeling too thick, clogging his lungs like tar.