Mated by Contract to the Alpha Chapter 36

Rebecca's POV

My hope evaporated as I read his message: [I'm busy. Won't be home for a few days. Don't worry, I'll still honor the contract terms.]

My eyes stung with fresh tears. That's all I was to him—a contract. An obligation. Nothing more. I felt foolish sitting there in lingerie that no one had seen, waiting like some lovesick teenager.

I fell back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling as sunlight began to filter through the curtains. The sting of rejection throbbed through me, but beneath it, something else stirred. A determination I hadn't felt in a long time took root. My jaw set as I made a decision.

I couldn't keep depending on Dominic. I couldn't keep living as an extension of someone else, first William and now him. I needed to stand on my own feet, find my own way. I needed a job—a real one, not just being someone's companion or assistant.

By seven, I was showered, dressed, and sitting at the kitchen island with my laptop, my fingers tapping rapidly on the keyboard as I scanned job listings. Retail associate, administrative assistant, receptionist—I applied to everything I was even remotely qualified for, tailoring my resume for each position. I had sales experience from my time at the boutique where I'd worked through college, and I hoped that would count for something.

Diana arrived at eight, her eyebrows rising in surprise when she found me already up and working.

"Good morning, Miss Brown," she greeted me, setting down her purse. "You're up early. Can I make you breakfast?"

"Good morning, Diana. Just coffee, please," I replied, not looking up from my laptop. My voice sounded steadier than I felt. "Have you heard from Mr. Sterling?"

Diana hesitated before answering, her eyes darting away from mine. "Mr. Sterling informed me he would be away on business for a few days. He asked me to ensure you have everything you need."

I nodded, pressing my lips together to keep them from trembling. "I'm fine, thank you. Just catching up on some work."

Diana busied herself in the kitchen, and I continued my job search. By noon, I'd applied to over twenty positions but received no immediate responses. My enthusiasm was beginning to wane, my shoulders slumping with each rejection email, when an email notification popped up.

[Dear Ms. Brown,

Thank you for your interest in Silver Collections. After reviewing your application, we would like to invite you for an interview at our boutique in the Sterling Plaza Mall this afternoon at 3:00 PM. Our starting salary is $25 per hour plus commission, which we believe is competitive for the luxury retail sector.

Please bring your resume and portfolio if applicable.

Regards,

Steve Johnson

Store Manager]

I read the email twice, my pulse quickening, a smile spreading across my face for the first time that day. The salary was significantly higher than I'd expected for a retail position, almost double what I'd earned at my previous job. Sterling Plaza Mall was one of the most exclusive shopping centers in the city, catering to the wealthy elite—including, I assumed, many werewolves.

I replied immediately, confirming the interview, and spent the next hour preparing my portfolio. I had digital copies of most of my designs, and I quickly assembled them into a professional presentation, my confidence growing with each file I added. Then I carefully selected my outfit—a simple black pencil skirt, a cream silk blouse, and modest heels. Professional, but still stylish enough for a luxury retail environment.

"I'm going out for an interview," I told Diana as I gathered my things, smoothing my skirt nervously.

She looked up from the kitchen counter where she was preparing lunch. "Would you like Raymond to drive you?"

I shook my head firmly. "No, thank you. I'll take a rideshare."

The last thing I wanted was to arrive at an interview in Dominic's car with his driver. This job—if I got it—would be mine, something I achieved on my own merits.

---

Sterling Plaza Mall was a massive structure of glass and marble, housing only the most exclusive designer boutiques. I felt distinctly out of place as I walked through the gleaming corridors, my heels clicking on the polished floor.

Silver Collections was tucked between a high-end watchmaker and a designer shoe store. The boutique's façade was elegant—muted silver with the store's name in flowing script above glass doors. Inside, the lighting was soft, highlighting display cases of exquisite jewelry and accessories.

I approached the counter where a perfectly coiffed saleswoman stood. "Hello, I'm Rebecca Brown. I have an interview with Steve Johnson at three." My voice came out more confident than I felt.

The woman's eyes swept over me, assessing my clothes, my hair, my posture. "One moment," she said, picking up a phone and speaking quietly into it.

A minute later, a door at the back of the store opened, and a middle-aged man emerged. Steve Johnson was balding, with a round face and a protruding belly poorly concealed by an expensive suit. His eyes, small and dark, studied me with an intensity that made the hair on my arms stand up.

"Miss Brown," he said, extending a hand. His palm was damp with sweat. "Right on time. Please, come to my office."

I followed him through the store, uncomfortably aware of the way his gaze occasionally dropped to my legs or lingered on my chest. I resisted the urge to cross my arms over my body. In his office—a small but lavishly decorated room—he gestured for me to sit.

"So, Miss Brown," he began, settling behind his desk. "Tell me a little bit about you."

I launched into my prepared response. My voice grew steadier as I spoke. As I spoke, Steve's eyes never left my face, but there was something in his expression that seemed off—as if he was listening to my words but evaluating something entirely different.

"And you have design experience?" he asked when I finished.

I nodded, opening my portfolio on my tablet. My fingers trembled slightly with nervousness. "Yes, I studied fashion design before personal circumstances forced me to pause my education."

Steve glanced at my designs with surprising speed, barely seeming to register them. "Very talented," he murmured, though I doubted he'd looked long enough to form any real opinion. "But I'm more interested in your... presence."

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. "My presence?"

"You have a certain quality," he said, leaning forward. I could smell his cologne, too strong and slightly cloying. "A grace that our clientele would appreciate."

The interview continued with surprisingly few questions about my actual qualifications. Steve asked about my availability, whether I had reliable transportation, and if I had any issues working weekends. The entire process felt strangely perfunctory, as if the decision to hire me had already been made before I walked through the door.

Then, abruptly, his nose twitched, and he leaned closer, inhaling deeply. I froze, my body tensing as I suddenly remembered that werewolves could smell things humans couldn't.

"You have an interesting scent," he said, his voice dropping. "You smell like... Do you have werewolf friends, Miss Brown?"

My heart skipped a beat. My mouth went dry. "I know some werewolves," I admitted cautiously. "Is that a problem?"

Steve smiled, but the expression didn't reach his eyes, which remained cold and calculating. "Not at all. In fact, it might be an advantage. Many of our best clients are from the city's wolf packs."

He closed my portfolio and slid it back across the desk. "Well, Miss Brown, I think we've seen enough. The job is yours if you want it."

I blinked, surprised by the abrupt offer. "Just like that?"

"Just like that," he confirmed. "In fact, I can offer you even better terms than advertised. Thirty dollars an hour, plus five percent commission on all sales. We can start you tomorrow."

The salary was incredible—far more than I'd expected. It would allow me to help my family and save for my design courses. Yet something felt off about the whole situation. My instincts were screaming at me that something wasn't right.

"That's very generous," I said carefully, studying his face for any clue to his true intentions. "May I ask why you're offering me more than the advertised rate?"

Steve's smile widened, showing too many teeth. "Let's just say I have a good feeling about you. I think you'll be... exactly what we're looking for."

Despite my misgivings, I couldn't afford to turn down such an opportunity. My father's recovery, my brother's debt, my mother's needs—all of it required money. "Then I accept. Thank you."

"Excellent!" Steve stood, going to a cabinet where he retrieved a garment bag. "This is your uniform. We require all staff to wear our signature silver and black attire. Be here at eight tomorrow morning, and Melissa will show you the ropes."

As I left his office, uniform in hand, I heard Steve on the phone behind me.

"Yes, it's her," he was saying, his voice low but still audible. "She has his scent all over her..."