by Dawn Steele
“True. But I have interviewed two other candidates, both of whom are in their thirties. They have plenty of experience as well and a couple of Clio awards to their credit.”
Jake’s spirits sink to his boots. OK, who was he trying to kid when he thought he could land this job at the most prestigious of shifter ad firms? He hasn’t even won that first Clio award yet, though it is being rumored that his creative Purina for Wolves ad would be up for nomination the next round.
“But . . . ” Peter lets this trail again.
Jake has never heard so many ‘buts’ in the span of two minutes before and his emotions are on a yoyo.
Yes? he wills Peter to say something positive.
Peter continues, “I like you, Jake Savage. I think you have plenty of chutzpah. You know the word? It’s what my father used to say – that young man has chutzpah.”
I have chutzpah! thought Jake. Great! Now is it going to land me the job ahead of those evil, Clio-winning, thirty-something candidates?
Peter says, “So I would like to propose something. My wife has organized a weekend getaway for our family members at our summer house in Brixforth by the beach. There’s nothing like getting to know someone over a relaxing weekend, wouldn’t you say? I have already invited the other two candidates and their spouses. Good wolf families, both of them. I would like to invite you and your wife to our little do. Nothing fancy, just casual wear all along. What do you say? Would you like to come?”
Jake’s eyes go round.
Would I like to come? And he’s going to make a decision between the three of us after the weekend?
He says faintly, “Uh, my wife?”
“Of course. I’d never dream of asking my possible future employees to abandon their wives on a social occasion. We have family days all the time. A man without a wife is a rudderless man, my father would say. He always stressed the importance of family. You are married, are you not?”
Ummmmm . . .
The wheels in Jake’s head turn quickly. So quickly they are practically blurs. If he doesn’t say something right now, maybe he will even get uninvited for the weekend. Might as well declare a walkover and hand the job to the other two candidates, whoever they are.
“I’m married,” he says before he can stop himself.
Huh?
Okay, he tells himself, you can deal with it later. His pulse rate is accelerating. Shit, shit, shit. What do I do for the weekend now? Who do I actually bring?
“Excellent!” Peter beams. “Do you have a photo of your wife?” He gestures to the framed photographs around the office. “As you can see, I’m very proud of my family.”
That much is obvious.
“I . . . uh . . . ” Jake begins.
“The other candidate who was here earlier, Jeff Hirsch, was showing me pictures of his beautiful family. He has a baby on the way.”
“Uh . . . ” Jake hurriedly takes his cellphone out. “I have a photo of my wife. It’s not a very good one, but we, uh, have a healthy relationship.”
He presses the camera icon and the first photo which flashes out is Terry’s rump pose.
Gawd!
Jake feels like banging his head repeatedly against the glass table.
How do I get into these things?
Peter chuckles as he takes Jake’s iPhone. “She is certainly what my father would call a dish in his day.”
Kind of, Jake thinks. If she’s not throwing dishes at him.
“She’s, uh, one of a kind,” he allows.
“It really does look as if you have a healthy physical relationship,” Peter says admiringly. “It must be great to be young again.”
“It is. Comes with a lot of energy and verve . . . which is . . . great for the boardroom as well.” Jake smiles his most winning smile.
Jeff Hirsch. He must Google the name and see if the guy is on LinkedIn. If he a shifter as well? Wolf?
“So I’ll be expecting you then, Jake.” Peter stands up and offers his hand for Jake to shake again. “Get the details from Sam. He will give you the GPS coordinates on how to get there, though you probably have your own wolf’s honing instinct. Looking forward to seeing you then.”
“I won’t miss it for the world.”
“And your wife too.”
“Uh, yeah. I won’t forget to bring her along.”
Jake is beginning to wonder if he can make an excuse for the non-presence of his ‘wife’. Menstrual cramps? Family emergency? Sudden attack of appendicitis? But what if he shows up without someone on his arm and Jeff Hirsch shows up with a pregnant-at-almost-term-so-you-have-to-give-me-the-job wife?
Decisions . . . decisions . . .
In a sudden burst of panic, he lets himself out of the door to meet the smiling Sam, who is probably already primed to expect two new guests to the weekend retreat.
He is cornered.
Now how the hell is he going to convince Terry Contralto, who thinks he is lower than kitchen sink scum, to be his pretend wife for the weekend . . . and possibly longer than that if he gets the job?’
6
Terry looks at the array of items laid out painstakingly on the floor. She wonders how much they would fetch at a garage sale. Thank goodness Burt didn’t take any of these, but maybe he didn’t recognize their value.
There is her mother’s music box – an antique family heirloom passed down the Contralto women for four generations. She supposes it will fetch quite a sum at an antique store. But oh, her heart prickles at the thought of parting with it! She would never hear the end of it from her mother!
But what if Shep loses his place in college over something as trivial as non-payment of semester fees?
Then there is her platinum necklace. Burt was obviously more interested in hard cash than to take anything flimsy. Or maybe he didn’t recognize platinum when he saw it. The necklace was given to her by her father on her sixteenth birthday before he was killed in a car crash the very next day, and so it holds a lot of painful memories.
Tears pool in Terry’s eyes and she blinks them back fiercely.
I won’t, won’t cry!
A knock comes on her door. She lets out a click of exasperation and hastily wipes her eyes with the back of her hand.
She raises her voice as she strides to the door. “I thought I said I’d have the rent for you by tomorrow!”
Hang on. She has learned her lesson. See who it is first, then open – to avoid those awful door shoving encounters.
She peers through the peephole, expecting to see the swaggering specter of Dwayne outside. To her surprise, Jake Savage stands out there, looking as handsome as ever in the clothes he wore this morning. What is he doing here at this hour? Shouldn’t he be at work?
And what is he doing at her door anyway? He can’t want to borrow a cup of sugar. She doesn’t even know if he cooks. She doesn’t know anything about him at all, come to think of it, other than he works in a high-profile advertising job which requires him to tap at his keyboard at weird hours in the early morning.
His expression is – for want of a better word – sheepish. A sheepish wolf? What in the hell is going on?
Ah, maybe he has come to apologize for this morning. That would be a first, not to mention a surprise.
“What do you want?” she finds herself saying a little rudely. Damn. He brings out the worst in her; he absolutely does. Why the hell does her betraying heart always seem to beat a little faster in his proximity?
“Can I please talk to you? You know . . . to apologize for this morning?” he says.
She can’t let him in. He can’t see her like this – all emo and weepy and with her family heirlooms laid out on the floor for auction.
“Apology accepted. So we’re OK.”
For now.
“Uh, I really need to talk to you about something else,” he says in a rush. “Can you please open the door?”
He really can’t want sugar, she decides. But then, he must want something. Probably for her to watch over his apa
rtment when he goes away for a dirty weekend or something in that vein.
I’m going to charge him if he asks me to watch over his apartment and feed his fish, or whatever animal he has inside, she thinks. She has never heard a dog bark or a cat meow, so she reckons he may be a fish person. Uck, how cold.
She reluctantly shoots the bolt from its home and opens the door. Without the goggly lens of the peephole, Jake looks even more sheepish. So she was right. Not only sheepish, but apologetic. Ill at ease. As if he has eaten something bad for lunch and is about to burp.
She wonders if she should stand back.
He twiddles his fingers. His computer bag leans against his leg. So he hasn’t even been in his own apartment yet. It must be important.
“Yes?” she says primly.
He really has the kind of looks that can make her go weak-kneed. Too bad they got off at such a sour note, and it just went downhill from there.
He blurts out, “I have a business proposition to discuss with you.”
She frowns. “Huh?”
“Not that sort of a proposition,” he hurriedly adds, just in case she misunderstands. “I kind of, like, need you to . . . uh, do something for me. I’ll pay you two thousand dollars if you’ll come away with me for the weekend.”
OK, there seems to be a problem with her ears.
“What?” she splutters.
He takes a deep breath.
“You see, it’s like this. I went for a job interview. It’s a raise for me . . . and a promotion. The chairman and president of the company, which is owned by him, of course, prefers to hire guys who are married. Or at least, I’m up against two other people who are married. And I have to make sure, like, I’m, kind of like, married too.”
All of this comes out in a tumble, like clothes falling out of a front loading dryer. He trails off, not daring to look into her eyes. He appears very embarrassed.
She is still not sure she is getting all this.
“So you lied to your potential employer?” she says, incredulous.
“My marital status wasn’t in my resume. I didn’t think it mattered,” he says defensively. “And I needed a job. I just quit mine this morning.”
This is decidedly bizarre, she thinks. “And you want me to pretend to be your wife? Don’t you have a girlfriend to ask, or something?”
Come to think of it, she has never seen a woman in his apartment before.
Damn, he is gay!
He is blatantly embarrassed now. “I sort of showed him your photo on my cellphone.”
“You have my photo on your cellphone?” Now she really is amazed. Her heart leaps a smidge. He has a secret crush on me?
“The one I took this morning,” he explains.
Her cheeks start to heat up.
“The one you took of me bending over?”
“I’m sorry! Look, I’m in a bind. And there’s more.”
Briefly, he tells her about the weekend retreat. With each syllable he utters, her eyes go rounder and rounder. She has to pinch herself to make sure she is not in some surreal para-environment.
When he finishes, she feels faint. “So you want me to go away with you this weekend on a retreat with your new boss?”
“My potential new boss. If I get the job against the two other married contestants. I mean candidates.” He eyes her helplessly. “Look, I’ll pay you! You don’t have to do anything but show up and pretend we’re married!”
She is too amazed to respond.
“And if you get the job? Then what happens? I have to show up at each company dinner as your wife?”
“I haven’t thought that far,” he admits. “Maybe I’ll have to pay you to show up each time. Maybe we’d have divorced by then.”
He’s thinking of divorcing her already? So soon? Terry knows it is irrational, but her old insecurities well up again. What’s wrong with me? Don’t men want to stay with me?
“No,” she says abruptly.
He does not appear surprised, as if he is already expecting her answer.
“Please,” he says desperately. “Twenty-five hundred dollars.”
She finds herself saying, “Three thousand.”
“Twenty-seven hundred.”
“Three thousand five.”
He is aggrieved. “You’re supposed to bargain down, not up!”
“Try bargaining again and I may raise it further.”
He seems defeated. She has him cornered and she knows it. She can’t help grinning at how ludicrous the situation is. And it is amazing that only ten minutes ago, she was contemplating selling her family heirlooms!
Providence? Kismet?
“OK, three thousand five it is.” His shoulders are slumped and there’s a funny twist on his mouth. She has always noticed how full his lips are – very kissable actually, when she doesn’t want to actually punch them.
“Deal,” she says.
It is now dawning upon her that she has just earned three thousand and five hundred dollars in one weekend! Well, she hasn’t earned it yet . . . but how hard can it be? Harder than her temp job as a secretary to various temp bosses who want to fondle her butt? Worse yet, she is in between jobs right now, and in this economy . . .
The only hurdle now is getting through two whole days in the company of Jake Savage. That is going to be tough. But she’s a trouper. Shep had always said she would pull through.
“Great,” he says, unsure if he is supposed to smile.
“Great,” she replies.
“Uh.” He holds out his hand. “We’re supposed to shake on the deal.”
She eyes his hand as if it is covered with cooties. Then she takes it. His hand is surprisingly warm, and a jolt of electricity jumps from his flesh to hers. She has to refrain from pulling away. Her pulse rate has just accelerated to double what it was a minute ago.
What the heck?
She wonders if he felt it too, but he shows no signs of distress.
“OK, I’ll see you Friday four p.m. We’re driving up to Brixforth by the sea. Just pack something casual.”
“Is where we are going by the beach? Would I have to pack a swimsuit?”
He appears taken aback, as if the idea of swimming in the sea by a beachfront property has never occurred to him.
“OK. Good idea. I’ll bring one too.” A thought occurs to him. “Unless they are all shifters and they intend to go naked.”
Naked? The thought of Jake seeing her naked and vice versa sends butterflies through her stomach. Maybe this is not such a good idea after all.
But there’s no way she can back out of this. She needs the money too much. It isn’t as if you’re going to get involved with him. This is a business proposition, as he rightly mentioned, nothing more.
He seems to be in a hurry to get away all of a sudden. He grabs his computer bag.
“So I’ll see you.”
“OK, I’ll see you.”
With that, he scrambles away to his apartment. Just as quickly, she shuts the door and leans with her back against it.
What has she gotten herself into?
7
“I’m telling you it’s faulty.”
“It’s not faulty.”
“Your Garmin needs a shake. When was the last time you updated the map?”
Jake is nonplussed. “You’re supposed to update the map?”
Terry rolls her eyes. This trip is not starting out well. Jake insisted on taking a ‘short cut’, navigated by his unerring werewolf instincts, which are just as faulty as his Garmin. Now they are in unfamiliar territory, surrounded by the beach on one side and cliffs on the other. Ten miles back, they passed a sign which said: ‘CHATOONGA BAY’. Which is nowhere near Brixforth, according to the Google Map on her phone.
“When was the last time you shifted?” she demands.
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Exactly everything. The more you refrain from shifting, the more you lose your wolf honing instincts.”
It’s l
ike playing the piano. If you don’t play for a long time, you lose touch. Not that she has ever played the piano. But she always tries to shift on weekends when she can get away to the forest so as not to lose her heritage.
The trouble with shifters who move to the city is they try too hard to blend in with the humans until they become almost human, with human habits and human traits. The treaty of 1906 was tenuous, as best, but over the century, humans have tried to live together with shifters as best as they can – especially since the shifters formed a very important part of the French Resistance in World War 2.
Acceptance was gradual, but with laws governing species tolerance, the human generations which took over soon learned to accept the shifter mutation as part of their culture – in the way they accepted other races, the LGBT marriage and legislation, and the fact the Chinese were taking over the world.
But still, city shifters are careful not to let their differences become too apparent. To keep the peace, they do not hunt anywhere in the city environs. Special shifter parks are set up just for that purpose. They are only allowed to hunt small animals which can procreate plentifully, like rabbits and rodents. Certainly not pet dogs and pet cats.
It’s no different from being gay, she supposes. Or Black. Or Arab. You integrate, and hope everyone looks past your genetics and sexual preferences and religion to your own merits.
Jake darts a glance at her. The tips of his long hair brush his shoulders. He is looking particularly handsome today in a light blue tee and jeans.
“Are you always this naggy?” he shoots.
Naggy? Why, of all the nerve! That’s the last thing she is!
She opens her mouth to retort, but he quickly cuts in and says, “There.” He points to an upcoming sign. “Brixforth, 10 miles. I knew I wasn’t far off.”
She almost lets out a sigh of relief.
“Is there an appointed time we should be there?” she asks.
“If we can make it for dinner, it would be nice.”
She knows he will be trying very hard to impress his would-be boss.
He says, “Now remember everything I told you.”
She rolls her eyes again.
