"Pack" is just corporate speak right

I was still thinking about that handshake three days later.

Which was insane, because it was just a handshake. People shook hands all the time. It was literally the most normal thing in the world. You meet someone, you shake their hand, you move on with your life.

You don't spend the entire weekend replaying the moment in your head like some kind of crazy person.

"Earth to Maya." My best friend Jess waved a hand in front of my face. "You've been staring at that coffee cup for like five minutes. What's going on with you?"

We were at our usual Sunday brunch spot, a little café in Capitol Hill that made amazing avocado toast and didn't judge you for ordering mimosas before noon. I'd been trying to tell Jess about the job offer for the past twenty minutes, but my brain kept getting stuck on stupid details.

Like how Damien Sterling's hand had been warm. Really warm.

And how his eyes had done that weird flash thing that I was ninety percent sure I'd imagined.

And how he'd said "welcome to the pack" like it meant something more than just "welcome to the company."

"Maya!" Jess snapped her fingers. "Seriously, you're freaking me out. Did something happen at that interview?"

"I got the job," I blurted out.

Jess's eyes went wide. "Oh my God! That's amazing! When do you start? What's the salary? Is the CEO as hot as his photos?"

"Monday. Way more than I was making. And..." I took a long sip of my mimosa. "Hotter. Like, illegally hot. Like, I'm pretty sure it should be against OSHA regulations for someone to be that attractive in a professional setting."

"Okay, I need details. All the details. Start from the beginning and don't leave anything out."

So I told her. About the intimidating office, about how Damien had somehow known about Daniel's engagement, about the insane salary offer and the impossible deadline for the Meridian deal.

I left out the part about the handshake. That felt too weird to explain.

"Wait, wait, wait." Jess held up her hand. "He knew about Daniel? How did he know about Daniel?"

"He said he does research on all potential employees."

"That's not research, Maya. That's stalking."

"It's thorough background checking," I corrected, though I wasn't sure I believed it myself. "Rich people do that kind of thing, right? They want to make sure they're not hiring someone with skeletons in their closet."

"Your skeleton is a cheating ex-boyfriend, not a criminal record. That's not normal boss behavior." Jess leaned forward, her expression serious. "Are you sure about this? I mean, the money sounds great, but something about this guy sounds off."

That was the problem. Something did feel off. But I couldn't figure out if it was "off" in a dangerous way or just "off" because I wasn't used to someone being that intense and direct.

"He said 'welcome to the pack,'" I said suddenly.

"What?"

"When I shook his hand. He said 'welcome to the pack.' Not 'welcome to the team' or 'welcome to the company.' The pack. Like we're wolves or something."

Jess laughed. "Maya, it's corporate speak. CEOs say weird stuff like that all the time. 'Pack mentality,' 'running with the wolves,' all that motivational poster garbage. He probably read it in some leadership book."

She was right. Of course she was right. I was overthinking everything because I was nervous about starting a new job and leaving Morrison & Associates behind.

Leaving Daniel behind.

"You're going to be great," Jess said, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. "And if this Damien Sterling guy turns out to be a creep, you call me immediately and we'll figure it out. Deal?"

"Deal."

But as we finished brunch and said our goodbyes, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was missing something important. Something obvious that was right in front of me but I couldn't quite see.

~

Monday morning arrived way too fast.

I stood in front of my closet at six AM, having a minor breakdown about what to wear. What did people wear to billion-dollar companies? My Morrison & Associates wardrobe suddenly felt dated and cheap.

I finally settled on black dress pants, a cream silk blouse I'd bought for my cousin's wedding, and a navy blazer. Professional but not trying too hard. Hopefully.

The drive to Sterling Industries took forty minutes in morning traffic, which gave me plenty of time to panic about everything that could go wrong. What if everyone else there was smarter than me? What if I couldn't handle the Meridian project? What if Damien realized he'd made a huge mistake hiring me?

What if his eyes did that glowing thing again and I had to acknowledge that something genuinely weird was going on?

The parking garage was underground and looked like something out of a spy movie. My beat-up Honda Civic looked pathetic next to all the Teslas and Mercedes.

I took the elevator to the fifteenth floor, where HR was supposed to meet me for orientation.

The doors opened, and I stepped into chaos.

Not bad chaos. Just... busy chaos. People were everywhere, moving with purpose, talking on phones, carrying tablets and coffee cups. The energy was different from Morrison & Associates. More intense. More alive.

"Ms. Chen?" A woman in her forties approached me with a warm smile. She had short red hair and kind eyes. "I'm Patricia Ford, head of Human Resources. Welcome to Sterling Industries."

"Thank you. And please, call me Maya."

"Maya it is." She handed me a badge on a lanyard. "This is your security pass. Don't lose it—the building takes security very seriously. Now, let's get you set up."

The next two hours were a blur of paperwork, computer passwords, and office tours. Patricia walked me through the building, introducing me to so many people that I immediately forgot all their names.

But I noticed something weird.

Everyone was attractive. Like, movie-star attractive. Not just good-looking—genuinely stunning. The men were all tall and built, the women were all gorgeous, and everyone moved with that same fluid grace I'd noticed in Damien.

"Is there a modeling requirement I didn't know about?" I joked as we passed yet another group of people who could have been on magazine covers.

Patricia laughed, but something flickered in her eyes. "Mr. Sterling has high standards for everything, including his staff. He believes in surrounding himself with the best."

"The best-looking?"

"The best performers," she corrected smoothly. "Though I suppose confidence does tend to correlate with taking care of oneself."

It was a good answer. A normal answer. So why did it feel like she was hiding something?

We ended up in a conference room where Patricia went over the employee handbook. Benefits, vacation days, office policies—all standard stuff.

"One important rule," Patricia said, her tone shifting to something more serious. "The executive floor is off-limits without explicit permission from Mr. Sterling or his assistant. That includes the break room, the gym, and especially Mr. Sterling's private office."

"Why?"

"Security reasons. Mr. Sterling values his privacy, and there are often sensitive business matters being discussed up there." She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Just respect the boundaries, and you'll be fine."

Boundaries. Right. Normal office boundaries that every company had.

Except something in her tone made it sound less like a suggestion and more like a warning.

~

By noon, I was set up at my new desk—a sleek workspace with two monitors, a ergonomic chair that probably cost more than my couch, and a view of downtown Seattle that made my old cubicle look like a prison cell.

I was just starting to review the Meridian files when someone knocked on my door frame.

I looked up and found myself staring at possibly the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen in real life.

She was tall—maybe five-ten—with long black hair that fell in perfect waves, olive skin, and striking green eyes. She wore a designer dress that hugged every curve, and she moved into my office like she owned it.

"You must be Maya Chen." Her voice was smooth but cold. "I'm Vanessa Wolfe, senior vice president of operations."

Wolfe. What were the odds that I'd meet someone with that last name on my first day after all the "pack" weirdness?

"Nice to meet you," I said, standing up to shake her hand.

She looked at my extended hand like it was a dead fish, then ignored it completely.

Okay then.

"I'll be brief," Vanessa said. "I don't know what you did to impress Damien, but understand this—this company has standards. Very specific standards. We don't typically hire outsiders, especially not for senior positions."

"I was hired based on my qualifications," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Were you?" She tilted her head, studying me like I was a bug under a microscope. "Or were you hired for other reasons?"

My face heated. "Excuse me?"

"Damien has a tendency to be... impulsive when it comes to certain people. I'd hate to see you get hurt because you mistook business interest for something else."

Was she seriously suggesting that I'd slept my way into this job?

"I think you should leave," I said, surprised by how calm I sounded when I wanted to throw something at her head.

Vanessa smiled, sharp and cold. "Welcome to Sterling Industries, Maya. I hope you survive your first week."

She left, and I sank back into my chair, my hands shaking.

What the hell kind of company was this?

~

I managed to avoid any more confrontations for the rest of the day, burying myself in work and trying not to think about Vanessa's words.

At six PM, most people started leaving. I decided to stay late—partly because I wanted to make a good impression, partly because I needed to prove to myself that I belonged here.

By eight PM, the floor was nearly empty. Just me and the hum of the air conditioning.

I was so focused on my laptop that I didn't hear anyone approach until a voice said, "Burning the midnight oil already?"

I jumped, my heart leaping into my throat.

Damien stood in my doorway, looking unfairly good in dark jeans and a black henley. He must have changed after work. His hair was slightly messy, like he'd been running his hands through it.

"Mr. Sterling—Damien. I didn't hear you come in."

"I move quietly." He stepped into my office, and I noticed he was barefoot. Who walks around a corporate office barefoot? "How was your first day?"

"Good. Fine. Everyone's been very... welcoming."

His eyes narrowed. "Liar."

"Excuse me?"

"You're a terrible liar, Maya. Your heartbeat speeds up and you won't make eye contact." He moved closer, and I caught that same woodsy scent from the interview. "What happened?"

"How do you know my heartbeat speeds up?" I asked, because that was definitely the weirdest part of that sentence.

Damien froze. For just a second, something flickered across his face—surprise? worry?—before his expression smoothed into casual confidence.

"Figure of speech," he said. "You're fidgeting. Playing with your bracelet. That's a tell."

I looked down. I was indeed twisting my bracelet around my wrist.

"One of your employees implied I slept with you to get this job," I said bluntly. "Vanessa Wolfe. She came by to welcome me to the company and question my qualifications."

Damien's entire demeanor changed. His jaw tightened, his eyes went hard, and for a moment—just a moment—I could have sworn I saw them flash gold again.

"She said what?"

The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Or maybe rise? I couldn't tell, but the air suddenly felt charged with something dangerous.

"It's fine," I said quickly. "I handled it. I just wanted you to know in case she tries to cause problems with the Meridian project."

"It's not fine." His voice was low and controlled, but I could hear the anger underneath. "Vanessa had no right to speak to you that way. I'll handle it."

"You don't have to—"

"Yes, I do." He stepped even closer, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to look at him. "You're under my protection now, Maya. No one disrespects what's mine."

What's mine.

The words hung in the air between us, strange and possessive and way too intense for a boss talking about an employee.

"I'm not—" I started to say.

But Damien's phone buzzed. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and his expression went from angry to concerned in a heartbeat.

"I have to go," he said abruptly. "Lock your office when you leave. Take the executive elevator down—it goes straight to the parking garage. Don't use the stairs."

"Why would I—"

"Just trust me." He was already backing toward the door. "And Maya? Don't stay too late. This building isn't safe after dark."

Then he was gone, moving so fast I barely saw him leave.

I sat there in my office, my heart pounding, trying to process what had just happened.

Don't use the stairs. The building isn't safe after dark. You're under my protection. What's mine.

From somewhere in the building, I heard a sound. Low and distant, but unmistakable.

A howl.