Lunch

Dylan

Lunch was always noisy. The office staffs seemed to see it as a chance to escape from formality and act as if they weren’t all there to spy on one another. In an effort to blend in, I ate my salad while sitting at the edge of the table.

These lunches were consistently the same. A big act. The same weary faces, the same superficial conversation, the same insincere grins.

The only difference was who could maintain their facade the longest. People were certainly more at ease, but the informal conversation only intensified the unease. It was as though acting as if all was well was meant to make it genuine. It never did.

The purpose of these lunches? Easy: appearances. Power dynamics. A method to keep everyone in check while seeming like they cared.

“Hey, Dylan,” Sam from Marketing remarked, leaning closer. “What’s Mr. Wolfe up to? Still messing around with that omega?”

I nearly choked. “Pardon?”

“Don’t act innocent,” he said with a smile. “You’re his assistant. You know everything. ”

I forced a grin. “Mr. Wolfe’s own personal issues. ”

Sam grinned, clearly not pleased with my response. “Yeah, sure. Personal. Must be nice, right? Skipping work whenever he wants. ”

Before I could respond, Sherry from HR interjected. “Leave Dylan alone, Sam. He’s just fulfilling his responsibilities.” She turned to me, softening her voice. “But you should be careful. Remember what happened to the last assistant? He accidentally brought iced coffee instead of a cappuccino to Mr. Wolfe, and Mr. Wolfe let him go after calling him daft.”

The table grew silent. I nodded, grinning awkwardly. “Yeah, I wouldn’t want to lose my job.”

Even though I knew better, everyone laughed as if it were funny.

Mr. Wolfe returned to work two days later. His rut was over, which was pretty much like an omega’s heat, with a lot of horniness involved.

He carried that air of authority that made people stand up straight, his immaculate suit, and his confident gait, just as he always did.

He didn’t acknowledge me as he walked by. Not a glance. Not a word.

I shouldn’t have minded. But I did.

His timetable was full, a train of meetings, calls, and paperwork. I trailed him like a shadow, ensuring everything remained in order.

By the evening, most of the workplace had cleared out, but Mr. Wolfe was still at his desk, working quietly.

“Dylan,” he called without glancing up, pushing a pile of files toward me. “Stay late tonight. We have work to complete. ”

I suppressed the sigh rising in my chest. “Yes, sir. ”

The hours passed much more slowly than I had expected, but oh did they drag on. The only sounds in the oddly quiet office were the humming of the air conditioner and the clattering of keyboards.

Staring at my computer made my eyes sting, yet I didn’t mind. Mr. Wolfe seemed completely unfazed. He operated like a machine, composed and effective, while I felt like I was about to crumble.

Eventually, I did. I detected the aroma of dinner when I came to. My head jolted forward, and I looked around, bewildered.

The office was dim, with the clock indicating that it was well past midnight.

Mr. Wolfe was opposite me, eating quietly. A tray of food lay between us.

“Eat,” he instructed without meeting my gaze.

I blinked. “What is this? ”

“You’re working late,” he stated plainly. “You ought to eat. ”

I paused but then picked up the chopsticks. The food smelled amazing, some sort of upscale takeout from a hotel.

“Why are you doing this? ” I questioned before I could stop myself.

He finally turned his gaze to me, his expression inscrutable. “Why do you appear so surprised? ”

I placed the chopsticks down, uncertain how to reply. “You’re not precisely…known for being nice. ”

His eyebrow raised. “Oh? ”

I blushed, regretting my words. “It’s just—on my first day, I witnessed you yell at someone until they dashed out in tears. Everyone claimed you were frightening. They even gave me sympathy gifts. ”

For a moment, Mr. Wolfe remained silent. Then he chuckled—a deep, rich sound that sent a chill down my spine.

“Frightening, huh? ” he said, reclining in his chair.

I averted my gaze. “It’s not my viewpoint. ”

His smirk turned into something nearly warm. “I don’t care what they believe. You’re not like them. ”

I frowned. “What do you mean? ”

“You excel in your role,” he merely stated. “The finest assistant I’ve ever had. You are worthy of this. ”

I was at a loss for words.

He continued, his voice calm and steady. “The coffee you craft is superior to any I’ve had before. And that occasion at the cocktail party—you provided me with hangover medicine without me even asking. That’s the sort of thing I’m talking about. ”

My stomach twisted. He remembered.

I gaped at him, astonished. My mind raced for something to say. I wanted to convey the truth—that I wasn’t just proficient at my job due to meticulous attention to detail.

It was because of him.

After dinner, I lingered to tidy up. Mr. Wolfe worked quietly, the illumination of his computer screen accentuating his defined features.

“Thank you,” I murmured, not facing him.

“For what?” he inquired without glancing up.

“For the meal.”

He didn’t reply, but I thought I noticed the corner of his mouth rise into a faint smile.

When I departed the office that evening, the city seemed quieter than usual. Or perhaps it was just me.

I couldn’t stop contemplating him. The way he had gazed at me. The way he had remembered those tiny, trivial details.

Maybe it meant nothing.

But maybe it did.

The following morning, everything had returned to its usual state. Mr. Wolfe remained as chilly and aloof as he always was, and I was merely his assistant.

I tried not to let it bother me.

During a meeting, I sat quietly in the corner, taking notes as Mr. Wolfe commanded the room. His voice was firm, his words calculated. He was every bit the perfect alpha.

But when his gaze darted to me for a fleeting moment, my heart missed a beat.

Work accumulated over the coming days. Mr. Wolfe’s expectations became more demanding, his demeanor more cold.

“You have to speed up, Dylan,” he snapped one afternoon. “This isn’t good enough. ”

I held back my words, nodding. “Yes, sir. ”

He did not offer an apology. He never did.

However, later on, when I handed him a cup of coffee, he regarded me for an extended moment before stating, “Well done. ”

It wasn’t a lot. But it was sufficient.

On Friday, I heard Sherry conversing with someone in the break room.

“I’m not sure how Dylan manages it,” she remarked. “Mr. Wolfe’s impossible to satisfy. ”

I stayed outside the door, eavesdropping.

“Do you think he’ll endure? ” another person inquired.

Sherry chuckled. “If anyone can, it’s Dylan. He’s the sole person Mr. Wolfe hasn’t let go yet. ”

The remarks should have filled me with pride. Instead, they felt like a pressure pressing on my chest.

I didn’t want to be the only one capable of managing Mr. Wolfe. I wanted to be the one he gazed at as he did those omegas.

But I wasn’t. I’m just a beta.

I shook my head. Get a grip, Dylan Harper! No, you don’t! Not after what happened with Mason!

And I never would be.

My phone suddenly beeped, and I quickly shoved my hand into my pocket to retrieve it; it was a text from Mr. Wolfe.

Don’t forget the trip.

I nearly slapped my forehead. Right…. The trip… I had most certainly overlooked that.