Whit's Hours Novels & Stories

Luke Friday board meeting. 9 o'clock. I arrived with the Harborview file, Mara's fourteen annotations incorporated into the updated projections, and the specific clarity of a man who'd spent forty-eight hours deciding what he was willing to lose. Whitfield ran the session. The Harborview situation came up first – the Whitmore withdrawal, the funding exposure, the potential licensing review. Seven faces. Careful language. The distinctive carefulness of men who had decided they needed more information before they decided what they thought.

I still can’t remember the address so I’d have to use GPS again. The drive was a blur of city streets, horns blaring, pedestrians weaving through crosswalks, the late morning sun glinting off skyscraper windows. I glanced at the dashboard clock: 10:45 AM. My stomach twisted in disappointment. The email from Cade, the CEO of Whitelock Industries, had requested 10:00 AM, and I’d let time slip away at the site. “Damn it, Christine,” I muttered, gripping the steering wheel tighter. I’d meant to leave earlier, but the renovators had questions, endless questions about paint finishes and lighting fixtures and that consumed my time. I took a deep breath as I pulled into the parking lot of Whitelock’

Their shifts started at 9:00 am and ended at 5:00 pm, with a two-hour break in between. Consequently, their total working hours had been relatively short. Despite this, they had all been very diligent and had put in significant effort during their time at the company, just as they had been doing then.

“You remember what arguing with me does to you. Might want to check under the table.” My eyes widened. “You’re kidding.” He smirked, cocking a brow. “Go on, take a peek. I know you’re curious.” Once the drinks were mostly gone and my nerves had stopped buzzing quite so loudly, we finally settled into something that resembled real conversation. “How many hours do you log in that tower of yours every day?” “I’m usually in by seven-thirty. Out around seven.” “Twelve hours a day? That’s a seventy-hour work week.”

“Congratulations, and good luck with the new role.” “Thank you again. It was great meeting you.” We hung up, and I leaned back in my chair with a sigh. So much for coin flips. “Guess you win,” I muttered under my breath, picturing Beth’s smug little grin. I reached for Whitney’s resume next. Last interview of the week—4:45 p.m. on a Friday. No way she’d had time to line something else up. At least, I hoped not. I dialed her number.

Corporation group chat immediately lit up. Marilyn typed first: [Should we throw a welcome party for Wes tonight? It’s his first time back from Hollywood.] Whitney chimed in right after: [I’m in! Is Simon coming?] Since the company’s founding, everyone had been stretched thin with projects. Whitney had just wrapped filming The Phoenix, and her calendar was already packed with prep for E.A.’s new drama. After that, she would be flying to Los Angeles for her own role. Tonight, however, was a rare oasis—an evening free of scripts, cameras, and deadlines.

The visiting hours start at 6 am and end at 8 PM. At about half 6 (am) Jasper comes to see me,.and then at 7 am Edison takes his place. Then at 7:30 am Ash comes Then at 8 am its Jace. At 8:30 am its Chase 9 am is Eli. 9:30 am its Ajax And 10 am its Nathan 10:30am its Avery 11am its Link 11:30 am its Cedric 12 PM its lunch so nobody is allowed for another half hour 12:30 PM its Ethan

Silently, I vow to make the most of this job opportunity seeing as it could be crucial for my new future. Soon, the women leave me alone with my new clothes and a knock sounds at the bedroom door door. The next moment, the door pushes open, revealing Thorne. He watches as I hang the last outfit in the closet and then he steps into the room. “Werewolf work hours in the pack are from two PM to ten PM,” he says, leaning against the doorframe. “Yes, sir,” I say, nodding. I’d been on that schedule at Jackson’s studio, so it’s not new to me. It’s different than in the human quarter where I grew up with a more normal schedule. “Can I ask for a favor?”

I didn't know what to say, "so if I say a million per hour, you'll pay me just that?" "Yes" "Good benefits" I whispered "how about a hundred for every 3 consecutive hours?" I asked, I can't miss and opportunity looking me right in the eye. "It's settled then Miss Brown" I laughed still pretty shocked. "When are closing hours?" I ask and he chuckled. "7am to 6pm but realistically, you never close" he said and I smiled, "don't be late" he added . Best closing hour. I stretched out my arm for a handshake, "it's nice meeting you, again, Mr Gray", he smiled and shook hands with me.

Lucas Reed worked late on Thursdays. I knew that from my first life, when I had noticed the light in his third-floor office at Whitmore Group burning past eight on Thursday evenings, long after the rest of the floor had emptied. I had never known what kept him there. Junior lawyers at firms like this one had no shortage of work to justify the hours, but there was something specific about Thursday evenings that I had always found notable without ever acting on it. This time I acted on it.