Chapter 2 A window of opportunity

Ashley

Two weeks.

For fourteen whole days, my phone had been glued next to me. Every time it buzzed, a pathetic part of me leaped, expecting Weston to text me. Expecting him to say the fame was getting to his head, that he was sorry, and that he was coming home.

He never did.

Instead, his manager, who hated my guts, showed up not long ago with three boxes.

I sat on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, watching in dead silence as Greg packed up Weston’s expensive protein powders and his designer clothes. When Greg finally came back and lugged the last box out the door, the apartment felt suffocatingly empty.

Before the door could even click shut, it swung wide open again.

Emma marched in, balancing two iced coffees on a stack of mail she’d probably scooped from the lobby.

She shot a nasty glare down the hallway at Greg’s retreating back, then kicked the door shut with her heel.

Without a word, she dumped the mail and the coffees on the table, marched straight to the window and yanked the heavy blackout curtains apart.

“Hey, what are you doing?” I hissed, throwing the blanket over my head.

“Letting in air, vampire, so get your ass off the couch.” She commanded, cracking the window open to let fresh breeze flush out the stale smell of my depression.

“You got your heart broken, Ash, not the end of the world,” she scolded playfully, though her eyes were dead serious. “Besides, Weston was never good for you anyway. I’ve been trying to tell you that since high school, that guy's a narcissistic leech.”

She snatched a pillow off the sofa and chucked it at my head.

“So time to stop crying and brooding over that sloppy, arrogant jerk. You are way too smart and good for him.”

You’d think opposites repel, but somehow Emma and I defied that physics.

While I was quiet, introverted, and a big overthinker, Emma was a blazing extrovert. She worked as a social media manager for one of the league's biggest NHL franchises, dated a flashy beta hockey player who showered her with expensive gifts, and could start a conversation with a brick wall. Yet, for some unknown reason, she chose boring old me as her best friend.

“It's easy for you to say,” I muttered, hugging the pillow. “Your life is perfect. I don't even have a job lined up. Everything I applied for rejected me.”

“Oh, please. Give it time,” she sighed, walking back to the table, “Anyway, your mailbox was stuffed to the brim. I brought it all up—”

As she picked up the stack of envelopes to sort them, they slipped from her hands and scattered onto the floor.

She bent immediately to pick them up, but froze, her fingers hovering over a specific letter.

“Wait a minute... what do we have here?”

She pulled the paper out from the pile, her eyes going wide. She blinked, stared at it again, and shrieked, “OMG! When were you going to tell me about your interview?!”

I blinked, completely lost. “Interview? What interview?”

“Yes, you did! And it’s not just anywhere!” Emma practically sprinted over to me, shoving the paper into my face. “It's the NHL. Wait… The Wolves?! Ash, you have an interview with the New York Wolves today at 2 PM, and you didn't tell me, you sneaky beyatch!”

My heart stopped. “Let me see that.”

I scrambled to snatch the paper. The silver wolf logo glared back at me. It was real.

I dove for my phone, frantically opening the Gmail app. I scrolled down to the email I hadn't had the heart to open two weeks ago. I tapped it. It wasn't an automated rejection. It was a personalized invitation for the Orthopedic Specialist position.

“I... I didn't open it,” I stammered, staring at the screen. "I thought it was just another rejection.”

“Well, it's not,” she beamed, practically vibrating with excitement. “You're going. Go shower. Now.”

But the excitement didn't last long, “Emma, be realistic,” I argued, panic setting in. “What assurance do I have that I’ll actually pass the interview? You know how things work. People look at Omegas in sports medicine like we're not like every other people!”

“You'll pass because I know you, Ash,” she said fiercely, her playful tone dropping. “And what do you mean by not like every other people? You're the most incredibly skilled and capable person I know. Don't let Weston's garbage opinions make you doubt your own talent.”

She grinned. “Besides, the Wolves are desperate for good PR right now. Their captain, this absolute ice-cold Alpha has been acting like a total menace. He's ruining his own reputation, fans are pissed, and management is going crazy trying to fix his public image because he's alienating everyone. They need competent, grounded staff who won't take crap from anyone.”

Her smirk grew wider. “And think about it... isn't the Wolves' team the exact one Weston has been begging to get drafted into? If you get this job, you'll be working in the exact same company. Imagine his face when he realizes the 'Ashley' he dumped is working for the biggest team in the country.”

That thought alone sent a strange, vindictive thrill through my chest.

Fine, I thought. If I'm going to fail, I might as well fail while trying.

Two hours later, I found myself standing outside the imposing, glass-paned headquarters of the New York Wolves. I had dressed in my absolute sharpest professional suit, though my palms were sweating through my bag straps. I fully expected to be laughed out of the building.

I took a deep breath, stepped out of my rideshare, and walked toward the main entrance.

Suddenly, a wall of camera flashes blinded me.

“Mr. Wayne! Over here!”

“What about the rumors concerning Miss Quinn? Her PR team says you two are closer than you’re admitting!”

“Brooks! Is it true the Wolves have received another complaints about the way you treat Omega staff?”

“You’ve been accused of refusing to work with Omegas. What do you have to say about that?”

“Is your temper becoming a problem for the Wolves?”

I stepped blindly to the side as a swarm of paparazzi surrounded a tall, broad-shouldered figure trapped by the steps. Shouting reporters shoved microphones toward a man whose face was carved from ice, his cold, dominant aura practically choking the air out of the space.

He was an Alpha. Without a doubt.

But as the cameras flashed in his face, he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks.

His dark eyes swept past the reporters, locking straight onto me standing awkwardly by the walkway.

“Who said I didn’t have a stable partner?” his deep voice rumbled through the noise.

Before my brain could process what was happening, he strode past the bewildered paparazzi, closed the distance between us in two long strides, grabbed me by the waist, and pulled me hard against his chest.

And before I could make sense of what was happening, he lowered his head and kissed me.