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Galaxy in the Story

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Galaxy in the Story

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Galaxy in the Story

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"There will be a twenty percent reduction in staff," my manager Craig announced to the group in our emergency staff meeting.

My stomach immediately turned into nervous knots.

Craig paused, waiting for the collective gasp to settle down, a small smile quivering at the corners of his mouth.

Is that sympathy, or is he enjoying this? I wondered.

As if to address my thoughts, Craig's face switched to a mask of regret as he looked around the room.

"I'm not happy about it either. Each of you is important to this department in my opinion. But, since the new CEO believes differently, I'll be conducting performance reviews with everyone this week and reporting my findings."

My heart sank.

I knew my work was good. But if it was going to be a popularity competition, I had no chance.

After all, I am “scentless”.

In a world of werewolves, scent was just as vital a sense as sight.

Werewolves had a built-in system to rate every scent they encountered. Alphas were born with B-grade scent minimums. Betas and Omegas, on the other hand, could be very flexible. They could easily smell like a C, D, or F grade to strangers.

Whenever one meets someone who has the potential to be a best friend or partner, they will immediately register as an A, while A+ is definitely a top match. There was a myth about S grade, but it was only a myth.

Therefore, best friends, couples, business partners, and even military units, all these social ties were established on scents.

I, however, had no scent. Or at least, that's what most people said.

Another oddity was that it seemed I lacked the system to grade other people’s scents. I didn't instinctively rate someone before I knew them, but instead judged people on other aspects like personality or behavior.

Those who were being kind compared me to air. Some openly asked about my bloodline, another thing usually discernable in one's personal smell. My answer was again disappointing. I was an orphan and had no idea who my parents were.

"I'll be sending each of you messages about when we are to meet. Thank you, and again, I'm very sorry that we are in this situation," Craig finished this meeting.

My colleagues began to murmur to each other as they walked out, but no one cared about me.

I was used to it by now. They didn't mean to be rude.

I went out into the hall and began to walk toward the main room and my cubicle, but Craig came striding back down the corridor and blocked my way.

"There you are, Elena," he said, beaming. "You're always so hard to track down, you know." He tapped his nose and gave me a wink.

I tried not to roll my eyes.

Performance evaluation, I thought and smiled.

"What's up, Craig?"

He handed me a stack of files. "Some new manuscripts just in."

His hand went up to my face, bringing his scent of licorice with it. He flicked a lock of my dark hair away before settling his hand on my shoulder.

I wanted to brush it off but I forced myself to be still, to keep my smile. I looked around. There was no one else in the corridor.

"How are you feeling after the announcement?" he asked.

"Nervous," I admitted. His scent was too close and it made me nauseous.

I turned my nose away, but he didn't move his hand.

"Just do your best. Speaking of, those need to be in my inbox by the time you leave, okay?"

"Okay."

He rubbed my shoulder and continued down the corridor.

I watched him go, trying not to gag at the thick sweetness that drifted in his wake. I used to be okay with the smell of licorice until I got to know Craig.

I'd seen him squeeze, hug, and pat other females and no one seemed to give it a second thought. Jerry in marketing even patted him back.

Am I being oversensitive? I thought, trying to wipe the licorice smell off my shoulder and glancing at the females around me as I went past their cubicles. No one else seemed to have a problem with his handsy behavior.

I sat down at my desk and stared at the folders.

I'd wanted to be a reporter. It's what they promised when I first came to the newspaper after graduation. But here I was, years later, still on comics and proofreading, having done nothing more than occasionally write stories for other reporters under their byline.

I guess it was hard for them to trust someone without a scent.

And yet I tried hard to do well in every work I was given.

Surely, I thought, all that good work and so little complaining will allow me to keep my job.

A few hours later, the atmosphere began to change. It was Friday, and people were busy planning to meet for drinks and dinner.

I went to the manager's office with my proofed copies and was relieved to see Craig had gone for the day. I slapped the packet into his inbox, glancing at the photo of his wife on his desk before I went to pack my bag.

I pushed open the doors to the front of the building just as my phone dinged with a text.

It was Cathy, my only close friend and sole support since high school.

Guess what? Your high school crush is in town.

The line was followed by a spray of winking and heart-surrounded emoji faces.

My breath caught in my throat and I instinctively turned right, heading toward a popular square.
Music and voices from Friday night crowds filled the air and neon lights illuminated the space. Delicious smells of meat and fried food from the restaurants swirled around the people happily hanging out or on their way to food and entertainment.

An enormous screen across the square projected the local news.

And there he was.

Charles.

Larger than life, being interviewed by a local reporter, he was breathtakingly handsome with his dark, wavy hair and sharp blue eyes. His face light up the screen.

The reporter beamed and leaned in toward him. He'd always have that effect on people.

"And a hearty welcome to the young media entrepreneur, Mr. Charles Rafe!" the reporter said.

"Thank you, Sandy."

He smiled at her, and I suddenly remembered him, a little more baby-faced, on the soccer field or in the school baseball uniform, in the back row of my history class, but still attracting every eye in the room when he smiled like that.

Even now I could feel myself grinning at the screen like an idiot, remembering his warm, vetiver smell.

"And what are your plans for our fair city?" the reporter asked.

"As you know, Sandy, the merger of my family's two companies has been a good move. We're fortunately seeing steady profits."

"We all know fortune has nothing to do with it," the reporter said, playfully nudging his arm.

"Well, thank you, but it takes a hardworking, loyal set of people to make any business successful."

His blue eyes looked directly into the camera.

I caught my breath, as did a few other people who had also stopped and looked up. He seemed to be looking down through the square directly at me. I stood, riveted to the spot, gazing back.

"So naturally I'm here to find those people, and while I'm at it, acquire some companies and expand the Rafe family's business empire."

I couldn’t help but stare at the screen until Charles was gone.

Wouldn't it be weird if he were my new boss? I thought.

I quickly shook my head with a bitter smile.

It was a big city.

Surely there was more than one large conglomerate coming to town.

Chapter 2
It was true what Cathy had said. Charles was my high school crush.

But it was also true that it was so much more than that.Years had passed since high school, but the feelings I had during that period of my life were as strong as if they'd happened yesterday.

Back then, no one in my high school didn’t like Charles Rafe. He was the only student, except Cathy, who would smile at me and say hi. He even said my name correctly every time.

Gradually, he became the reason I got out of bed and went to class in the morning, just so I could sit silently behind him. His casual smile was the factor that made or broke my day.

There was no way he would remember me even if he was my new boss. Still, the idea of it made me smile into the night sky and wait for the screen to loop the interview so I could see his face one more time.

I gazed up at the screen, watching the commercials tick by.

The programs usually looped at least a half-dozen times before they moved on to the next thing, giving people time to see it as they walked through city squares.

I waited and was rewarded.

There he was again.

His sharp blue eyes took me out of the city square and suddenly I was back in Mr. Sellers' senior English honors class. I sat in the back left corner seat trying not to be noticed and at the same time trying to absorb every bit of knowledge I could.

I loved that class because that is where I started my dream of becoming a journalist one day.

Charles and his numerous Alpha friends sat in the rows in front of me, laughing, smiling, and always having a good time.

Mr. Sellers enjoyed their cheerful presence in class, and they acted like a wall of sunshine between him and my hungry mind. Not that I minded.

Sitting behind Charles was heaven. Every time he moved his vetiver scent wafted toward me, and I often bent forward over a paper pretending to write just to be nearer to him.

There was also a moment I treasured when he would saunter in moments before the starting bell. Because he was kind, he would greet people on his way to his seat, and this included me.

He'd make eye contact with his piercing blue eyes, and we'd both smile.

"Hey, Elena."

"Hi."

And then he'd sit, his back turned, and that was it. But for me, it was enough to make my day. If we got to write a paper in class, the day was even better.

It was high school graduation before I got the courage to say more than a few words. I watched him walk across the stage, his diploma held high in triumph for the cheers from both the audience and the seated students, and was sure I wouldn't see him again.

That knowledge gave me courage.

When I saw him walk toward his car alone after telling his friends he'd see them later at a party, I went in that direction, too.

He paused to unlock the door. As I passed, I said, "Congratulations, Charles."

He looked up, smiling.

"I thought I noticed you coming, Elena. Congratulations to you, too."

I was surprised. He noticed me coming? Those words were reserved for those with discernable scents. For a moment we looked at each other, me stunned by his intense gaze.

"I..."

He looked at me with a small smile, patient and waiting. I forced the words out of my mouth.

"I was wondering, I know you have a ton of friends and things to do, but would you maybe like to have coffee with me or something? Next week? Or sometime."

My words seemed to hang in the air and I felt my blood began to pound. I felt my face twist in agony, knowing I'd just made a fool of myself.

His smile faded a little. I wished I could look away and sink into the ground but his blue eyes held mine.

"I'm sorry, Elena," he said. He looked intensely at me, as if wanting me to understand something he wasn't saying.

I nodded, feeling my face flaming red.

"I totally understand. Well, good luck, and all that."

"Wait, Elena."

But I hadn't. I'd walked off in a blur of humiliation.

What was I thinking? I'd raged at myself.

Obviously, he wouldn't have said yes. We were so far apart that we might have been different species.

The memory of my humiliation made me grunt even now, years later standing in a busy city square on a Friday night.

At least I'd tried. Thinking back, I'd have regretted not doing it despite the embarrassment.

I pulled out my phone as his interview started again and held it aloft toward his face, filming him. When the clip finished, I sent it to Cathy who texted back as I was walking away.

Still in love?

Of course not. Just a distant fangirl now.

You never know! She followed this with a winky face emoji. How about dinner this weekend? It's been a while.

My heart warmed. Cathy was the most wonderful friend, though I never was able to shake the suspicion that she just felt bad for me.

When we were younger, she used to give me hugs, bury her nose in my hair and inhale. "You smell so good. Solid A to me. Why can nobody else sense it?” "

I'd squeezed her back, feeling her refreshing lily scent surrounding me. "What do I smell like?"

"I can't place it. But it's gorgeous."

I'd always assumed this was a joke to cheer me up. She had always been there for me, jokes or not, and I regretted having to turn her down for dinner.

I'm sorry. I have to save my job.

She sent a frowning face but then a gif of unicorns dancing together. Okay, babe. Don't work too hard. Remember I love you.

Love you, too, I texted back and smiled. I was so lucky.

I spent the rest of the weekend hardly moving from my desk or changing out of my pajamas while I combed through every project and noted every accolade.

By the time Craig's scheduling link came through on Sunday night I was ready. I confidently scheduled the block mid-morning and went to bed knowing I'd done everything I could.

Despite knowing my looks made little difference, I took special care with my hair and outfit that morning. I wanted to look as deserving as my portfolio suggested. I even felt decent as I sat down five minutes before the scheduled time outside Craig's office.

Laughter and casual discussion came from behind his closed door. I checked my watch, my stomach clenching.

This wasn't good. My portfolio was good. I was valuable and I knew it. But if it came down to this type of banter I was in trouble.

The minutes ticked by and my appointment came and went. Five minutes, ten minutes. I could feel my muscles tensing and a headache coming on.

Finally, the door opened and a colleague walked by calling back, "Okay, see you, Craig."

I stood and turned, looking at Craig who was leaning on the doorframe.

"Elena! Wonderful. Come on in." He waved to a corner of the couch and I sat. He sat across from me in a chair and put his elbows on his knees. "Okay, Elena. Let's see what you've got."

I sat up straight and put my portfolio on my knees where it seemed his gaze was fixed. I crossed my legs self-consciously, and began to talk. I sounded confident, and competent.

I handed him a reference sheet with lists of successes and awards I'd been responsible for helping come about. He took the sheet and barely glanced at it, his eyes never leaving my bare knees.

When I'd finished there was a short pause.

"Do you have any questions?" I asked, nervous for the first time and shifting my legs to cross the other direction.

His eyes flickered up at me for the first time in the ten minutes I'd been talking. Then he stood and stretched, his paunch peeking out slightly from under his shirt.

He sat down on the couch and draped an arm over the couch behind me. He leaned closer.

I tried not to breathe in his licorice scent.

"I do have a question for you, Elena, but it's not really about your portfolio."

I felt my stomach drop. This couldn't be good.

Chapter 3
"You know, Elena," Craig began, letting the pointer finger of his hand drop to my shoulder. It began to draw small circles there. "This is really stressful for me."

I fought the urge to shrug his finger away, and tried to lean back slowly, as if to see his face better.

"I mean, I genuinely like all of my employees. You are all so good, so valuable."

His finger became the back of his fingers and he brushed them up toward my neck.

"I've had a headache for days straight. Can you believe that?"

"Yes," I said, thankful for the opportunity to pull away and look into his face. "I have, too. It's hard for all of us."

He smiled. "That's one thing I like about you, Elena. You're sympathetic."

"What's the question you had for me?" I asked.

To my dismay, he scooted closer, undoing the slow, few inches I'd managed to put between us.

"You know, Sandra, my wife?"

"I met her briefly at a party, yeah."

"We've been having problems."

"That can't be helpful at a time like this."

"See? There you are being understanding again."

He smiled and I tried to smile back. I didn't like where this was going.

"After the last holiday party, I had a few too many drinks. I love the punch the HR ladies make."

He was famous for getting plastered at holiday parties. I'd learned to steer clear of him if I didn't want my backside grabbed.

"It's totally my fault, but Melanie from marketing smelled so good that night. Like a roasted chicken, and my mind just went. I couldn't help it. I mean, obviously, I prefer my wife's scent but it was just so different."

How do I get out of this? I thought.

He wasn't looking at me but was gazing at my neck, his fingers starting to move again, fiddling with a lock of my hair.

"I'm sorry, I don't see where this is going." I leaned away but he continued, not seeming to notice.

"And of course, that smell is pretty strong. Sandra smelled her right away."

"Oh."

My eyebrows raised. Why was he admitting this to me, confirming my suspicions that he was indeed the sleazeball I'd imagined?

"My question to you, Elena, is this." He leaned into me, his right arm around my shoulders closing in and pulling me close, his left circling my waist.

"Since you have no scent, can I be with you and not get caught?"

He pressed me back against the couch, his horrible smell overwhelming me, making me gag.

"Get off!" I pushed him with all my strength, throwing myself sideways and stumbling as I broke free and dropped from the couch.

I chanced a quick glance at him, sprawled on his face and half falling off the couch before I turned and ran toward the door.

I yanked it open and flew out, ignoring the alarmed stare of the man who sat waiting for the next interview.

It wasn't until I was in the furthest cubicle against the wall in the women's bathroom that I began to breathe. I sat on the toilet, my head in my hands, taking big, gasping breaths. I was angry and scared all at once, my lungs contracting with emotion.

Little by little, my breathing slowed and my mind began to clear. I could hear my breathing echoing off the cold tiles around me.

I needed to go to HR. I should have reported it in the past. But now I needed to do it before I excused it away.

I stood, straightened my clothing, and took a deep breath.

I knew people underestimated me, but I also knew that if I could bypass their scent-bias then I could be powerful.

I held tight to that knowledge inside me and strode confidently out into the hall. I took the stairs so not to hinder my momentum and went down the stairwell to the HR offices.

I spent the rest of the day attempting to concentrate on my work, but it was impossible. I tried to interpret the expressions of the HR workers and remember the scents. Had I detected a slight increase in body heat? An uptick in the strength of the odors?

Finally, one of the HR workers, Cecilia, came to my cubicle and led me to the conference room for a meeting.

As soon as I walked in my heart began to pound. Craig was there, as was his boss and another HR representative. I could feel the tension in the atmosphere, and sense the heat and heightened scents.

I looked at Cecilia, assuming she was my representative, but she took a seat on the manager's side of the table, leaving me alone as if I were on trial.

The other HR representative began to read a statement, during which Craig never took his eyes off the table where his finger drew the same circle it had on my shoulder.

My mind buzzed as the words began to sink in.

"... total fabrication... a desperate move to keep her job... continued failure of basic duties."

When they finished, the HR manager put down his paper and looked at me with cool, grey eyes.

"That is all. We will be contacting you..."

"Hold on," I said, anger making my voice quaver.

"This is outrageous. It is a total lie, and what's more, it's slander."

"Slander?" Craig scoffed. "You're the one slandering me, Elena!"

"Not if it's true. And I can prove you're wrong with the statements about my performance. If that's fabricated then it absolutely calls into question the remainder of this statement."

"We didn't see any performance appraisal materials from you," the HR manager frowned.

"That's because I left it on his office floor as I literally ran away from assault. Thankfully I have copies and I will email one to each of you directly after this poor excuse for an HR intervention."

Dead silence filled the room.

"All of that is inflated. Fabricated," Craig said, looking a little desperately at his manager. "She has no proof I tried to touch her."

"Ask a dozen other women in the office if they've ever been touched."

More silence.

The HR representative cleared his throat. "We will get back to you in the next 24 hours. I suspect we will have to take this to a higher level."

"What?" Craig looked incredulous.

I rose, looking as confident as I could despite my legs trembling from a mix of fury and anxiety.

"Expect an email from me soon," I said to everyone and strode out the door.

I don't know how I made it to my cubicle, but I wilted into my seat and put my head in my hands, trying not to cry.

After a few deep breaths I sat up, and with shaking hands began to forward my performance reports to everyone who was in the room and the general mailboxes of HR as well, just in case.

No other work was sent my direction that day.

It was as if Craig and other managers had assumed I was already gone.

After I left the office, I was surprised to see a late email from HR. It was simple, but ominous.

"The new leadership has been informed about the situation and finds it complicated enough that they will handle it themselves. Changes in position will be announced tomorrow."

"Complicated?" I said aloud to the streetlights around me. A passing commuter looked at me warily and continued.

I had no idea what that meant, but I was sure it couldn't be good.

Chapter 4
I hardly slept and it shows.

Despite my efforts with the concealer, the bags under my eyes were evident and the stress was manifesting in overly frizzy hair.

Still, I did my best. I wanted to look good for my execution, but had to settle for being on time and not looking like a puppy caught out in the rain.

My hands shook on the lobby door handle. I needed to get some tension out and decided to take the stairs up the four flights to our division.

It was a popular choice. My colleagues liked to stretch their bodies before and during the day sitting at desks, and I could hear a few people a few floors above me.

Getting the blood flowing and my legs pumping helped my nerves. I began to breathe deeply and felt it relax my muscles.

Then I heard my name echo down through the concrete stairwell.

"I don't think Elena would do that," came the first voice. "She's kind of a sheep."

"That's what she wants you to think. She plays all demure, but underneath all that mildness she's sharp. She'd be a perfect Beta, flying under the radar but secretly getting everything done. And done her way."

"But is she sharp in the way that she'd sabotage Craig? I've never known her to be malicious."

"I didn't think so, but you never know how people will respond if they feel threatened."

"It's kind of an obvious play, isn't it?"

I leaned inward trying to see who was above me. All I could see were hands holding the railing. One of them had burgundy fingernails.

"Like I said, desperation."

The rest of their conversation was cut off by a door scraping opening and booming closed.

Whatever solace I'd earned from the little bit of exercise was gone. Now I was trying to hold back angry tears.

I pulled open what I suspected was the same door and walked into my department. Two women stood by the entrance to the cubicles with a few others.

They turned and saw me. The woman with the burgundy nails had the courtesy to look guilty, but the rest looked openly hostile, even the two I'd recently thought were starting to become my friends.

I held my head high and walked by without saying good morning as a voice over the intercom said, "Attention everyone, please gather in the conference room in ten minutes."

I put down my bag, turned on my computer, and found the company had stopped sending me anything directly after the time of my meeting with Craig yesterday morning. It seemed they had taken a side, just like my colleagues.

I decided to get a seat at the conference table rather than stand around the perimeter, so I grabbed my notebook and went through the tense, quiet cubicles.

As I neared the elevator, I heard it ding.

Who'd show up late today? I wondered. Only someone especially confident.

The doors opened and wafted a vetiver scent so powerful in my memory that I stopped in my tracks.

Charles Rafe stepped out of the elevator, two beautiful women, one light, one dark, who smelled like pine and cedar, came after him, briefcases, folders, and coffee cups in hand. The group moved like a sleek, powerful pack, and I felt myself stepping back.

Charles stopped and sniffed the air.

He turned slowly and his blue eyes found mine. Even from ten feet away, I could see the pupils in his eyes widen as he came toward me.

The women with him seemed momentarily unsure what to do, so stood watching.

My heart began to pound. His smell brought back years of longing and unfulfilled dreams.

And I thought this day couldn't get any worse.

"Elena Laurentia?"

My breathing stopped and my jaw fell open. He remembered me.

For a moment I simply stared.

Do something you idiot! I raged.

"Hi."

"Hey."

Just like in Mr. Sellers' class.

He took another deep inhale and smiled. "I knew it was you."

He smiled, and I thought my knees were going to buckle. "I'm sorry we have to meet like this after all these years. It's not a fun day for anyone when you have to do layoffs."

I cleared my throat. He was all business now, it seemed. "I imagine it's not."

"I'll see you in the conference room, then."

He smiled and turned to the assistants, gesturing toward the conference room.

I couldn't go in while he was in there setting up. I was almost pinned to the ground by his beautiful, vetiver scent just from the brief encounter. I couldn't imagine being in a smaller, enclosed space with him.

Instead, I watched through the windows as his assistants put his coffee cup at the head of the table and presented him with papers while he checked his phone. They set up laptops and began to gesture and talk about the projection system while Charles frowned down at the notes on the top of the file.

He glanced up and out the glass windows in my direction but I looked away, starting back down the aisle toward my cubicle.

So much for getting a seat.

A few minutes later, the speaker announced that everyone was expected in the conference room.

I joined the crowd filing quietly into the room.

Charles sat, radiating power and looking around, meeting eyes and nodding here and there.

I kept my eyes down and was, as expected, unintentionally bumped and shouldered into the furthest corner, blocked from Charles' blue eyes by taller, wider colleagues.

I was okay with that. For the first time in a long time, I appreciated my ability to hide.

I heard a chair creak and heard Charles clear his throat. I assumed he was standing from the sound.

"Good morning. Before we start, can we please get the shorter people toward the front or in chairs so everyone can see? Back there?"

There was a shifting around me and the people next to me looked surprised to find me there, gesturing for me to move to the front.

"Thank you. I'm sorry to be having to do this."

He continued to speak for a moment about the company's intentions. Then he looked at the blonde assistant who nodded at him.

"An email has just gone out to people I'd like to stay here in the conference room with me. It has the terms of your severance package, which I think you'll find generous, and we will discuss other opportunities or companies in our conglomerate that could be options for you."

He looked around the room. The scent of about two dozen people had suddenly increased and I found myself getting dizzy.

"If you don't have an email, please return to your desks. I'll take a moment while you check your phones."

Everyone's hands and faces jolted as we all grabbed our devices. I opened my mail app and held my breath.

Nothing.

I refreshed the page. Again nothing.

I looked up in confusion, but Charles wasn't looking at me. Very slowly, a few of us began to edge toward the door. I took a few tentative steps, refreshing again just to be sure.

"Sir, I think there's been a mistake." Craig was looking at his phone, his face turning red. He was glaring directly at me. "How is she staying? And I'm not? This isn't right."

"You're right," Charles said, leaning forward over the table. "I'm sorry Elena. I forgot to mention you aren't going to be working here either."

Craig's face set into a smug smirk.

"You'll be joining my team. I'll be needing a third assistant."

There was a simultaneous gasp around the room.

What???
Chapter 5
There was a simultaneous gasp around the room.

I looked around at the stunned faces. Craig's was beginning to turn purple. Even Charles' assistants looked confused, giving each other quick glances, but then looking to their boss for instruction.

"Do you think you'll need help packing up your desk?" Charles asked.

"I ... I'll be fine."

He nodded. "Great. Then I'll be by to get you in a few minutes."

I went to my cubicle in a daze. People were giving me a wide berth, looking at me with open confusion as I passed.

I looked around at my things.

There was very little. A photo of me and Cathy. A small mint plant I used to clear my nose when things got overwhelming, (an old werewolf trick).

I put an external drive into my computer and began to make sure I had backup files of any work I wanted to keep, then opened drawers and began to pull out office supplies and paperwork.

There were a few awards for pieces I'd helped work on, and articles I'd written for other journalists with their names still as the byline. I wanted to keep these for my portfolio.

And then I smelled it. Vetiver.

I looked up and Charles was standing at my cubicle, an arm casually propped on the dividing wall, a cardboard banker box in hand.

"You make quick work of things," he said, holding out the box.

I took the box and put my few belongings into it. I was confused, and his presence wasn't helping.

I shook my head and took a deep breath.

"Can you clarify for me how I'm qualified for this position? I'm grateful, obviously, but..."

He raised a hand to cut me off. "Let's talk privately."

He gestured for me to follow and went quickly through the quiet cubicles to the breakroom where he shut the door.

Without the flow of fresh air, his vetiver scent quickly filled the room, becoming stronger as he moved around, going first to the cup dispenser and then the coffee machine.

I watched him move, graceful and powerful, and experienced an odd mixture of euphoria and anxiety. His familiar smell filled my brain in a way that was comforting, something cherished from my past, but also brought back the old longing.

I had to shake my head to think properly again.

He finished dispensing the instant coffee and inhaled the dark liquid. He frowned.

"Obviously, the quality of the coffee is going to have to change. Would you like a cup anyway?"

"No, thank you. I'm shaky enough today."

He smiled at my candor and poured himself a cup. He took a sip, made a face, and poured it into the sink, refilling his paper cup with water and rinsing his mouth out.

"That was unpleasant, to say the least," he said, and for a moment the carefree teenager looked at me.

I couldn't help smiling back, but I also was having trouble putting thoughts into logical words.

I wanted a job, of course I did. But I didn't know how I fit the profile of his assistants. Judging from his assistants, I would need another level of education as well as a stylist.

"It's refreshing to see you again," he said, waving this cup at me.

"I can't believe you even remember me."

"Are you kidding? Of course I remember you."

I blushed, thinking about our last interaction.

"Probably because no one else embarrassed herself so badly in front of you the entire four years."

His face looked slightly pained. "That's not it. I loved sitting next to you in Mr. Sellers' class. Your scent actually helped me do better in that class than the others."

I frowned.

"Right," I said with as much sarcasm as I thought was decent for an employee-to-boss interaction. "The smell of nothing? Or flat-out air?"

"I'm serious." He put down the cup and waved his nose toward me. "You're slightly sweet, but all together elusive. I mentioned it to my friends once and was surprised they were certain you were scentless."

This took me by surprise. "I had no idea."

We stood, staring at each other for a moment. And then a horrible thought occurred to me.

"Oh." I said. "You're keeping me on because you feel bad, because we have this school connection. Seriously, it's okay. I understand business is business."

"Is that what you think?" He dashed the remainder of his water into the sink. "Please, give me more credit than that. I saw that HR report. I knew it was you and that you wouldn't lie."

Thank you. I didn't, as a matter of fact. But I don't see how you'd know that from the few classes we had together where we barely spoke more than two words."

"Four."

"What?"

"We had four classes together. Mr. James freshman year, Ms. Harrington sophomore year, Ms. Tate junior year, and Mr. Sellers senior year."

He smiled as my mouth dropped open.

"Obviously, I was watching you more closely than you imagined."

I felt my breathing quickened.

"I can't imagine you had time with all your activities and friends. But even so, that doesn't mean I qualify as your assistant. Those ladies..."

"Amy and Jessica."

"Amy and Jessica. They're extraordinary."

"And you're not?" He smiled, seeming to enjoy watching me. "You really haven't changed since high school."

"I know my resume. I'm good at what I do. I want to expand on that and become a journalist. It fits my particular skills," I said, waving at my scentless self. "Please believe I want a job, but I'm not convinced I'm right for your inner circle."

He looked suddenly serious and took a step toward me, crumpling the paper cup and tossing it into the trash.

I took a step back without realizing it. The power radiating off him made my eyes widen.

"You are questioning my judgment on how I choose to run my businesses?"

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

"Elena, I need someone with integrity, and I need someone who will speak truth to power, even at the risk of their job. You proved you can do that. Need I say more?"

My mouth snapped shut. He had a point. From this distance, his scent was strong, and if his argument hadn't been so good, his scent would have sealed the deal.

He looked into my eyes, read my thoughts, and smiled wolfishly. "Good."

*

I followed behind the three of them, carrying my half-full box, avoiding the stares and whispers that followed us as we went into the elevator.

We got out on the next floor up, the marketing department. Charles began to walk, Jessica and Amy in step behind him. It was silent as they went, the employees of the department standing when they realized who had just walked onto their floor.

I tried to follow at a discreet distance, hoping no one would notice me in the wake of this powerful group, but Charles suddenly stopped. He waved me to his side.

I could see employees craning to look, their heads popping up from their cubicles. Word had obviously gotten out quickly.

"Please walk next to me and show me around, Elena," he said.

Chapter 6
I was uncomfortable. I could feel the eyes of Charles' assistants on my back as I gestured and talked about the departments.

Equally awkward were the stares of colleagues that quickly dropped when we neared and then came back as soon as I'd looked in the other direction. I tried to point out as many people as I could, forcing them to look up and smile. Some waved or dipped their heads deferentially to the new boss.

I knew they were all wondering the same thing that I was.

What the heck was I doing there?

The penthouse was reserved for upper management and Charles had his own smaller conference room. The assistant's desks sat out on the open floor in front of his office, a barrier of gatekeepers.

I'd never been up this high in the building before, and the view of the city below was vast and dizzying. I put my box down on my empty desk and followed them into the glass-walled conference room.

Jessica and Amy stood on either side of Charles as he sat at the head of the dark, polished wood table.

"Go ahead, Amy," Charles said, opening a folder. He gestured for me to sit next to him.

Jessica and Amy looked at each other and I hesitated.

"Please, Elena. Sit here next to me."

"Should I take notes?"

He shrugged. "If you'd like."

I got out my notebook and sat next to him.

Amy spoke into her phone. "Marketing heads, please."

Within moments, the three heads of the marketing department came in and sat. Charles proceeded to have us all introduce ourselves to them.

"And I'm Elena."

"From comics?" One of them frowned at me.

Charles looked at me expectantly.

"Yes, but I've been promoted. I'm one of the new assistants. And by new, I mean like two hours."

They all smiled, raised their eyebrows and looked impressed, then began to focus on Charles's directions.

It helped me to take notes, and to take my mind off the ridiculousness of the situation. Each meeting lasted about thirty minutes, and then a new department brought in the managers and I had to introduce myself all over again.

Amy and Jessica moved around the room, handed out papers, we’re generally busy, but I felt silly sitting there, pretending to be doing a job.

By the end of the day, I was exhausted. It had been an emotional roller coaster. What was worse, I wasn't sure what the next day held.

*

It started with whispers I could hear as I walked through the lobby toward the coffee cart that sat next to the guard's desk. People eyed me and turned to each other, some not bothering to whisper.

"Wasn't she a journalist?"

"Not even that. In comics."

"How'd she get that assistant job?"

"There's got to be only one way, right?

I felt my face grow red, and I abruptly moved out of line and took the elevator before I said something rude.

When the doors opened to the penthouse, however, Charles's vetiver smell wafted through the doors, and I saw he'd just walked past as I exited. It instantly relaxed me, and I smiled as he turned to look.

"Good morning, Elena," he said, pausing for me to catch up. "Ready for your first full day?"

"Yes?" I said. "I think so."

He smiled, pausing in front of Amy and Jessica's desks where they were just sitting down themselves.

"These ladies will help you out. I'll see you in a bit."

He went into the office and shut the door leaving me with Amy, who smiled, and Jessica, who didn't. I sat down and looked at my computer.

"Let's get you set up," Amy said, wheeling her rolling chair toward me. Her pine scent freshened my mind and made me feel more alert.

"Your password should be the same, and you have the same login place. See? Just there. You'll just have access to more. Ah, yes, I see IT already got you set up with the admin portal. See it there?"

She helped me get into the private network that only managers and Charles could access, and I saw new emails from HR pop up with directions for my new position.

"What can I help you with?" I said to them both as Amy returned to her desk. "I'm totally in the dark as to what I need to do."

"What do you think?" Amy asked Jessica. "Should we have her start calling the TV networks about the latest launches?"

Jessica frowned. "Don't you think she needs to know a little more background and learn how we view things before she goes representing us?"

"You have a point, but Elena's actually been here longer than any of us."

Jessica scoffed. She stood up and walked over to my desk. She looked down at me with obvious distaste.

"How about you start with this." She put a large binder on my desk with a thud. "Check them with the files on the drive, and if they're correct, we'll need copies."

"Physical copies?"

"Yes."

"Of electronic files we already have?"

"See?" Jessica said, sneering over at Amy. "She doesn't know anything."

Amy nodded. "Charles likes hard copies for meetings. It keeps people off their devices and focused."

I nodded and took the binder. "Great. I'm on it."

By the third, binder, however, I was beginning to feel like my eyes were crossing. This wasn't exactly the journalistic career I'd talked myself into pursuing over the last few days when I was sure I'd be fired.

"Lunch!" Amy said cheerfully after hanging up on a conference call with someone in another country. She was speaking a language to them that I wasn't familiar with, and I was both impressed and intimidated. "Charles always eats alone. He says it clears his head, so we go out or take walks. Whatever we want for an hour."

She pulled a pair of sneakers out from a gym bag and began to swap her heels for them.

The door opened and Charles's handsome head looked out.

"Elena," he said. "Can I grab you?"

"Sure."

Jessica and Amy looked at me in surprise, then continued what they were doing. I walked into the large office, pausing to take in the floor-to-ceiling view out the windows.

There was a knock at the door and a delivery man came in, handing me two bags. Charles took the bill, signed it, and motioned for me to sit on the couch.

There were beautiful, gourmet steak sandwiches and hot fries in the bag. Charles smiled at my obvious enthusiasm.

"So, tell me about your time here," he said, taking a bite of his sandwich.

I wanted so badly to eat my sandwich, but felt self-conscious. I popped a fry instead.

"Today, you mean?" I asked.

"No, over the years, so I can get an idea of how it goes with the employees here."

I relaxed. This wasn't so odd. He was looking for information.

With that in mind, I found I was able to eat and we had a nice discussion, talking about the culture and personalities in the various departments.

"And today?" he said, wiping his hands a final time. "How's it been for you?"

"I'd like to do more. I feel so useless, not knowing much yet."

He shook his head, dismissing my concern. "It's your first day. Just keep asking Jessica and Amy."

I hesitated.

"And this is also one of your duties. Lunch with me."

"Every day?

"If that's okay with you?

"Oh gosh, of course." I smiled, trying to cover my flustered feelings. "Are there any journalism projects you think you'll need?"

He looked puzzled. "Not really, but you never know."

*

I left his office full of a good lunch but discouraged and confused. He didn't seem to want any skill I had, unless you counted eating a gigantic sandwich in record time.

Jessica and Amy weren't back, so I picked up a binder and went to the copy room. After a few minutes of copying Amy came in, going over to the cupboards and rooting through look for paper clips.

"So, lunch, eh?" she said, not looking at me.

"Was that weird?"

"A little."

"I'm confused. I don't have any reason to be in this job. Obviously, I'm grateful, but I feel like I'm more of a pest for you than anything else."

"Found them," Amy said, pulling down a box of paperclips. She looked at me seriously. "You did know him in the past, though, right? That's important."

"We barely talked. It was high school. It's not like we were even friends."

Amy looked puzzled and put a hand on her waist. "That's weird. There wasn't another Elena Laurentia in your high school, right?"

I shook my head. "I was the only one that I knew of."

Amy smiled. "You must have made quite an impression. My father was a police officer in this city, so Charles once asked me if I have ways to check if someone called Elena Laurentia still lives here in the city.”

He tried to find me? I wondered.

Could he have been thinking about me all these years?

Galaxy in the Story

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