Katie’s P.O.V
Smile. Please Smile. You don’t have to show your pearly whites. Just curl the corners of your lips up. Yes. Yes. Just like that. Now crinkle your eyes at the sides. Okay, stop. That’s too much.
Before she arrives at my tiny desk, something resembling a smile is on my face as I look up at her smug expression. “Hey, Cora? Need anything?”
Thankfully, my voice doesn’t betray what I truly feel inside.
“Oh yeah.” Her heavy and musky cologne fills my lungs as she leans over my laptop, her tiny blouse straining to contain her implants. “Why don’t you be a darling and get the crew in Room 4B a hit of coffee?” her tone drips with condescension.
I glance at the script on my screen. I have a scene to shoot in an hour and need to memorize the last line. “As you can see, I’m busy right now.”
Rolling her eyes, she lowers her voice. “Kylie—“
“You know my name is Katie.” I cut her off, arching a brow.
Core ignores me. “Kimberly…you know you are just a substitute. Like your irrelevant roles in low-budget movies mean nothing, now, when I ask you to do something, you do it. Or else…”
She lets her threat hang in the air, and I close my eyes, hating the wetness behind my lids. I hate this. I hate her. But I can’t afford to lose this job. Not when Leo needs me.
Cora is the A+ plus actress of X-Man Production, and everyone kisses her ass, knowing quite well that beneath those layers of make-up was an ugly talentless villain who slept her way to the top.
So, she can ruin my career with a snap of her fingers. She’s dating the boss, after all.
A shuddering breath escapes my lips before I blink them open, nodding at her. “Of course. I’ll be back in a few.”
She blows me a kiss, winking flirtatiously as she turns away. “Good choice.”
Her slim hips sashay out of my tiny office, taking her disgusting cologne with her. I place my head on the file, my hair falling forward as I fight the urge to go after that witch who made my life a living hell since I got hired.
When I’ve got a semblance of control, I get up from my seat and grab my coat.
As I stroll through the cubicles, I see pitying looks from my co-workers. They heard everything. They always do. There’s no privacy in this dump.
A gust of wind chills my cheeks as I leave the building, sending my hair into a wild dance around my face. Turning my face to the sky, I soak in vitamin D, shrugging off the humiliation I just endured.
I don’t hate my job, although it might seem like it. I just hate being treated like a nobody after working so hard for something all my life.
But life has never been kind to me. No, it gave me scraps and kicked me to the curb.
I was a werewolf without a wolf, a freak of nature that no pack wanted. Bouncing from one foster home to another became my reality until I finally found a loving human family. But then tragedy struck, and my adoptive brother lost his legs in a car crash. I still remember the horror I felt when I saw him in the hospital, hooked to machines and tubes.
That night, I swore to myself that I would make him proud and give him the best life possible. Immersing myself in studies, I graduated top of my class only to land a job at one of the worst agencies in NYC.
Then I realized life was playing a cruel joke on me.
The blaring of car horns and cursing pedestrians—normalcy in New York City—all dull into a buzz as I lose myself in my thoughts.
Every month, I saved some money for Leo’s surgery, hoping he would walk again one day.
I jump when I feel a tap on my shoulder, clutching my heart over my white shirt. “Jesus, you scared me,” I mutter to the woman before me.
From the corner of my eyes, I realized I was already in front of the Starbucks café.
Running my eyes over her overtly-friendly stance, I make quick deductions. Stilettos, red lips, hair pulled into a high ponytail to show off the pearl necklace on her slender neck and signature high-end pant and suit. Ah. Most definitely an Agent.
Clearing her throat, she grins, extending her hand towards me. “Hi, I am Ms. Scott.”
A sharp scent of cedar cut through my nostrils, making me tense. She was a werewolf, a Gamma at that. I don’t come in contact with my kind on the busy streets of New York.