Wolf In Waiting. Rebecca Flanders

own species…well, allow me to get clinical for a moment. An essential part of our nature—some might even say the essential part of our nature—is the ability to change from human to wolf form and back again. The Change occurs at will, or can be triggered by strong emotion or sexual arousal. We mate only in the wolf form.

      Most wolflings are born with the ability to change; all of them achieve it by the time they reach puberty. All except a few genetically disadvantaged anthromorphs, like me. I can’t change. In all other ways I am a perfect representation of our species, but for this one little defect I am considered a freak, a pathetic imitation of a real werewolf, an object of pity and scorn.

      I learned to accept who I am and live with the antipathy—indeed, the rejection—of my own kind long ago. I’m not embarrassed to talk about it. I can’t erase my nature, and I see no point in trying. It is, however, sometimes a lonely existence.

      So really, I can’t be faulted for finding Jason Robesieur’s dinner invitation flattering and for feeling, at this point in my life, just self-indulgent enough to accept. True, Jason is only a human, but he is very pleasant to look at, and among his kind considered a powerful and successful man. In fact, his company had given Clare de Lune reason to be alert over the past few years, and that was no small accomplishment.

      Jason is a senior partner in the Gauge Group, one of the top Madison Avenue advertising agencies whose accounts include Sanibel Cosmetics, here in Montreal. I met him at a seminar in New York last year and was surprised and gratified that he knew some of my work. I found him pleasant and interesting to talk to, and since that time we have occasionally met for lunch when he was in town.

      Dinner, of course, was an entirely different matter.

      We were having lunch then, at an elegant little café that had become a favorite of ours. When he asked me to dinner, I hesitated so long that the moment became uncomfortable, and he laughed a little to cover the awkwardness.

      “Say, I didn’t mean to cause a life crisis here. It’s just that I’m going to be in town for a few days and I thought…” He shrugged. “I’m not sure what I thought.”

      I said quickly, “No, it’s just that…what I mean to say is, I don’t want you to think I’m…that is, I was just surprised.”

      He gave me one of those very charming smiles. “No one’s ever asked you to dinner before?”

      I knew better than to admit the truth. So I gave him one of my very coy, very secretive smiles.

      “It’s okay,” he said. “I understand. It wouldn’t look good for you to be seen with me. After all, I represent—even if it is several times removed—your biggest competitor. And I’ve heard Clare de Lune is a real stickler about such liaisons.”

      “The company is more like a family than an employer,” I agreed carefully.

      That was an understatement. Loyalty to Clare de Lune—to the St. Clare Corporation—is practically a genetic trait. In this one way, perhaps more than any other, we have the advantage over human business. We stick together. We defend our own.

      This of course made what happened later all the more difficult to understand. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

      I didn’t care what other werewolves thought of me, as I’d demonstrated on more than one occasion. But Jason didn’t know that, and I found I was glad that he had given me an excuse to decline his invitation. He was diverting enough for an occasional lunch, but what would I do with him for an entire evening? Suppose he wanted to get romantic. That would be bizarre. How could I ever explain that I simply wasn’t interested without hurting his feelings? No, better to simply avoid the problem in the first place.

      Jason nodded. “The Japanese management technique. Well, there’s no denying it works. But Victoria…” And now his expression grew grave. “I’ve got to tell you, Clare de Lune might be your family, but they’re treating you like an ugly stepsister.”

      I stiffened. “I really don’t see—”

      “It’s true,” he insisted. “And if you don’t see, you’re the only one who doesn’t.”

      I’d been about to say, “I really don’t see that it’s any of your business.” But, being human, he wouldn’t have understood that his pointing out to me that I was being badly treated was a worse insult than being badly treated in the first place.

      I sighed. My instincts had been right from the start: relationships with humans were far more complex than they were worth.

      “Victoria, listen,” Jason said earnestly. “I’m a senior partner with one of the most prestigious firms on Madison Avenue. I pay more in taxes every quarter than most people make in a year, and I didn’t get where I am today by ignoring the obvious. The fact is that you’re one of the most talented people Clare de Lune has. You’ve been working there for what, five years?”

      “Six,” I corrected.

      “And you haven’t had a single promotion. In all that time, you haven’t played a decision-making role in even one campaign. That’s not the way we handle our talent at the Gauge Group, I’ll tell you that, and you’ve got to know this is not the way a bright, ambitious young woman handles her career, either.”

      I smiled and sipped my coffee, sorry our lunch was almost at an end. Jason might not have much potential as a social companion, but I did so enjoy these little debates. “And how does a bright, ambitious young woman handle her career?” I inquired.

      “She comes to work for me,” Jason replied seriously.

      For once, he left me speechless.

      “I mean it, Victoria. I’ve spoken to Hammond Gauge about you, and he’s ready to bring you aboard. Of course you’d start out as a junior, but within a year you’d be managing your own accounts. And we’ll put that in writing. In the meantime, you’d be working under my direct supervision, and I personally promise you hands-on decision-making input in every account you work on.”

      I put down my coffee cup slowly. “Why?” I asked.

      He laughed. “I just offered you the chance of a lifetime, the best deal anybody’s got since Cinderella went to the ball, and that’s all you have to say? Why?”

      “Well, thank you, of course,” I amended, “but if someone offered you the chance of a lifetime—and we haven’t agreed that’s what it is, yet—wouldn’t you be curious?”

      “Not if I were you,” he replied frankly. “You’re good, you know that. You’re being wasted at Clare de Lune, you know that, too. You can bring an awful lot to us, and we know how to show our appreciation. What could be simpler?”

      I caught the eye of a passing waitress across the room and signaled for the check. “You forget one thing,” I said. “I already have a job. And I’m very loyal to my employer.”

      “You can’t be telling me you’re happy there.”

      I hesitated. “I didn’t say that. But I am loyal.”

      The waitress set the check between us. Jason reached for it, but I lifted a staying hand. “My turn. Besides—” I smiled at him sweetly “—we have an account here.”

      His expression was dry. “Fringe benefit?”

      “One of many,” I assured him.

      We walked to the vestibule together and I waited with him for his car to be brought around. Jason helped me slip on my long, hooded silver fox coat. Yes, I wear fur. I get cold, okay? It’s fake fur, of course. It would be politically incorrect to wear anything else, even in Montreal, and even for a werewolf.

      He drew the front of the coat closed beneath my chin, a charmingly affectionate gesture that made me smile. I wondered if he was in love with me, and then dismissed the notion immediately. But that would be interesting, and nothing interesting had happened to me in a long, long time.

      “I’m