“How come I never heard about that?”
“Discretion is the better part of valor. I found out by accident and was sworn to secrecy on pain of never seeing another sniff of a contract from Max’s extended family. So keep that to yourself, hey, or you’ll ruin us both.”
“Got it,” William agreed morosely. “So, you think Inspire Inc. is the way to go?”
“You’re a private man. They’ll respect that.”
“I hope so.” He must have sounded as reluctant as he felt, because Beckett leaned forward again, concern in his gaze. “You need this, William. And I don’t just mean professionally. You’ve made your work your life, and now you’re struggling. You need a lifeline. If you won’t go out and get one of your own, then a muse is the next best thing.”
It was hard to argue with Beckett, the pinnacle of common sense most of the time.
“Alright, alright. You’ve convinced me. Now, enough about my sad excuse for a life. How’s Zac? Any sign of the pitter-patter of tiny feet?”
It took him two days to psych himself up to make the call. The woman on the other end of the phone listened to his halting explanation and asked him to hold before transferring him. The next voice that spoke was smooth and calm. Micah put William at ease almost instantly as he took his details. An omega, of course.
“We like to do a face-to-face meeting as well as gather all the particulars before we decide if you’re a good fit.”
“Sounds sensible,” William said. What made someone a bad fit? Poor hygiene? Definitely. Poor prospects? …Maybe. Would he pass muster, given who and what he was?
The actual meeting was less like the psychological dentist visit he’d been anticipating and more like an informal chat. He met with Micah, the same omega he’d talked to on the phone. Micah got a sense of what he was looking for and why, and William got some insight into their approach.
“What happens next?” he asked Micah as they finished up.
“From here, all your information is sent to our intake board. They make the decision on whether to accept you as a client. If they do, we give you access to the database of those muses we feel you’d have a sufficient level of compatibility with.”
“You don’t just let me see the whole database?”
More choice seemed better than less.
“We find giving people free rein can cause them to stray off course. Leading with the eyes, so to speak.”
William read between the lines.
“You mean putting sexual attraction ahead of actual compatibility.”
“Exactly that. This isn’t a relationship, sexual or otherwise. It’s a professional service that gives alphas something they lack.”
That was exactly how he felt: like he was lacking something. A missing piece to a puzzle he couldn’t solve.
“How long until I hear?”
Now that he’d made up his mind, he was impatient to get going.
“The board meets on Thursday mornings. Assuming there’s consensus on your application, we should have their decision by the afternoon.”
“And if I’m rejected?”
Micah smiled, his expression softening. “After three years working here, I have a good sense about these things. I don’t believe you have anything to worry about.”
Chapter Three
Micah’s instincts were right, and an acceptance email landed in William’s inbox at precisely two p.m. that Thursday. He forced himself to finish his work for the day before he opened it, reading through the details that told him how to access the database of muses represented by the agency. Ignoring the ache of hunger in his stomach, he logged in. He’d expected to be given access to the profiles of his potential muses, to see pictures and biographical details. Instead, he was greeted with a simple page accompanied by Micah’s pleasant voice.
“Our studies have found that the most effective way to choose a muse isn’t by eye but by ear. Next to scent, the voice of an omega who is a compatible muse is the strongest activator of creative, abstract thought in an alpha. As you navigate our database, you’ll hear various voices speaking to you. Use the control on the left of your screen to indicate your interest level. We recommend using headphones for a truly immersive experience.”
This wasn’t what he’d anticipated. Nevertheless, he plowed on, connecting his headphones and sliding them over his ears before continuing.
“We’d like to learn more about you,” a voice said in his ear. It was soft and a little breathy with just a hint of amusement. But as it talked on, he found it did nothing for him. On the left side of the screen was a long set of bars, like a volume control. The lowest meant no interest, the highest, strong interest. That first voice he marked almost at the bottom.
The voice changed, this one a little deeper and slower, asking him to pick a topic to talk about. He could see they’d used his profile to build the content around him—his career featured prominently, as did the gym. He decided to start with his job, since it was the focus of his life and the reason he was using the agency in the first place. A series of voices followed, talking about their work, asking questions about his that he could click preset answers to on the screen, so it felt like more of a conversation than an audition. A few voices piqued some interest, but for the most part, they washed over him without leaving a trace. When he moved onto the gym as a topic, it only got worse. Some of the voices were downright grating, and he wished there was a way to indicate a negative instead of just a no. By the time he reached the end, he was ready to tear off the headphones and give up. But there, on the screen, the last topic blinked innocently.
Dining out. William was no chef and had never taken the time to learn to cook, but everyone had to eat to live. He could afford to eat out whenever he had a hankering for good food. He hadn’t been that lucky as a child. His father’s inattentive cooking had left a lot to be desired, but hey, there had to be some benefits to growing up. Already suspecting another dead end, he selected the last topic and settled in to listen and answer. The first few voices provoked neutral reactions, and he was tempted to call it a day before his mood got any sourer, but then a voice came on that stopped him in his tracks.
“My guilty pleasure is a chocolate chip muffin heated just enough that the chocolate inside melts, and you have to lick it off your fingers as you tear it apart.”
William licked his lips, almost tasting the melted chocolate on his tongue. His heart skipped a beat as he dialed the bars up to the highest setting. To his surprise, that voice kept talking. “And, of course, all good muffins should be washed down with a hot drink. But it can’t be any hot drink. Match flavor to flavor. Cinnamon or chocolate with hot chocolate. Blueberry with coffee. And it’s a sin to eat carrot cake with anything except tea. A proper breakfast tea, with a deep, rich flavor.”
The words might as well have been nonsense—William was no expert on flavors—but that voice… Faced with another blank bar, he dialed it to the highest setting once more, hoping to be rewarded with another glimpse of that fascinating voice. Disappointment surged through him when it moved on, and he was left wanting more. The next few voices rolled over him, and he decided to log out, surprised to get a message almost immediately on his phone.