<b>Chapter </b><b>57 </b>


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    63


    Throughout the morning, Vanessa intercepted every customer before I could approach them. My fingernails dug crescents into my palms. This is ridiculous. How am I supposed to make sales when she’s practically tackling clients at the door? When an older human woman came in looking for a gift, I finally stepped forward, only to have Vanessa


    slide next to me.


    “Let me help you,” she said to the customer. “Reba is new and still learning our inventory.” Her voice dripped with false sweetness while her eyes shed a warning at me. Back off, human.


    By lunchtime, I hadn’t served a single customer. Not one. Zeromission. Zero chance of making my targets. Zero chance of helping my family. I stared at my untouched sandwich in the break room, appetite gone.


    Emma found me there, sitting down beside me. “Don’t take it personally,” she said. “Vanessa does this to every new person, especially humans. She thinks werewolf clients prefer to be served by werewolves.” Emma lowered her voice. “She’s scared you’ll take hermissions.”


    “And Steve doesn’t stop her?” I couldn’t keep the bitterness from my voice. Of course he doesn’t. Another werewolf looking out for his own.


    Emma shook her head. “Steve’s a werewolf too. He pretends not to notice.” She leaned closer, giving my arm a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry. The first day is always the hardest.”


    The next two days followed the same pattern. By the end of my third day, I had only sold a few small items–a keychain, earrings, a card holder. Three hundred dors in sales. I’m going to lose this job before I even really start it.


    Steve called me into his office. My legs felt like lead as I walked, already knowing what wasing. Judgment day, after only three days. That must be some kind of record.


    “Miss Brown,” he began sternly. “I’ve been reviewing your sales figures.” He showed me the chart–my name at the bottom with a pitiful $300, Vanessa’s at the top with over $5,000. Each number was a nail in my professional coffin.


    “This is uneptable,” he continued. “Do you know what our minimum weekly sales target is? Three thousand dors per associate,”


    I took a deep breath, trying to steady my voice. “Mr. Johnson, I’ve been trying, but Vanessa intercepts almost every


    customer-”


    “Stop,” he interrupted, his hand cutting through the air. “I don’t want excuses. This is how the world works. The strong survive, the weak make excuses.” His eyes narrowed, and I felt two inches tall under his gaze. “This is a werewolf–owned business in a werewolf–dominated market. Adapt or leave.”


    “I understand, sir. I’ll try harder.” My face burned with humiliation, blood roaring in my ears. The words tasted bitter


    on my tongue.


    :


    As I was gathering my things, my hands still trembling, I heard the store’s front door chime. Three elegantly dressed women entered–with Elizabeth Collins at the center.


    My blood turned to ice. Elizabeth stood there in a designer outfit, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against her leather handbag. Vanessa rushed forward, practically tripping over herself.


    Ms. Collins! What a pleasure to see you again. How may I assist you and your friends today?” Her voice had risen an octave, syrupy with deference.


    Elizabeth’s cold eyes swept the store beforending on me. I watched recognition dawn on her face, followed by something calcting and cruel. A slow smile spread across her perfect features. My stomach twisted. She’s going to destroy me. Right here.


    “Actually,” she said loudly, “I want that human girl to assist us. The one in the corner.”


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