Twenty-Three Wyatt

For the past five weeks, Tanner and I had been working our asses off. Then, every night, we'd go home, fuck like rabbits, then fall asleep covered in cum. The next morning, we'd wake up and repeat it all over again.

We were the first at the office each day, both of us keeping to our respective cubicles for the majority of the day. However, we'd sort of switched places. Tanner stayed in, working on the software and managing clients while I went out and showed houses. Thanks to Tanner's efforts, we not only had more customers than we could handle, but we were responding to them so quickly that we could snag the sale while they were still excited.

The new system was making our jobs almost too easy, if I was being honest. The moment anyone reached out to our agency for information, Tanner was able to pounce immediately. The system built a unique profile for each customer to their exact specifications and responded to them in real time if they had any basic questions. That alone got rid of ninety percent of our superfluous requests from unserious buyers.

Anything more complicated would come directly to Tanner, who, while not a salesman, was extremely well-versed in all things real estate. From his computer, he could send texts, voice messages, or emails and have a reply to them within moments. That kind of personalized attention put our higher-end clients at ease and cut out the long waiting times while realtors attempted to contact one another constantly. What had usually taken a day or more to answer now took minutes. We'd officially moved into the twenty-first century at last.

And we were raking in money because of it.

In fact, by the end of the second week, Tanner had gone out and purchased new laptops on the company card because we just couldn't keep up with our old, busted hardware. Then, after we trained the secretary to help and showed the other sales agents how to use the new system, we had almost more work than we could handle. Every night was a late one, and every morning, an early start. But I didn't care. I was too excited by our progress and the dollars stacking up in my bank account from commission. We'd already blown past last year's numbers and beyond.

It would only take one more sale to meet my father's demands.

I could barely contain myself.

That's why, when I walked into work on the last Monday in August, I was surprised that my secretary was already there.

"Early day, Phyllis?" I asked, placing my laptop case on the desk. "You don't have to be here this early, you know? I don't expect you all to come in early just because I do."

"It was a special request," she replied, not quite meeting my gaze.

"From Tanner?" I glanced back toward the parking lot. "He's running out to get coffee if you want anything. It's the least he could do for asking you to come in early."

"No, it wasn't Tanner," she said. "Your father asked me."

I crinkled my nose. "Why does he want you here early?" I laughed. "It's not like he'd know anyway. He's like a thousand miles away."

"No, he's not," a deep voice said behind me.

I turned on my heel, my face falling as my gaze met my father's.

"Oh… Dad…. Uh… hi." I stood up a little straighter, adjusting my collar. "What are you doing here?"

He gave me a rather stern look. "I'm here because of the sales reports I received on Friday," he replied. "There's obviously been some sort of mistake."

I couldn't help smiling, feeling pretty proud of myself. "No mistake. Those numbers are right. I double-checked them myself. And I can show you the reports day by day too if you like. Tanner's new system keeps track of everything."

"Tanner's new system?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow. "Why isn't he selling?"

"He is… He just has been helping me make this place run a little smoother, is all." It was a lie, but not one that could be proven. The sales had Tanner's name on them, and he was paid a commission. "We've both been putting in some overtime to get this place up to snuff. He's been amazing to work with, and we're doing more business than ever."

"We need to have a talk about that." My father gestured for me to follow him. "Privately."

I cocked my head to the side as he walked away, confused beyond all reason. Not only had I met his demands, but we'd made his business more efficient than ever. The company cars were getting used less, the office ran amazingly well on minimal staff, and sales were coming in like crazy. What could he possibly have to be upset about?

And yet, as I followed behind him, it was easy to see the tension in his shoulders. Something was up, but I just didn't understand what it was. Had he really flown across the country just because he didn't believe me? Or was there more to it?

My heart sank as a thought crossed my mind.

Did he know about Tanner?

There was no way he could. We'd been especially careful to make sure that we never showed our feelings for one another in the office. Everything was casual and professional without a hint of romance. Besides, the others were never around us anyway. They had their cubicles out front so they could interface with customers more easily. Tanner and I went to the back office so we could get our work done. Sure, we drove together every day and got lunch together sometimes, but everyone knew he was living with me. Hell, it was my father's idea to stick him in my apartment to begin with.

"Take a seat," he said as I stepped inside his office.

The place was freshly dusted, although not well. There were still streaks on the shelves where some had been left behind. The place was like a time capsule, sealed off from everyone else except on the rare occasion that he came to visit. I had no doubt the reason Phyllis was there early was to quickly clean his office and fetch coffee. Dad never did like taking care of his own things. After a lifetime of having house staff, I wasn't even sure he knew how to.

"Is something wrong?" I asked, taking a seat across from him. "I'm doing everything you asked of me, so I'm a bit caught off guard by this visit."

"Does a father need a reason to visit his son?"

"Dad," I replied, giving him a stern look. "We both know that's not why you're here."

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "You're right. It's not." Lifting his hands, he gestured to the office around him. "You see this office? This was my father's, too, the place where he built this business. Everything I've ever wanted to be ever raised you to be started in this office."

I sat quietly, not sure which direction this lecture was going to go just yet.

"We've always done business a certain way. Our reputation was built on not only being upstanding salesman but also an upstanding family that people could trust."

"Our customer ratings are through the roof," I replied, anticipating his next move. "People are more happy with our services now than ever."

"Until they find out the truth."

My heart skipped. "What do you mean?"

"This new… system… It's impersonal. Half of it is robotic. Nobody wants to talk to a robot."

"Actually, a lot of people do. Newer generations want their questions answered so they can make a decision, not sit on a phone with a pushy sales agent." I pulled out my phone. "I will show you the research right now. And we have the numbers to back it up. Not to mention, it gets rid of almost everyone who isn't serious about buying without wasting staff time. It's incredibly efficient."

"I don't like this new-fangled nonsense, and neither would your grandfather."

"Dad," I sighed, giving him a pleading look. "This is probably going to piss you off, but I don't care what you or he would have wanted."

His left eye twitched, and his expression darkened.

"The world is changing around us. We have to rise to meet it or get left behind. I'm making sales, and the customers are happy. If that's what matters, then why is it a problem?"

"It… it's just n-not right," he stammered, clearly irritated by my unwillingness to agree with him. "I don't like it."

It was easy to see he was avoiding something. He was angry and frustrated, but nothing he said made sense. I stared at him for a long moment, really taking him in for the first time in years. Seeing him in person drove home how old he'd gotten. Werewolves didn't age poorly, but a lifetime of stress and sales had given him a more weathered appearance than most. He seemed shorter, less vibrant, and less strong than I remembered. For the first time in my life, I looked into his eyes and realized that I was no longer scared of him.

"Dad. Why are you here?" I leaned forward in my chair, returning his stern look. There was no reason to hold back anymore. "Six weeks ago, you told me it was only sales that mattered. Now you're here feeding me some bullshit story about reputation. What is this really about?"

He opened his mouth to retort, angry words forming on his lips.

"Stop," I said, holding up a hand. "You can either speak to me like an adult or not at all. I've done everything you've ever asked of me. I deserve respect for that. Talk to me man to man, not adult to child."

I could tell he still wanted to shout. But, to his credit, he only sighed, leaning back in his chair.

"Okay," he nodded, taking a deep breath. "I'm worried about you."

"The business is fine, Dad. And so am I."

"It's not about the business." He lifted his gaze, his intense blue eyes staring back at me. "You stink like a human, Wyatt."