Ten Dollars for My Moon Terrace? Dream On

Thursday night, I'd just gotten out of the shower when my phone started buzzing like crazy on the coffee table.

I picked it up. Someone had tagged me in the building's owners' group chat.

The message came from my downstairs neighbor. Who also happened to be my direct supervisor at the branch office. Vernon Boggs.

"@Wren Hey girl, I've been paying attention. That penthouse duplex of yours comes with a huge terrace, and it just sits there empty. My wife had our pup a few days ago. Growing pups need plenty of moonlight for their bones. The full moon is next week, and our boy's first moonbathing cannot be delayed. So starting today, your moon terrace belongs to our family."

I stared at the screen. The nerve of this man almost made me laugh.

In wolf society, private territory is sacred. Nobody touches it. And I'd paid over three million dollars for this penthouse for one reason. That wide-open terrace with nothing blocking the moon.

He thought he could just claim it with one text?

Before I could reply, Vernon dropped a voice message in the chat.

I played it. His greasy, entitled voice came through: "We're coworkers, and we're neighbors. I'm not looking for a free ride here. Tell you what, I'll send you ten dollars a month as rent. Consider it a lease. You're not losing anything. You're a single wolf with no mate and no pups. A terrace that big is wasted on you."

The chat went quiet for a few seconds. Then the usual peacemakers crawled out.

Patty: "Aww, Vernon's family has a new pup? Congratulations! Wren, honey, pups come first. That's the oldest rule we wolves have. Just let them use the terrace for some moonlight."

Gus: "She's right. Ten dollars is still money. Neighbors help each other out. You're a young girl, don't be so selfish."

I read through their generosity with my property and felt nothing. I typed one word and hit send.

"No."

The chat exploded.

Vernon fired back a string of voice messages, and the anger in them was obvious. "Wren! What is wrong with you? You think I was asking? I was informing you! A pup needs moonlight. Nothing matters more than that! You're a bottom-rung employee without even a mate, and you're hogging the best moonbathing spot in the building for what? Post the terrace door code in the chat. Now!"

I let out a cold laugh.

I would never understand how this family's brains worked. If they wanted a moon terrace, they could buy their own penthouse. Coming to take mine? On what planet?

I wasn't going to waste words on a robber. I typed my reply. "My territory. Not lending it, not renting it, not opening it. Anyone who sets foot on it, I'm calling the Enforcers."

Then I muted the group chat, dropped my phone, and went to sleep.

The next morning, I'd barely reached my desk when Vernon walked over with a dark look on his face.

He'd put on a cheap suit for the occasion. It did nothing to cover the musky stink of an ordinary gray wolf.

"Wren. My office." He rapped his knuckles on my desk, voice low and sour.

I stood up without a word and followed him in.

The second the door closed, Vernon slammed his palm on the desk and puffed himself up like a real boss.

"Wren, what was that attitude in the group chat last night? Do you want to keep working at the Calloway Group or not?"

I pulled out a chair, sat down without being asked, and looked at him coldly. "Mr. Boggs, we're on the clock. If you want to talk work, I'm listening. If you want to talk about my terrace, the door's right there."

"You—" Vernon ground his teeth. He leaned in close and dropped his voice to a threat. "Don't push your luck. I'm a project manager at the Calloway Group. That makes me your senior and your direct supervisor. You're still on probation, aren't you? Your review goes through me!"

He paused. Something greedy flickered in his eyes.

"Hand over the terrace code like a good girl and let my pup moonbathe there every night, and I'll personally make sure you pass. Otherwise? I've got a hundred ways to make sure you don't survive at this company."

I looked at his smug little face and felt nothing. If anything, I wanted to laugh.

Threatening me at the Calloway Group?

He had no idea. The chairwoman of the Calloway Group, also known as my mother, had called me just yesterday, asking when I'd be done playing entry-level employee and come back to headquarters to take over.

"Vernon." I dropped the title entirely and looked him dead in the eye. "One last time. The terrace is my private property. As for my job, go ahead and try. See if you can make me leave."

I stood up, pushed the door open, and walked out, leaving Vernon raging uselessly in his office.