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Chapter 3 Deal

[Ella]

He must have spent a lot of money to get a pair of sapphires embedded in his eyes. This thought bubbles up in my head after Mr. Clapton takes off his sunglasses.

Only people could guess that this man may be handsome if he wore sunglasses. But now, Mr. Clapton can undoubtedly be described as the David Sculpture of shifters, carefully sculpted by the Moon God.

Yet, his unsmiling, indifferent expression makes him look like a Birman cat. For a brief moment, I think if I picture him as an angry Birman cat, this arrogant Alpha doesn't seem so annoying.

"His temporary owner?" he said in a sarcastic tone.

Oh, that's too bad. It's hard to believe that this handsome man has a mouth.

As I gawk at Mr. Clapton's face, Ethan jumps from my arms onto the table and arches his back at Mr. Clapton, revealing his premature sharp teeth. He seems to sense my distaste for the man standing across the table.

"Ethan, don't be rude. He's your former owner." I see Mr. Clapton's brows furrow again and worry that he might hurt the cat. I immediately pick Ethan up and hand him to Mia, who doesn't seem as shocked by Mr. Clapton's appearance as I am.

Ethan insists on jumping out of Mia's arms, and he leaps down to my lap. His head rubs against my calf and stands up again, his two front paws clutching my calf.

"How well do you know cats?" He asks me. He doesn't look angry. On the contrary, his sapphire eyes appear to be lit up.

"At least much more than you do. What? Finally realized you're not cut out for cats?" I chuckle and bend down to pick Ethan up again.

"Good. Ansel, cancel the next interview and delay the meeting." Mr. Clapton instructs his assistant.

Mr. Bates' lips are slightly open, but he quickly understands his Alpha. "Yes. Alpha." he takes another blue folder out of his briefcase, puts it on the table, and then turns to the phone.

"What?" I say, not understanding what they want to do.

"Then let's begin!" Mr. Clapton finishes to me and then shifts his gaze to Mia, still sitting on the couch, "I have something to say to Miss Ronan."

"Oops, time for work." Mia stands up, pats me on the shoulder, and whispers, "Ella, good luck and stay on the line."

"Don't worry. Your friend is totally not my type." Mr. Clapton says, hanging his sunglasses into his breast pocket.

"That's good to know," I mutter, rolling my eyes and waving to Mia, carrying her bag out the door.

Mr. Clapton sits back on the couch and opens the blue folder on the table. The first page is my resume. I have submitted over 100 resumes, and perhaps one of the firms belonging to the Blue Moon Group, so I am not surprised that he has my resume.

"Okay, Miss Ella Jane Ronan, born in Ronan Family's pack. Graduates from Blue Moon University, majoring in... Communications? Interesting." As he reads my major and comments, it seems as if I'm seeing a professor evaluating a D-grade paper.

He keeps reading my resume, "GPA 4.3, not bad. Skills...useless. No internship. 3 part-time jobs. café, University Library, pet store. hmm, at least one of them is useful."

After the Alpha from the top of the pyramid finishes my resume, I feel lost and a little annoyed that all the knowledge and skills I learned and gained in college are useless.

Ethan jumps out of my arm to where Mia was just sitting, sits down, and yawns.

"Mr. Clapton, what are you trying to do by reading my resume? Are you going to offer me a job?" I ask, folding my arms and leaning my back on the couch.

"That's right. It doesn't look like you got your A+ by luck." He closes the folder and surprisingly smiles at me.

As much as I hate to admit it, my heart misses a beat after the corner of his lips briefly curve upwards.

"So, shall I be happy that at least you think my high GPA is useful?" I question. I don’t want to blow my own trumpet. It's just that my 4.3 GPA is the only one he gives a barely positive comment on.

"The useful thing I refer to is your experience working part-time at a pet store. I don't want a nerd, which means your high GPA doesn't match my needs. So, Miss Ronan, before you apply for a job, you need to understand the value you can provide to the recruiter." Mr. Clapton leans against the couch back, crossing his legs.

The way he preaches to me destroys the last little good impression his face left on me, though what he says makes sense. With a low grunt, I ask him, "So, what value can I offer you? As a nerd with only one useful part-time experience."

"A pet sitter. That's what I want now," Mr. Clapton says, switching his gaze at Ethan, who lies drowsy on the couch.

"You're going to hire me as Ethan's sitter?" I ask, surprised. My mouth drops open in delight as a surprise falls from heaven, and I look over at Ethan, who is startled awake by my earlier question.

Mr. Clapton raises his eyebrows. Maybe because I just speak at such a high volume?

"Sorry. You mean I can keep Ethan?" I ask. Ethan gets up from the couch to stretch and walks to my lap again.

"What's your part-time wage at the pet store, $15 an hour?" He asks.

"$12," I whisper, rubbing Ethan's little head.

"I'll pay you $150,000 a year, after taxes. I'll also fund all the expenses of raising the cat. Your job is to make sure that the cat is healthy and email me a picture or a short video of it within 10 seconds by 10 pm every day. Also, you will bring the cat to me whenever I need it." Mr. Clapton states.

"$150,000?" My eyes go wide, and I stop stroking Ethan. My hearing is good, right? I keep his cat at his expense, and he pays me a high salary? Is there an easier and more outrageous job in the world than that?

"That's right. If you agree, I'll have Ansel send you a formal offer and prepare a contract." Mr. Clapton lifts one arm, signaling me to give him a reply.

I swallow and ask him for more details, "Mr. Clapton, when you say 'if I need,' you mean if you suddenly wanted to see him at 2:00 a.m., I would have to bring him to you immediately?"

"Yes. It counts as overtime." The corners of Mr. Clapton's mouth lift again, and this time, I read from his smile that he is joking.

"One more question. You came here to ask for the cat, but you don't like cats. This proves you need Ethan. So, can I ask why you've suddenly changed your mind?" I ask.

"That's my private business. All you need to do is tell me if you agree to do the job." He says, still expressionless.

He is the CEO of Blue Moon Group, the most famous Alpha in North America. So, he won't lie to me, perhaps?

"Meow~" Ethan purrs at me, sounding like he is urging me to accept the offer.

Even if he fooled me, at least I could still keep Ethan, and at most, I wouldn’t get paid. However, I have one more thing.

"One last thing. Can you make the job title on the offer an assistant or other title that looks more formal? Because my father..." I inquire.

"Deal. Ansel will handle that."

Before I finish the reason, Mr. Clapton has already stood up and is ready to leave. Perhaps it is a waste of his precious time for him to listen to my explanation for one more minute.

"Wait, your check." I remind him. If possible, I intend to shake hands with him. After all, he's my boss from now on.

"Keep it. Support payment for this month." He leaves the messages and opens my apartment door.

"$50,000 a month or a year? That's too much." I scream.

"My cat is worth. Don't feed it the cheap shit. Plus, my Blue Moon Group will not go bankrupt just because I have you and that cat, don't worry." He sniffs and leaves without looking back.

Hell, he overheard what I said to Mia before ringing the doorbell. So, is that why he looked so moody before he walked in?

In the end, I shake hands with friendly Mr. Bates, who doesn’t say anything extra to me, like why his Alpha needs Ethan and who the girl holding Ethan is in the photo.

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