Chapter 30: Did You Already Blow Through Forty Grand?

"You again?" Edgar leaned back in his leather chair and rested his chin on his fingers. "It hasn’t even been twelve hours, little cat. Did you already manage to lose your training pass, or did you just miss my delightful company?"

I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I glided across the room with a deliberate, modest posture, pulling out the chair directly opposite his desk and sitting down. I smoothed down my oversized hoodie, looking up at him through my lashes with a picture-perfect expression of helpless, desperate innocence.

"Edgar..." I began, my voice delicate, soft, and laced with a pathetic, dramatic touch. "Your investment is in dire straits. I am on the verge of dying from starvation and exhaustion."

Edgar stared at me. He looked at my vibrant, calm face, then lowered his gaze to the desk, taking a slow sip of his espresso before letting out a dry, raspy laugh.

"Starvation?" he repeated, his golden eyes narrowing into a sharp, incredulous glare. "Did you already blow through the forty thousand dollars you cleaned off my floor yesterday? What on earth did you spend forty grand on in a single night?"

"I didn’t blow through it," I corrected, shaking my head with a victimized sigh. "I paid off debts, bought actual food, and secured basic supplies. But I can’t live off forty grand forever, can I? I need more money."

Edgar raised a brow, an amused smirk playing on his lips. "If you need money, why don’t you just go back downstairs and gamble the way you did yesterday? You seemed remarkably good at stripping my dealers of their chips."

"Because my brother is working double shifts on your floor starting today," I replied flatly, dropping the innocent routine for a split second. "If he catches me at a high-stakes table, I’ll never hear the end of it. So gambling is off the table. Which brings me to why I’m here."

I clasped my hands together over my knee, resuming my picture of modest, hard-working desperation. "I want you to give me a job that will pay me money. Different thing entirely."

Edgar paused, a slow, disbelieving smile spreading across his face. "A job. In my casino?"

"Yes," I replied brightly. "Preferably one that doesn’t take up more than... say, two hours of my day. And it has to pay extremely well."

Silence descended upon the luxurious office.

Edgar stared at me in absolute, stunned silence for three full seconds. Then, he rubbed his temples, his knuckles turning white as he fought off a mixture of genuine shock and sheer exasperation.

"Let me get this straight," Edgar rumbled, his deep voice vibrating with suppressed amusement as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. "You came into my office, looking like a tragic victim, to demand that I invent a non-existent, two-hour job just so I can hand you a fat paycheck?"

"Well... when you phrase it like that, it sounds ridiculous," I reasoned, completely unbothered as I finally let go of the modesty and crossed my legs. "But you’re the boss, Edgar! You can make it existent! Just come up with something. As long as it’s a task I perform and you pay me for it, it’s technically a legitimate job. It may sound like a loss, but in all honestly, you’re simply protecting your investment."

Edgar leaned in until our faces were barely a foot apart over the dark wood. The faint scent of expensive bourbon and cedar wood radiated off him, his Alpha presence heavy, warm, and suffocatingly powerful.

Yet, despite his overwhelming physical advantage, he looked at me not as a predator looking at prey, but as a man fascinated by a completely unhinged puzzle.

"You really are the most shameless creature in this entire pack," Edgar murmured softly, his golden eyes sweeping over my face, scanning for any trace of fear. "I’ve barely backed you with a training pass and a token—things I wouldn’t even cry over if you died tomorrow. And yet you sit in my chair, negotiating shift hours like my business belongs to you."

"Because you know I’m worth it," I whispered back, leaning forward just half an inch to meet his intense gaze head-on, completely unfazed by his aura. "You wouldn’t have let me past your guards if you thought I was a waste of time."

Edgar held my stare, a subtle heat pulsing in the narrow space between us. A dark, amused smirk slowly broke across his face, and he leaned back, swirling his espresso.

"Alright, little cat," Edgar purred, his golden eyes gleaming with a dark, dangerous intrigue. "If you want a two-hour job that pays absurdly well, you’re going to earn every single credit."

He reached into his jacket, pulled out a heavy steel key engraved with intricate runes, and tossed it onto the desk between us. It landed with a sharp, resonant clink.

"Down in the sub-basement lies the floor’s vault archive. Once a month, the security matrix resets, and the physical ledgers need manual audit and sorting before the morning shift takes over. My managers refuse to step foot down there—they claim the residual pressure from the vault’s suppression seals makes it feel like your chest is being crushed under iron."

He rested his chin on his fingers, a mocking smirk playing on his lips. "It takes a normal Beta two hours just to survive the atmospheric weight, let alone sort through the files. Complete the audit before the timer runs out, and I’ll personally write you a check for ten thousand credits. Fail or run out screaming, and you forfeit your requisition token for the recovery serums."

My eyes lit up. That’s a whooping one millions dollars, ain’t it? This guy wants to spend ten thousand credits that’s equivalent to a million dollars just for 2 hours of reading? It’s not a scam, right? And if its not, just how much does he underestimate me to be throwing around such a reward?

My lips curved into a slow, razor-thin smile. Physical pressure suppression? Heavy atmospheric weight meant nothing to someone whose mind had been forged through high-altitude assassin survival tactics and extreme endurance training. It was practically a free workout and heavy payout.

I reached out, swiping the cold steel key off the desk and sliding it into my hoodie pocket.

"Ten thousand credits for two hours of light reading?" I murmured, standing up and smoothing down my top. "You’re being far too generous, Edgar. I almost feel like I’m robbing you."

Edgar let out a deep, rumbling laugh that vibrated off the mahogany walls. "Don’t celebrate just yet, little cat. If the pressure doesn’t break your ribs, the dust might."

"We’ll see who breaks first," I replied, turning on my heel toward the double doors. "Keep your checkbook open."

I glided out of his office, stepping onto the polished marble corridor. But just when Edgar thought he had finally gotten rid of me, I paused, spun back around, and slid right back inside, clearing my throat loudly.

"Which way to the basement?"