Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha novel Chapter 134

Chapter 134: Office of Academic Affairs

The old, wiry lady manning the desk at the Office of Academic Affairs has two horns growing out of her forehead. Probably goblin; she’s too small to be a troll.

Despite being born and raised in a world filled with supernaturals around every corner, even I blink a little to see a chthonoid subtype guarding the gates of the Chancellor. Goblins and trolls don’t exactly have a reputation for... well. Anyway.

I wait at the counter, keeping my expression neutral while the goblin woman shuffles papers around as if I’m invisible. The tusks protruding from her forehead gleam; does she wax them? They’re polished to an impeccable shine, suggesting either pride or meticulous self-care. At the very end of one is a piercing, a simple golden hoop.

How fascinating.

She finally looks up, pushing her bifocals higher on her nose with one gnarled finger. The glasses hang from a beaded chain around her neck, giving her a grandmotherly vibe.

"Yes?" Her voice startles me—high-pitched, nasal, but wrapped in a crisp British accent straight from Buckingham Palace.

I clear my throat. "Good afternoon. I’d like to schedule an appointment with Dr. Blackthorn, please."

The goblin woman’s expression doesn’t change, not even a twitch. "All appointment requests must be submitted via email. The Chancellor will consider your request and respond if she deems it necessary."

Her tone carries the weight of bureaucracy—immovable, impersonal, immune to charm. Also, condescending.

"Ah. Yes. I understand. However, I don’t have Dr. Blackthorn’s email address."

"Then you don’t need to see the Chancellor." She picks up a stamp and brings it down with unnecessary force on a form, the thud echoing in the quiet office.

My entire face scrunches, before I gain enough control to smooth my expression. "I’m sorry, but this makes no sense. How am I supposed to email someone whose contact information I don’t have?"

"The Chancellor’s email is provided to those who require it."

"And how exactly does one determine that they require it?"

Her eyes meet mine, cold and unblinking. Human eyes are never truly black, but a deep, dark brown. Not hers. They’re black, indistinguishable between pupil and iris. "Those who need to contact the Chancellor know how to do so."

My fingers curl against the edge of the counter as I lean forward. "Why isn’t her contact information listed on the Thornhaven website? Every other faculty member’s is."

"Email your request to the Office of Academic Affairs. It will be forwarded appropriately." She returns to her paperwork, dismissing me without another word.

"But I’m standing right here. Can’t you just—"

"Email your request." She doesn’t look up. "The Chancellor’s schedule is managed digitally. No exceptions."

The absurdity of being directed to email a request while standing directly in front of the person who could simply write my name in a calendar makes my jaw clench.

"So you’re telling me there’s absolutely no way to schedule an appointment without going through this email process?"

"That is correct." She stamps another form with that same aggressive thud.

I take a deep breath, filling my lungs until they hurt. Then I let it all out in one solid whoosh. "Could you at least provide me with the appropriate email address?"

Her hand pauses mid-stamp. For a moment, I think I’ve finally broken through, but then she reaches into a drawer and pulls out a business card, sliding it across the counter with two fingers.

Her nails are manicured. White, with pink polka dots. For an old lady of questionable temperament, she has a cute side.

The card is pristine white with simple black text: Office of Academic Affairs, followed by an email address and phone number. No names. No personal contacts.

"Thank you," I say, though the words taste of defeat.

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