Chapter 20
Ping.
A second passes, and I open my mouth to speak.
Ping.
I shake my head and try to start again.
Ping. Ping ping ping.
“Shit, sorry, forgot to put it on silent.” I fish around in my purse for my phone, flashing Lauren a sheepish smile. Flicking the switch to mute my phone without pulling it out, I clear my throat. “As I was saying, I think that Nesties is being overly ambitious about—”
Buzz.
Lauren laughs as I tense at the vibration of another notification. “Damn, girl, someone is blowing your phone up.”
I chuckle and shake my head, hoping the hair falling in my face hides the flush rising on my cheeks. “Yeah.” I pull the phone out, heart stuttering when I see the line of notifications filling my screen, all from a certain pack.
Jackson: Good luck with your first day in the office! You’re going to crush it.
Ambrose: If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask. I hope you have a wonderful day, sweetheart.
Jackson: If anyone is mean to you, tell them your very tough boyfriend will fuck them up.
Ambrose: I don’t think River fighting Camille’s coworkers is a good idea.
Jackson: Wait, you think River is the tough one? Seriously??
Ambrose: It’s not me.
Jackson: I meant me! I’m the tough one!
River: The last time I accidentally bumped against you, you yelped like a baby and then proceeded to clutch your arm like you’d been mortally wounded.
River: Camille won’t need me. She’s going to be amazing, as usual.
River: Also, stop texting her while she’s at work.
Jackson: Oh shit, sorry!
“Is that who I think it is?” Lauren leans in to glance down at my phone.
“It’s not what it looks like!” I squeak, realizing I’ve been sitting here reading messages mid-conversation. I quickly swipe away and silence all incoming notifications before shoving my phone away.
Lauren raises an eyebrow at me. “It’s not that pack of men obsessed with you and trying to win you back?”
“No, it is.” A smile curves my lips at the mention of them, even though I’m trying to be cautious.
It’s really hard not to smile after the past few weeks of their daily texts and the voice memos we trade back and forth.
Or the care packages they’ve been sending every few days, filled with an absurd amount of snacks, fancy omega toiletries that I’d never purchase for myself, and things from their laundry that I huff like an addict and squirrel away in my nest.
They’re so sweet to me, it seems fake.
“Then what do you mean, ‘it isn’t what I think’?” Lauren prompts, giving me a knowing smile.
“I… it’s…” I rake a hand through my hair. “I didn’t want you to think I’d gotten back with them right away. We’re going slow. Taking our time. I haven’t even seen them in person since—”
“Since the night you left in the middle of the launch party?”
There’s no guilting note in Lauren's tone, but she’s my boss and I left a professional event for our company, so I still grimace. “Yeah. Well, technically, since the morning after…”
She shakes her head. “If you ask me, it was very convenient that you happened to have a heat spike the night of the launch party you desperately didn’t want to be at.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “And that your pack happened to be in attendance.”
“It’s not my fault they were there! How did they even get on the guest list?”
Wait, how did they get on the guest list?
I’ve been so caught up in negotiating this tentative thing with the pack and working hard to prove to Lauren that I’m not a flake and hiring me wasn’t a mistake, that I hadn’t examined that detail.
Lauren shrugs. “Not sure. Maybe Amina added them by mistake.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Amina is the most organized assistant in the universe. She wouldn’t add random people to the list.”
Her painted red lips that match her pantsuit twitch.
“You added them!”
Lauren’s smile widens. “Maybe.”
I frown at her. “Why? I thought you wanted to murder River. Why would you let him come to the launch party?”
She sighs. “I know, I know. But you were really struggling. Astrid and I were worried, so when Jackson reached out with his own concerns and asked for our help to get you in a room with them again, I couldn’t say no.”
Oh. Damn, that’s embarrassing that my friends felt like they needed to give me an intervention. “Was I really that bad?”
I already know the answer. Now that I’ve spent a few weeks not depriving myself of the pack, the difference is mind-boggling.
I don’t cry myself to sleep and wake up from bad dreams wanting to go back to bed because I preferred them to reality.
I don’t spend all day on edge, unable to focus.
I’m still using Bessie, my strawberry cow, but now that she’s wearing Ambrose’s t-shirt, she works a million times better.
“Hey.” Lauren places a hand on my arm, her touch grounding me.
“It’s okay that you weren’t okay. There’s no reason to be embarrassed.
I hope you see our intervening as a sign of how much we care about you.
Because let’s be real, I wouldn’t have let River within a mile of you if I didn’t think it would help you. ”
“It does. Is that foolish of me to say? He was awful to me, and maybe I shouldn’t let him back into my life. But… god, this is going to sound cliché, but he’s… different.”
Lauren nods, surprising me with her agreement. “Yeah, he is. We had a talk.”
I can only imagine what that talk involved. Probably torture tactics.
I shake my head at her dark tone. “Please tell me you didn’t implicate yourself in a future murder if he ends up hurting me again. Because I really need this job.”
She brushes her braids off her shoulder. “We just had a friendly chat.”
I snort. “Sure you did.”
“So, it’s going well then? They’re not fucking things up?” The soft concern in Lauren’s voice makes me want to hug her. I still don’t quite get why she decided to care about me, and every day I’m grateful for all that she’s done to support me.
“No. They’re amazing. I’m the problem.”
She scowls at me. “No, you’re not! You’re a goddess, and if they’re making you think that—”
“They’re not!” I release a gusty sigh, hating that I’m going to sound like a broken record when I explain what I mean.
“I still don’t trust my omega. I’m trying, but it feels like I don’t know how to integrate these new instincts with the person I was before.
So it scares me how good it feels to be around them.
Especially when I let myself lean into that feeling before and got burned. So, yeah, I’m the problem.”
“Camille, you’ve been an omega for less than six months.
You had a whole forty years of not being one.
Of course you’re having a hard time! You’re experiencing as an adult what most of us endured as teens, when everyone is expected to be a tragic mess, not a responsible, productive member of society. You’re doing fine.”
“Well, when you put it like that…”
“Oh! I know what you need.” Lauren’s face lights up, and she moves over to her desk, rustling through a chaotic pile of notes.
For the head of a startup poised to be a huge success, the woman is shockingly disorganized.
There must be a method to her madness because she finds what she’s looking for and holds it out for me.
My brow furrows as I try to read her indecipherable handwriting. Omen Treat? That makes no sense.
“What is this?”
“It’s an omega retreat that one of our clients is hosting.
She’s bringing in all kinds of specialists who work on tapping into the power of your omega and integrating it into your life.
She offered for us to attend as a thank you for our work, but I’m going to Rekha’s cousin’s bonding ceremony that same week. But you should go!”
“Oh, no, that’s okay.” The idea of going to a retreat for a bunch of high-achieving omegas makes me want to go hide in my nest. I’ll stick out like a sore thumb.
“Don’t make me tell you to do it as your boss. Because I will.”
“Lauren, I…”
She holds her hands up to stop me. “At least think about it. These retreats are legit—I made sure before taking them on as a client. I really think it might be exactly what you need.”
I swallow my protests, not wanting to argue with her when it’s a very generous offer. “Okay. I’ll think about it.”
“Good. If you don’t believe me, ask your hot daddy doctor. He’ll back me up.”
My cheeks burn at her casual use of the word “daddy” in reference to Ambrose. There’s no way she could know about our dynamic.
Lauren laughs. “God, look at you. You’re as obsessed with them as they are with you.”
There’s no point in denying it. I may still be worried about what will happen with them and how I’ll ever reconcile my new omega needs with my past self, but one thing is abundantly clear.
I’m falling for them, even harder than before.
My first week back working in an office goes surprisingly well. Sure, it’s a lot smaller than Pulse PR, and half the space is still in the process of being set up, but I was worried, given how infrequently I’ve left the safety of my apartment in recent months.
It helps that the small staff Lauren has hired so far is composed entirely of omegas.
I know she’s planning on hiring more people in the future and she wants to get other designations on her team, but it’s nice to not go into the office worrying about some alpha bro telling me how to do my job, or a beta who thinks I’m being overdramatic about the harsh fluorescent lights over my desk.
Everyone here gets it. And the designer Lauren hired to set up the office has made this place as comfortable as a workplace can be for omegas, both for employees and clients.
Going from being alone and on the verge of a mental breakdown at any moment to working a dream job and chatting with a pack determined to demonstrate how good they can be for me, makes me braver than I’ve felt in ages.
The stares I get when I go out and occasional catcalls from dumbass alphas on the streets who recognize me have become more bearable.
I’ve done my best to stay away from social media, but there’s been an uptick in attention since the launch party—someone did get a photo of me sprawled on the floor, and my viral infamy flared up again.
What made me scared and want to hide away from everything is now also a source of indignance.
Why should I hide myself away? I didn’t do anything wrong, and cowering only gives the assholes talking about me more power.
They want me to feel shame. They’re using me in their narrative of omega oppression disguised as protecting us.
It’s this newfound righteous fury that has me digging through my purse from the launch party at 11pm on a Thursday night to find the phone number the head of the Omega Legal Defense Fund gave me.
My week at a job that isn’t a toxic cesspool of casual designation discrimination and harassment gives me the courage to call the next morning despite literally running into her at the party.
And it’s sheer determination to stand up for myself and stop hiding that has me walking into their office later that afternoon when Sandra can fit me in for a meeting right away.
As soon as I get into the lobby and see the Omega Legal Defense Fund sign over the receptionist’s desk, my courage wavers.
This is the biggest non-profit advocating for omega rights in the country, and I have the audacity to think that my petty little unlawful firing case matters?
There are omegas out there dealing with far worse things.
I have a job. I have relative financial security.
I haven’t even been an omega for that long.
I don’t have time to keep overthinking things because apparently this office is the one place in the world where things aren’t running late, and I’m guided by Sandra’s assistant to a conference room right away.
My palms sweat, and I’m glad for the excessive amount of scent neutralizer I put on before I headed over here because I’d smell like rancid coffee from how nervous I suddenly am.
I plaster on my best confident and not a total imposter smile as the assistant opens the door to the conference room , and step inside.
Then promptly freeze in place when I see the last person I’d expect to find here sitting next to the silver-haired alpha I’m meant to be meeting with.
His face splits into a brilliant, cheeky smile as I gape at him.
“Ms. Clairmont, thank you so much for coming in to talk with us,” Sandra says, standing up when she sees me frozen by the door.
She gestures over to the man next to her.
“I hope you don’t mind, I asked one of our associates to join us since he’ll likely be working a lot with you if you decide to go forward with your case. ”
“It’s good to see you, Camille,” he says, extending a hand to me. I can’t decide if I want to smack it away and yell at him or tug him into a hug and purr.
I settle for a half-hearted glare. “Hi, Jackson.”