Chapter 26 #2
I cross my arms. “Oookay, so why didn’t your doctor friend visit?”
“She couldn’t leave her patients.”
“She work for Artemis?”
“No.”
“So, what’s with the fancy pharma getup?” I’ve seen enough grifty med spas and sketchy quack types in LA to be wary of anything medical that seems too slickly run.
“It’s what was convenient. I guess you have my other friend to thank for that.”
“Do they work for Artemis?”
The corner of her mouth pulls upwards. “No.”
I raise my hands in exasperation. “So you’re not going to tell me who I just gave my blood to?!”
Christine chuckles, lowering her phone. “You could’ve asked. She doesn’t work for Artemis because she runs Artemis.”
“As in… she’s an executive or something?”
“I guess CEO falls under ‘executive or something.’”
“Wait… what? No, you’re not casually friends with a pharma CEO.”
Christine is unfazed. “The pharma CEO who manufactures your suppressants, I’m pretty sure.”
“Now you’re just talking out of your ass. This isn’t funny.”
“Google her, if you want. Morgan Hunter.”
My eyes narrow. “I will.”
I return to my chair, plopping down with a huff and facing away from Christine.
My search immediately confirms that Morgan Hunter is the name of the CEO of Artemis Pharmaceuticals, and her headshot—with short bangs framing bright violet eyes and long, dark hair tucked behind her pointed ears—confirms her as an alpha, but her Crowdipedia article is sparse.
She’s the daughter of a pharmaceutical patent lawyer, apparently.
Doesn’t mean Christine actually knows her. People in LA are always saying they’re friends with some star they ran into in the Starbucks line one time.
I return to the list of results, and it’s mostly trashy tabloid stuff.
One headline catches my eye enough for me to overcome my usual disgust and tap into the ad-riddled clickbait site.
Morgan Hunter Announces Surprise Marriage to Omega, You Won’t Believe Who!!
Skimming past the needless sensationalism reveals that Morgan recently married an omega named Jamie Brennan, one of the employees at Artemis. I scoff—typical shitty alpha behavior. Whatever. Not what I’m here for.
A paragraph at the bottom holds some promise.
Guests at the intimate, exclusive wedding include movie star Christine Evansworth (pictured below), renowned scientist and…
I skip over the other celebrity names, scrolling down.
Sure enough, there’s a photo of Christine emerging from a limo in front of a historic mansion.
She’s certainly dressed for a wedding in a sheer, sky-blue dress that sets off her eyes.
Strategically placed floral embroidery clings to her curves, keeping things street legal—but only just.
So she wasn’t lying, but for some reason, that makes me even angrier. Or maybe what really pisses me off is how good she looks in that dress.
I stand and whirl toward her. “I don’t know what weird game you’re playing, but—”
“Mylo.”
It’s a soft bark, but it’s a bark. My words freeze in my chest.
She continues quietly, “Who better to figure out why your suppressants aren’t working than the people who invented them?”
My tongue is mine again, and I draw a breath to resume my protest, then realize that what Christine’s saying does actually make sense.
She continues, “Morgan’s omega, Jamie, had some similar issues. I don’t know the details; I just know they were able to sort them out.”
I snarl. “Yeah, she claimed him. His life is over. Problem solved.”
Christine sighs, voice thinning with strained patience. “Jamie doesn’t see it that way. If you want to know why, you’d have to talk to him; I don’t know. I don’t like the idea of some permanent hormonal bond any more than you do, okay?”
“You seemed to like it fine when your teeth were in my neck.”
She growls. “I don’t mind you whining; it doesn’t bother me. Be as much of a brat as you want. But do you seriously think that after hiding your omega status, sneaking under my nose, and going into heat, you have zero responsibility here?”
“Typical alpha bullshit,” I hiss.
Christine stands, voice rising. “I don’t want to be stuck with you either!
You’ve got a chip on your shoulder the size of an elephant!
Did you ever stop, for five seconds, and think that maybe I also don’t want this?
That I’m just trying to make the best of a shitty situation, trying to not leave you to deal with this by yourself, and going pretty above and fucking beyond, I might add?
I could’ve taken thirty seconds to tell the producer that you’re an omega, and my problem would be solved.
Did it seriously never cross your mind that I also think it’s bullshit that I’ve never seen an omega on set? !”
I stand there, stunned and frozen—not by the alpha command in her words, but by the truth in them.
Christine continues, “You think I want the responsibility of having an omega? Of being stuck making decisions for two for the rest of my life? Saying no to opportunities, throwing what’s left of my dreams in the trash because, actually, I’d rather do that than ruin someone else’s life?
And having to do it all with a smile on my face?
You’re not the only one who grins and bears it, Mylo.
At least I have the decency to not take it out on someone trying to help you.
” She turns and heads toward the bed, then pauses and says over her shoulder, “If you want me to keep helping you, Mylo, I suggest you watch your fucking mouth.”
My knees wobble, and I slide down into the closest chair—the one she was sitting in. Her lingering scent calms my trembling hands as I wrap them around my knees, pulling them up to my chest.
A couple minutes later, Christine crosses back through the kitchenette, now dressed.
Her almost-even tone betrays a remnant of tension when she asks, “You wanna show up to set like that?”
“I don’t have any clothes,” I say quietly.
My sharp ears catch the exhale that drains the rest of her tension. Her tone is soft as she says, “Mylo, I’m sorry, I—”
“Don’t apologize.” I close my eyes, leaning my forehead against my knees. “Everything you said was true.”
Silence hangs between us for a long moment.
She speaks first, ever the alpha. “I don’t need you to like me. As far as I’m concerned, it’s better if you hate me. I don’t want this to be… permanent any more than you do. I just… maybe every second doesn’t have to be miserable. That’s all.”
“Yeah.” I muster my remaining dignity and push to my feet. “If you want to dress me in pink today… I’d probably deserve it.”
There’s a spark in Christine’s electric blue eyes that makes my cock twitch.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” She returns to the bed area, pulling open the dresser. A moment later, she tosses me black running shorts and a black tank top.
I pad toward the bathroom.
“What, still shy?” she calls after me.
“Shut up.” A smile sneaks into my voice.
Once closed in the bathroom, I drop my robe.
Since I’m quite a bit smaller than Christine, the clothes almost fit me normally.
The tank-top, which would be skin-tight on Christine, skims my chest, and the running shorts are…
short, but they look intentional. I’ve worn shorter.
As I step out of the bathroom, Christine wolf-whistles. “You look good in my clothes, I’ll give you that.”
My cheeks heat, and while I should be able to muster a decent comeback, I just grumble, “You’re so annoying.”
I return to the pile of my clothes, grabbing my wallet and vape. I go to slide them into my pockets—and realize there aren’t any.
“Girl clothes never have any fucking pockets,” I seethe.
Christine laughs, walking over. “Normally, you’d be right. But I don’t settle.” Her hand slides up the outside of my thigh, and my body goes rigid. Heat radiates from her touch like vibrations through a taut spring.
I hold my breath, lest it shake and betray me.
Her fingers catch the soft fabric of the outer shorts, skimming over the inner compression layer. When she reaches the top of my hip, she slides back down, slipping her hand into a hidden side pocket. She holds it open.
“There you go.”
I still don’t dare breathe as I drop my wallet in the pocket, keeping a tight grip on my vape with the other hand so it doesn’t shake.
The soft warmth of her breath on my ear sends a tingling surge down my spine, and then she’s gone.
I finally exhale and take a deep pull from my vape to steady myself.
“Heads up,” she says.
I turn just in time to catch my backpack as she tosses it to me.
Her easy smile is as bright as ever. “Let’s get you back to work.”