Chapter 14
Kimmie
Dr. Hilliard’s waiting room is aggressively cheerful at eight o’clock Monday morning.
I’m usually an early bird. I have to be to open a restaurant for breakfast every weekday, but I didn’t sleep much last night.
Suze agreed to open for me, but I need to get this over with before facing another work day.
My little nesting spree has left my apartment looking like a Pinterest board threw up all over it.
The new couch arrived as promised, along with enough velvet throws and scented candles to stock a luxury spa.
I spent all of Sunday organizing everything from my spice rack to my sock drawer, and I still couldn’t settle.
“Miss Carmichael?” The nurse’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. “Dr. Hilliard will see you now.”
The exam room is mercifully normal, though even here I catch subtle omega touches—pale pink walls, soft lighting instead of harsh fluorescents. Dr. Hilliard enters moments later, her crisp efficiency somehow comforting.
“Let’s run some tests,” she says, pulling out what looks like a pregnancy test kit. “This will measure your hormone levels.”
Five minutes after I pee in a tiny cup, she confirms what I already know. “You’re going into heat, Kimmie. Likely within the next twenty-four hours.”
My stomach drops. “But I can’t. I have a restaurant to run.”
“You’re going to have to call in sick. Do you have someone who can help you through this?” When I shake my head, she frowns. “The first heat can be overwhelming. You shouldn’t be alone.”
“I’ll take the sedatives.”
“You must understand they’re not meant to put you to sleep. They’ll only take the edge off the pain and the desires you’ll be feeling. An omega needs support during her first heat, both physically and emotionally.” She pauses for a moment. “The Stantons seemed quite protective of you—”
“No.” The word comes out sharper than intended. “They’re trying to destroy my business. I’m not letting them anywhere near me during…during…”
“A heat isn’t just about sex,” she says gently. “It’s about trust, about letting someone take care of you. And from what I observed, those alphas—”
“Are absolutely not an option.”
She sighs but writes the sedative prescription. “And don’t forget to fill the bite guard and contraceptive prescriptions I gave you before. Better safe than sorry.”
I stop at Wilson’s Pharmacy on my way back to the restaurant.
Mr. Wilson, who’s filled my prescriptions since I was a kid, raises his eyebrows at the omega-specific medications but doesn’t comment.
I buy a bottle of water and take the bite guard and contraceptive right there in the store.
The sedatives go into my purse for later.
Back in my car, my hands shake as I pull out my phone. “Suze? I need you to cover for me this week.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I just need some time. I’ll be in my apartment, but I don’t want to be disturbed.”
“That’s weird, even for you.” But she doesn’t push further. “Take care of yourself, boss.”
Before I can talk myself out of it, I call the number for the Stanton mansion that Gabriel’s secretary had given me when she gave me their address. A crisp female voice answers, “Stanton Residence.”
“I need to speak with the alphas. Any of them. It’s Kimmie Carmichael.”
“I’m sorry, they’re unavailable. Would you like to leave a message?”
“Just…tell them I need help. Please.”
I hang up feeling ridiculous. What was I expecting? That they’d drop everything because some random beta—soon to be omega—asked for help? They probably have more important things to do, like practicing their intimidation techniques or measuring buildings for demolition.
A cramp hits, sharp and insistent. My skin feels hot, and there’s that telltale wetness between my thighs.
Oh no. It’s starting.
I barely make it back to my apartment before another wave hits. Four specific alphas fill my mind, and my body responds with a gush of slick that leaves me gasping.
I’m so screwed.
Or I need to be. ASAP!