1. Madeline #2
Hunter immediately sends back ten fire emojis and a row of heart eyes that makes me smile. My phone makes a cha-ching sound and a notification pops up that Hunter has added $1,000 to my account.
That makes me smile even more.
Zachary:
I got you something special for Sunday night. Dreamsicle and I can’t wait to see you.
My sweet, sweet alpha, Zach. Such a generous lover.
He sends over a photo, too, of himself holding up his fluffy orange cat, Dreamsicle.
He has a fade with shiny black tight curls and a charming smile on that gorgeous face of his.
Dreamsicle looks less amused to be involved in the snapshot.
We bonded over the fact we both have orange cats with drink names.
Harper:
Hey, how did the doc appt go?
Madeline:
She’s only allowing me to take a lower dose. I’m scheduled for medical assistance at Omega’s Comfort in two weeks.
Harper:
Sorry Mads! I know you were hoping she would change her mind. Sending big hugs! I’ll pick you up from OC.
She’s such a great best friend.
Madeline:
That would be amazing! Thanks.
Harper:
Madeline:
How’s your latest painting?
She sends me progress photos with lots of soft blues and greens and a woman’s form sketched in the middle, sleeping among the colors.
Madeline:
Gorgeous!
My ride makes a quick stop at my apartment building, allowing me a few minutes to dash in, slip off my top and black ripped jeans to change for the evening.
I sprint back out in my heels to my waiting car.
I keep my makeup and hair simple so I can finish both on the short drive to the mysterious address Alric sent me.
We pass towering skyscrapers as I swipe on peach lip stain and touch up the rest of my makeup, fluffing my hair.
Once we arrive, there’s a line out the front door that extends long past the gilded entrance of the historic terracotta building.
One of the valets rushes to open my door and offers me a gloved hand.
My red-soled heels match the carpet laid out leading up to the bustling restaurant.
A perky beta host with a long blonde ponytail waits for me, a menu in hand. Alric must have shown her my photo so she knew who to expect. “Right this way, Miss Madeline. Mr. Monroe is waiting for you,” she says as I slip off my coat and hand it to another host before she leads me through the crowd.
Alric is the only client to ever know my real name—only because he learned it at one of Harper’s gallery openings before I had the chance to give him a false one.
Waiters in crisp uniforms stride by with sizzling plates of tender steak and silver trays packed with ice, fresh oysters towering on top.
Somewhere in the distance, a champagne bottle pops, followed by the clink of crystal and joyful cheers.
Thousands of vintage bottles of wine line the walls, opposite large paintings in ornate frames.
With every candlelit table packed with guests, the soft classical music is drowned out.
We make our way to the circular bar, where a chandelier glitters above countless liquor bottles shining in the center.
My sugar daddy is saying something to a terrified-looking waiter, who nods furiously before scurrying away clutching his order pad.
Alric’s eyes slide to me as we approach, a short glass of amber spirit at his lips. He turns and nods to the bartender, who immediately pulls out a chilled martini glass with a flourish and pours liquids into a shaker.
“Mr. Monroe, your guest has arrived.” The host gives me a sincere smile before heading back to the host station.
Alric cracks the barest of smiles as I step into his open arms. His tempting masculine cologne wraps around my senses, drawing me in as it always does.
His salt-and-pepper hair is pushed back, though the gray in his hair has more to do with stress than age.
He’s only thirty-three, but his demeanor makes him seem older.
He leans down to cup my face before bringing his lips to mine.
His welcoming kiss is demanding, the whiskey bright on his tongue as it slides together with mine.
My hands sneak into his suit jacket, rubbing against his muscular back.
When we finally break apart, we get a few stares. I know what everyone thinks when they see a younger omega with an older, much richer alpha. I can almost hear what they’re calling me. Sugar baby. Spoiled.
They think I’m with him for his money, which is offensive to me. It’s not only about the money—I’m also with him for his huge cock.
“Are you hungry, honey?” he asks in a low voice, tone as sweet as my nickname. He’s my oldest sugar daddy, both in terms of his age and the length of time he’s been one of my clients. Almost twelve months together.
“Always.”
Alric glares at two businessmen seated across the bar, who are watching me with open interest. They look away while he grabs his glass and I take the icy lemon drop that has appeared next to it.
He leads me to a narrow staircase, a velvet rope blocking our way.
He unclips it with one hand and motions for me to ascend first. I know he’s watching my ass as I climb.
The short black silk dress—bought with the credit card he insisted I keep—is tight in all his favorite places, so when I put an extra swish to my hips, his growl echoes around us.
At the top is a mahogany door with gilded lettering Private across it. I turn the bronze handle to find an intimate room—a small table set for two, an open bottle of wine ready for us. The large windows overlook the lake, the sunset sparkling off the peaceful waters.
I love this view.
“Stunning. Is this one of yours?”
Alric owns all the best restaurants in town, along with multiple high-end grocery stores.
“Opening night.” He pulls out my seat and it earns him a quick kiss from me. When he pushes my chair in, Alric’s lips brush my ear. “I named it after you.”
He lets out a laugh at my soft gasp. I grab the menu in front of me, tonight’s offerings in a delicate script, and bold at the very top is The Madeline.
I stare into his gray eyes, a sly smile on his face. He’s always been generous, so much so I’ve often felt he treats me more like a beloved wife than a sugar baby.
It’s too much—he shouldn’t have done that. Knowing I’m going to disappear this week causes a quiet guilt to coil at the pit of my stomach.
“What a beautiful gesture, Alric.” I’m at a loss for words. “This is…so thoughtful.”
“I like the idea of your name tied to me.” There’s a possessive edge to his tone.
I let out a laugh to ease my tension. “I bet you do.”
“I want you to be my girlfriend—for real. I’ll be away on business next week, but once I return, I’ll be joining a pack. I would love for you to meet them.” He takes his seat across from me. “They are amazing alphas, I think you would really like them.”
That cuts off my amusement. Even if I were tempted to accept his offer to be his girlfriend, I will never be in a pack.
Sugar baby rule number nine: No packs.
Not after the childhood I had in one.
“We’ve discussed this,” I say slowly. He’s asked me to be his girlfriend before. When will he grow tired of my rejection?
His expression hardens the way only an alpha’s can and I almost roll my eyes.
“Madeline, you value your freedom. I can understand that. So do I,” he starts. “It’s part of why we work so well together, but I’m growing weary of only seeing you once or twice a week. Your heat is starting soon and I will take care of you during it.”
There it is—it always comes down to that. It’s all they ever want. It’s the reality of life as an omega.
I actually really like Alric. As far as clients go, he’s one of the best—tied with Zachary and Hunter—but he was always going to end up like every other alpha. The reason I always disappear one year after I meet them.
I’m gone before they can collect on the heat I’ve promised.
A lot of alphas view heats as an achievement—an event for their pleasure, something earned and expected if they have access to an omega. More of them should view it as an honor and opportunity to treat omegas in a way we deserve. It’s a privilege to be entrusted with an omega’s heat.
I’ve never trusted anyone with mine.
My clients and I have an agreement. They get access to me and all the status that brings them. I get their money to save for a life free of alphas.
Omegas are so rare—only less than 5 percent of the population—and male omegas are even rarer. Even fewer of us are single. Most are in wealthy packs, proudly wearing their bonding bites on their necks, so alphas go to great lengths to access those of us who are still available.
We’re the ultimate status symbol. Want a promotion at work?
Show up at the office party with one on your arm, and your boss will be calling you into his office Monday morning.
Want to beat your personal record at the gym?
The pheromones of an omega nearby will pump your muscles up.
Stressed out? Ten minutes listening to an omega’s purr will soothe you better than any drug.
It’s always about what we can do for them.
Close proximity to us tells the world what a rich alpha looks like.
Fucking us changes their brain chemistry.
Our slick gives them energy, boosts their immune system, and improves cognitive function.
Packed-up alphas live longer and have lower risks for all illness and diseases, because being in our presence lowers stress.
Most alphas will do anything to keep an omega. That was a painful lesson my mom and I learned time and time again with her shitty pack.
“That’s it, then?” I ask Alric. “That’s what this is about? My heat?”
“It’s happening soon, is it not? You’ll need me.” He says it so matter-of-fact, but that’s where he’s wrong.
I don’t need him. I need my cat, Bellini. I need strawberry matcha lattes and my nest and my high-yield savings account, so I never hear the words you need me from an alpha again.
It’s bold of him to assume he would be a top choice for my heat, if I allowed for anyone to join me. I mean, he would, but that’s not the point.
It is, however, my personal cue to end this tonight. The second my heat comes up so late in our relationship tells me it’s time to leave. It’s what keeps them on the line, but it’s time to cut him loose.
I have my speech memorized.
“I’ve enjoyed our time together, Alric. You’re quite a force.
I’m sure you’ll find another omega who will give you what you want,” I say.
“You deserve that. I think we’re in different places in our lives and while our connection is strong, I do value my freedom, and I have no interest in settling down with anyone.
Something I was very clear about from the start. ”
And that’s that. A clean break.
Once I walk out of here, I’ll never see him again. I’ll slip out of his life, like I have with every alpha before him.
Alric will find another omega, maybe even a scent match if he’s truly lucky. I’ll become a distant but fond memory, a past fling who will only cross his mind when someone around him orders my favorite cocktail or he hears a song we once danced to under the stars.
He takes a long drink, his eyes not leaving mine, but before either of us can speak again, a knock breaks the tension in the room and I relax for a moment.
If this were a real relationship, I would have left, but what we have is a business transaction, and he has already paid for my time tonight. Plus, I want dinner.
“Enter,” Alric says in the commanding tone he uses when he speaks to anyone but me.
A polite waiter joins us, holding a heavy tray, the heavenly scent of our dinner carried with him.
He sets everything down before us and of course, Alric has selected all of my favorites.
Massive crab cakes with a golden crust, paired with a creamy sauce, miso-glazed salmon on a bed of carrots and sautéed spinach.
Alric and I share plates of seared filet mignon and glistening lobster tail complete with a vibrant butter sauce, alongside velvety garlic mashed potatoes.
Once the door shuts, we’re left in silence. Before I can resume our discussion, he asks, “How was your week?”
For the sake of a nice dinner, we can pretend he didn’t ask to take away the life of freedom I’ve carefully crafted for myself, before I never see him again.
It’s rule number one, after all. Get paid and move on.