CHAPTER SIX
“H i there! Welcome to the Omega Matching Service! Do you have an appointment?” The beta at the front desk whose name name tag reads “Christy” has a black ponytail high on her head, piercing blue eyes, and a blindingly white smile. The OMS building is much nicer than I was expecting, with all the things omegas typically love. Soft, pastel colors, plush chairs, low ceilings, and blankets on every sittable surface.
I have to keep myself from wrapping myself in the nearest blanket and snuggling into the squishy, hollow egg shaped chair in the corner.
“Yes, for Cady Jackman? At twelve thirty?”
“Ah, yes, Cady. I have your tablet right here. Can you have a seat, fill out the questionnaire, and return it to me?” She hands me a black tablet with a super soft, fuzzy case on it.
I need one. Seriously. I need to ask where they got these cases from. And if they come in purple.
Thanking her, I take the tablet and settle onto the couch...not the egg chair. I don’t think they’d be able to drag me out of it.
I’ve decided to answer the questions as close to as I would if I were actually looking for a pack. You know, for the integrity of the article.
The questionnaire is straightforward enough. First things first, do I want all males, or a mix of male and female? I have nothing against female alphas, but I’m not romantically interested in women. All males it is.
Number of alphas in the pack…of course they list it in terms of “or more”. Three or more, four or more, five or more. I check the box for three or more.
Do I mind betas?
Ha. I can think of at least one beta I really don’t mind. I check the box indicating that betas are okay, wishing very much for a box for comments so I can type in “Betas more than welcome”.
Am I interested in having children? I suppose not right this second…but I haven’t given it much thought. I had always assumed I’d find a nice beta and settle down in the next ten or so years…there’s a box that says “in the future”.
Vague, much?
Tomorrow is technically the future, but seeing as it’s the only answer that isn’t a “yes, put those babies in me now” or a “hell no I despise children”, that’s the one I go for.
The rest of the questions follow the lines of if I plan on working, what scents I’m most drawn to and how soon I’m looking to meet with packs.
When I take the tablet back to Christy, she thanks me with a smile and asks for just a moment to let the system pull the best matches for me.
I settle back into my chair and close my eyes. Today has been weird. I have a feeling the first thing Laura did when Grady dismissed her from his office was start her plan to expose me, starting with little whispers around the office. Then, Archie was in rare form earlier. He came up to, in his words, make sure I didn’t work myself to death and that I actually ate something, and I told him I had an appointment I had to go to.
He looked…excited? But it was just for a second, and then he nodded all serious, saying “Ah, yes. An appointment. Don’t want to miss those.” Then he turned around and left, pulling out his phone and his fingers tapped so quickly I’m surprised the device didn’t overload.
Now that I’m thinking of phones…I take mine out, and quickly make a note of what questions they had on the questionnaire so I can reference it in my article.
“Cady Jackman?” A petite voice calls from next to the front desk. A smiling omega woman greets me, her black hair falling to her shoulders in soft waves. She has the typical omega hourglass figure, and is wearing a soft blue cardigan, an ivory button down, and gray slacks. Next to her is a beta - I can tell because she’s taller than the omega, her bright purple hair in two braids falling down her back. Her outfit is much more laid back, a pair of ripped jeans and an off the shoulder sweater make her seem approachable, but still professional.
“That’s me,” I give a nervous smile as I stand and adjust my bag on my shoulder as I walk over to them.
“It’s such a pleasure to meet you!” The omega gushes, taking my hand and shaking it with enthusiasm. I’m instantly hit with the scent of ripe raspberries and hibiscus. “I’m Bethany, and this is Lanie,” She motions to the beta next to her, who also reaches to shake my hand, only giving off the faint smell of fresh linen. “We’re going to walk you through the scent-card process today, is that okay?”
“That’s great.” I follow them as they turn and lead me down the hall. I’m surprised that neither of them comment on me smelling bonded, but maybe the TruBond drug isn’t as uncommon as I had thought. “So…how does this all work, exactly?”
Lanie turns and flashes me a grin. “It’s perfectly natural to be curious. When you fill out the questionnaire on your tablet, it only takes the system ten seconds to comb through our database of registered packs. We get a notification letting us know which pack files to pull, and those include the scent cards. The system gives us the top ten most compatible packs, and you will select the ones you like the most from there.”
“Will I find out any other information on them besides their scents?” I wrinkle my nose. Scent alone is not a great thing to base the decision that’s going to affect the rest of my life on.
This time it's Bethany who answers. “We find that it’s best to leave any other factors out of the equation at this point. Packs who register with the OMS are heavily vetted, and we don’t let anyone in who might have a questionable history or career choice. Besides, if a pack doesn’t meet all the criteria you listed, they aren’t even presented as a choice.”
Got it. So no names, no career info…how am I supposed to know if I’ll like a pack based on the fact they smell like hummus or something? I suppose it was too much to ask for something that would indicate how open they are to a fake-temporary arrangement so I can keep my job.
She must see the way my face falls because she gives me an understanding smile. “I know it seems daunting, but this is a tried and true process. I've only had five omegas walk through these doors in the last five years I’ve worked here that didn’t walk away happy with a pack by the end of it.”
That’s…better, I guess.
They lead me to an office with a single table, two chairs on each side. There’s a large stack of manilla folders off to the side.
We all settle around the table and Lanie pulls out the top folder. I don’t get a peek at the information, but there is a small airlocked bag with a single white card inside, stamped with a serial number.
“Each card has the combined scent of the pack on them.” Lanie explains, handing me the bag. “The bags are specially designed to keep other scents out…but there is a little bug the OMS is still working on.”
When I raise my brow and look at her, she continues. “Omegas are unable to detect scent sympathy. If we use regular bags, there’s a chance that outside smells can cling to it, messing with the integrity of the sample. Imagine if you picked up Bethany’s scent on the bag and it mingled with the scent card…” She shrugs.
I snort. “I’m not worried about scent sympathy.” This seems to shock them a bit, but they brush it off, and I pull out the first scent card. Immediately, I get notes of mahogany, black tea…and something else. It’s fine, but it’s not doing anything for me.
I should at least be somewhat attracted to whatever pack I meet with.
Shaking my head, I put it back in the bag.
They exchange a look, but nod, and move onto the next one.
None of them are horrible. There’s one that has a buttered popcorn smell that makes my stomach rumble, but I don’t really feel like being hungry every time I’m around whatever pack I pick.
I’ve accepted two non-offensive packs, smelling leather and musk, and another with pine and lemon. They’re perfectly acceptable.
At the second to last card, I pull it out and…
Oh.
The scent of…a fire pit. Toasted marshmallows. Peppermint. Coffee. Bourbon. Notes of vanilla and chocolate that just work together.
Dangerous.
That’s what this is. My mouth waters in a way that has nothing to do with hunger and find myself taking a second whiff as my perfume fills the air. Shit.
Bethany chuckles. “Do you like that one?”
I should say no. I like this too much.
I don’t want a real pack.
I don’t want a real pack.
I don’t want a real—
“Yeah, we can add this one too.”
Damn my needy omega brain!
Bethany has a small smile that she quickly covers up by asking if I want to scent the last card.
“No, I’m okay. Three is enough.” I shake my head emphatically. The last thing I need is for the last card to smell even more amazing.
“Okay!” Lanie says brightly, “We’ll note in the system that you didn’t scent this one, so if none of the packs are to your liking, we can start with them.”
“Okay.” I swallow and realize I’m still holding the damn scent card that threw my omega into overdrive.
Hastily shoving it back into its bag like it might attack me at any moment, I stand quickly and look between Lanie and Bethany. “What happens now?”
“We’ll call the packs and let them know they have a meeting. You’ll set some times with Christine up front that work for you and the packs will choose which time works for them. You’ll have an alpha escort pick you up and drop you off for your safety.”
I feel almost numb as I nod, and they escort me back to the front desk, where I let Christine know my availability, and by the time I’m back in my car, my heart feels like it’s going to pound out of my chest.
Pressing the button on my steering wheel that triggers the voice command, I say loudly, “Call Hannah.”
“Hey babe.” Hannah picks up on the third ring. “What’s up?”
Hannah’s been in the loop on everything that’s happened in the last week, and had been particularly excited about me going to the OMS. She’s wanted a pack for years, but hasn’t had any luck with them. No doubt she's one of the five omegas Bethany referenced.
“Just had my scent card appointment.” My voice is clipped with nerves.
“Oh shit! How’d it go?”
“I picked a few packs to meet with.” I don’t know why I’m being sparse on the details. Hannah knows everything . She’s the one who bought me my first knotted dildo when my heat spikes starting hitting in college.
“And? Don’t be stingy! Did you find any scents you liked?”
“It’s not a real thing, Hannah.” I tell her, feeling suddenly defensive. “I’m not going to stay with any pack I find. This is just so I can keep my job.”
Hannah sighs. “I know you think that, babe. But would it be the worst thing in the world?”
“Yes.”
“Listen, did you call me to bite my head off about the situation you’re in, or are you actually going to share the nitty gritty details?”
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” I sigh. She’s right. I called her, and now I’m being a bitch. So I tell her about everything, from the questionnaire, to Lanie and Bethany, and how I picked two non-offensive packs. When I get to the part about the last scent card though, she squeals.
“Do you think they could be scent-sympathetic?” She asks, her voice vibrating in excitement.
“Does it matter?” I ask dumbly. My omega instincts are practically screaming in the back of my head that of course it matters. It matters so damn much. But denial is more than just a river in Egypt.
“Listen, Cady,” Hannah sighs. “I’m just glad you might finally have someone to take care of you. Pack life doesn’t have to look like what your family tried to force on you.”
I really hope she’s right. But somehow, I doubt it.