13. Rickon
Chapter thirteen
Rickon
I skip the red-carpet entrance and slip into Laversham’s Romdine Ballroom via a side door. The press is having a field day with the movie’s big-name actors entering in a well-timed procession, and somewhere out there Lyra beams as she laps up her star status.
In a dress that didn’t come from Sorentito’s.
I should feel like a million bucks decked out in killer pearlescent emerald eyeshadow and a corset vest over a long-sleeve in layers of charcoal-on-black. Instead, I feel drained and lifeless. It’s not like Callisto will see me looking so fine, so maybe I shouldn’t have bothered coming. Especially since Hannah Sorentito might be here. But I need to catch some photos of my boss for her social media pages.
Lyra sweeps into the ballroom on the arm of Bradley, the male lead, looking great but a little plain in a sparkling black sleeveless dress with a high collar. She’s doubled down on a chunky obsidian bracelet. Stylish and safe. I press through the crowd and get my shots, going for volume over perfect positioning.
She catches my eye, sweeps me with a critical look, and nods. I salute her with two fingers before heading to the champagne table.
A hand drops on my shoulder, and I nearly levitate.
“Sorry, Rickon, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Mr Yun, the director, apologizes as he steps around me into view.
I press my fingers to my thumping chest, glad I didn’t spill my drink. “Well, I appreciate the free heart health check,” I quip, and he smirks.
“Good work out there.” He sighs as he looks over the crowded room. “I may live and breathe filming, but I always feel a sense of relief when it’s over.”
“That’s probably because the executive producers stop breathing down your neck about production costs.”
He chuckles and lifts his glass in a toast. “You’re good, Rickon. Keep your chin up. I’m sure an alpha like you will get the chance to work unhampered eventually.”
A pleasant heat runs through my veins, not only at being acknowledged, but recognized as an alpha. I suppose I deserve a little of the omega nonsense thanks to my taste for makeup and avoidance of the gym, but it bothers me the world thinks I need to earn my genetic-given status as an alpha by bulking up and growling. Just the same as it bothers me that omegas have to put up with shit talking and being taken advantage of simply because of the way they’re born.
Being recognized for who I am is worth more than any compliment. I thank the director and, feeling a little shy, change the subject by asking, “What’s your next project?”
“Working title is Omega’s Race . It’s a racehorse movie, or rather one about a jockey.” He blows out through his lips. “Not settled on a female lead, though. It needs something unique.”
I nod, recalling Lyra looking at the script. She turned it down, though, because of the amount of horse riding involved. I sip my champagne. “Well, knowing you, you’ll find the perfect person soon enough.” After a few more minutes of chat, we say our farewells and drift in different directions.
I skip the hors d’oeuvres, knowing the gluten will give me a bellyache later, and take a turn around the room, congratulating all the crew members and commiserating with the other managers. Donna Feraski sweeps in, looking stunning in the silver fishtail I wanted, reminding me all over again that Lyra hasn’t paid me for the designer dress I did purchase.
I glance around, hoping I don’t run into Hannah Sorentito. I rarely avoid problems like this, but I just couldn’t work myself up to emailing her about the fuss Lyra made. But the designer won’t be happy to see the actress not wearing her preview gown.
I swipe another glass off a passing tray.
When I step out onto a balcony to clear my head after my third champagne, I find I’m not alone. Bradley Jacks, Entertainment Discord’s man-of-the-year, leans against a pillar as if he’s waiting for someone.
“Oh, sorry,” I murmur, putting my hand on the French door handle to leave.
“Stay, Rickon.”
I flinch, wondering if something’s wrong. “Do you need something? Is Lyra here?”
He chuckles, a deep sound that’s thicker than Callisto’s laugh. “None of the above. Do you think it’s impossible for me to call your name for any other reason?”
I cock my head, taking a few seconds to think. “Yeah, pretty much.”
He grins, flashing white teeth in the shadows. “Come over here. The view’s nice.”
I lean my elbows on the cold railing and look out over the rows of golden streetlamps. At this end of town, they have delicate metal scrolling around the light fixtures. Useless, but artistic.
“So pretty,” he murmurs, closer than I expected, and I flinch as he rests his hand on the lacing down my back. Was he not talking about the view? “What is this? It’s amazing.”
I glance down at the elegant embroidery embedded in the front. “It’s called a corset vest. Not quite one or the other.”
“Well, you look stunning in it.”
My brain buzzes with a little static, thanks to the third glass of alcohol. “Thanks.”
Bradley’s chest presses into my arm. “That cinched waist . . . does things to a man.”
He brushes his knuckles down my back, and my brain finally catches up to the situation. One of the world’s most dashing actors is hitting on me. I should be thrilled and honored, so why does my stomach turn instead?
I turn to glance at him. “Look, ah, Mr Jacks—”
“Call me Brad.” He steps in closer, trapping me against the railing, and then his hand settles around my narrow waist.
“Ah, thanks, B-Brad, but I’m—” I’m what? In a relationship I hate? Pining for a man who’ll never look my way? Longing for an omega I don’t have?
“Shh.” He touches a chilly finger to my lips. “You can find all the excuses in the world, or you can let me hold you here and simply realize how good it feels.”
I blink at him, trying to follow the logic before realizing he doesn’t have any, only supreme self-confidence built on a belief no one would dare turn him down. But put him in a room with Callisto, and all that alpha dominance would look like a puppy baring his teeth. I smile at the thought and sidestep.
“I really appreciate it, but I—”
Bradley steps in, his hand coming around my back at the same moment he presses his lips to mine. I freeze. Like, I don’t totally hate it; he’s a handsome guy and he smells like red wine. But it also feels hollow.
A gasp rings out behind me, and that hollowness fills with bitter regret.
“Rick?” Lyra stares wide-eyed, looking from Bradley to me in shock. Then her facial features twist into an angry snarl, and she marches forward to yank me away by the arm. “He came onto you, didn’t he, Bradley? I’m so sorry. I knew he was bad news.”
Her words echo in my ears as my tongue tries to put out the denial circling my brain at top speed. But my mouth seems tangled. She’s had a crush on Bradley ever since they last co-starred—she’ll never let this go.
Brad chuckles. “Don’t get so worked up, Lyra. It’s just a kiss.”
Lyra stiffens and points at me. “You’re fired!” she hisses, her sneer turning her ugly. “I was willing to give you a chance as my manager, but here you are, throwing it in my face. Take your nasty mouth and get lost!”
I stumble back, bumping into the cold railing. A chill runs down my spine. Fired? Me? If Lyra fires me here like this, the whole industry will hear about it by dawn. All the years I put into my career and networks go down the drain. I open my mouth to snap back at her, and suddenly I realize I’m done caring. I’m so sick of it all.
I turn on my heel in silence and walk back through the open French doors swaying gently in the evening air. I’d rather serve fries for minimum wage than pour my heart and soul into supporting an actor who turns on me like this.
“Rick!”
I ignore Brad’s voice behind me and push through the crowd. Even with scent dampeners inside, the room fills with enough potent alphas and omegas in the milling throng to make me nauseated.
A colorful barrier rears in my pathway, and when I try to go around, a woman hisses. “Rickon Jones.”
I look up and the last sane part inside me shatters. Hannah Sorentito plants slim wrists on her hips. “Why isn’t Lyra wearing my preview dress, Rickon? Do you even realize how big a chance I gave you?”
My throat squeezes. Whatever Lyra says about me has a chance of blowing over, but Hannah’s a different matter. “I—” I can’t even get words out. I just want the floor to open and swallow me. It seems wavy enough to do something unpredictable like that.
“Well?” Hannah demands. Partygoers around us turn to stare as the tall woman’s voice pierces through the music.
A sob catches in my throat. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I can’t stay here any longer. The scents and the curious stares drill into me. “I’ll contact you,” I call, turning to run through the crowd.
I’m all the way outside the building when Brad catches up to me. “Hey, wait up.” He grabs me by the shoulder and spins me around. “Don’t worry about Lyra.” He forces my chin up to meet his eyes. “Come home with me and be my sugar baby, until I find an omega. I like you, Rick. I’ll treat you so good, and you won’t even need to work with people like her.”
I shake with a silent, bitter laugh. Omega lookalike. Omega replacement. That’s all everyone thinks of me, except maybe for the only person in this world I wish would treat me like I’m an omega.
“I’m not a toy, Brad,” I say. The shadowy night looms around me as I ball my fists up, trying to control the trembling fury radiating through me. “I’m a damn alpha, even though everyone seems to forget it.”
I grab his hand and haul it off my face with more strength than I knew I possessed. A strange clamor goes off in my head and through the fuzz I numbly register a burned butter scent swirling around us. My alpha scent.
I shake my head. “Thanks for the offer, but no thanks.” I step back, putting more space between us.
Brad’s face shutters, like he can’t understand what I’m saying. His own red wine scent deepens, and he postures up, the alpha showing through. “Most people would kill for the chance to spend a night with me.”
With a bitter laugh, I wave my hands at my fitted vest. “Do I look like most people?”
I can’t seem to keep my thoughts locked behind a polite mask anymore. Is it the alcohol? Fuck, if Lyra and Hannah don’t ruin my career, Brad probably will out of spite.
My slow pace as I walk away betrays my hesitation. I’m turning down a life of ease, with every worldly comfort known to humankind. If I wanted to start a business, Brad would probably back me and get me on my feet. It’d be so easy to turn around and apologize. Take his offer.
And yet it would be betraying myself. I’d become the pampered omega stand-in I don’t want to be.
I tug my phone out of my snugly fitted pants and dial up Callisto. No answer. When it goes through to the voice mail, I leave a message, even though I know he hates retrieving them.
“Hey, Callisto. It’s me, Rickon. Well, you probably know that from the number.” I rest one cold hand against my forehead, trying to ease the hot mess lingering under my skin. “Just, ah, looking to see if you can hang out for a bit. I, um, well, it’s nothing major, really. Text me when you can.”
Beep. I click the disconnect button and shoot him a text as well, but no reply comes back.
“Nothing new,” I murmur. He’s probably buried in case files and won’t even look at his phone until after midnight. “You’re a fool, Rickon Jones. A damn fool.”
The chilly night air freezes the tears pooling on my lashes.