Chapter 49
JAMIE
It’s the night of the party, and I almost throw up in the rideshare on the way over. I want to say it’s from the car’s combination of stale cigarette smoke and too-strong air freshener, but it’s probably also nerves.
The driver lets me out at a tasteful new building right across from the city’s biggest park, and I tentatively step up to the door. There’s a prominently placed keypad, so I punch in the code from the invitation.
The door lets out a click as it unlocks, so I push inside to a hall lined with more doors, each with a number.
The invitation said to go to door ten, so I punch in another code to enter that door.
Through a small hallway is something between a lobby and a living room, complete with rich green walls, black antique leather sofas, and vintage bronze lighting.
This room has no windows, and on the other side is a set of brass doors. Should I… keep going?
I stand there awkwardly, wishing I’d had the luck of walking in with some other guests. But maybe it’s for the best—I’m too anxious for small talk right now.
The brass doors rattle and slide open, revealing an elevator car—and Eileen.
“There you are!” She scurries over and gives me a hug.
“Sorry I’m late—traffic.”
“No problem at all.”
“Is this… a private elevator? And a dedicated waiting room?”
“Yep,” Eileen says with a conspiratorial grin.
“What kind of venue is this?”
“Oh, this is Morgan’s apartment.”
“Wait, what?”
“Yeah, you’ve got to see this.” She grabs my hand and pulls me into the elevator.
It’s clearly a custom job, with quilted leather panels on the walls and the floor tiled with green and black marble.
The doors open again, and we step out into a wood-paneled entryway that leads into a sweeping penthouse apartment.
I feel like I just stepped into a movie: slim-fitting dresses with daring cutouts, workwear-inspired high-fashion, and though I do see one person wearing a sweater, it’s emblazoned with a designer logo.
Eileen at least looks like she fits in with her pink tweed Chanel pantsuit. And I suppose I do too, thanks to her.
I absolutely refuse to think about the last time I wore this suit.
We step out of the entryway and walk past a sitting room packed with chattering guests, continuing to the dining room.
Over a grand dining table of rich live-edged hardwood hangs a chandelier resembling an abstract rendering of little golden fish swimming in a river of light.
A mixologist whirls behind the built-in bar just beyond the dining room, lighting a sprig of rosemary on fire before placing it in a smoking cloche to infuse a cocktail.
Nearby, a magician pulls a whole deck of cards out from behind a guest’s ear, and behind him is an arrangement of golden cages of different sizes, each housing a live parrot.
Eileen leads me to the bar, where I get a fruity cocktail that comes bubbling with dry ice, and she gets a smoked whiskey sour from the cloche.
“How bad does it sound to say… I didn’t think Morgan would have this many friends?
” I whisper to Eileen as she leads me out into a massive open-concept space.
On the far side is a wall of windows with an incredible view of the nighttime city glittering below.
On the near side, a live string quartet plays pop covers.
“Oh, she doesn’t,” Eileen says once we get past the quartet. “That’s why I needed backup. These are mostly acquaintances. But there are a few…” She scans the room, then points to a group near the window. “There. Those are actually Morgan’s friends.”
I don’t need to ask Eileen for clarification because I instantly know who she’s talking about. The group of women radiates power and poise, obvious even without their stature, pointed ears, and distinct scents. They’re female alphas.
The colors of their hair and eyes span the rainbow.
Each wears an outfit that perfectly matches their figure and demeanor, ranging from an artfully rumpled suit on a green-eyed butch with a brown wolf-cut to a stunning crystal-encrusted bodycon dress on a pink-eyed hyper-femme whose perfectly curled and cascading rose gold hair gives some serious Jessica Rabbit vibes.
Amongst the rest of the group of six are some familiar faces, though my short-circuiting brain blanks on their names.
I recognize the one with striking blue eyes from a movie poster, the one with fiery orange hair from a news special on professional rugby players, and the red-eyed one from the home page of my music streaming app. They’re like… major celebrities.
Even as they laugh and chat, wine glasses light in their clawed hands, they emit an aura of primal danger. I keep my eyes moving, wary of catching their attention, and scan the rest of the party-goers who seem dim by comparison.
“Who’s everyone else?” I ask.
“Business associates. Investors. Contacts. Boring.”
“I don’t think you should let them hear you say that,” I laugh.
“Exactly. That’s why you’re here. So I have someone to complain to.”
“Do you get along with Mor’s friends?”
“Yeees…” Eileen says tentatively. “But one Morgan is enough. Six is… whew.”
“Morgan really lives here?” This massive penthouse seems larger than life. Then again, so does Morgan.
“Yeah. When she doesn’t want to commute. She also has a house outside the city. Well, a mansion, really.”
“That must be nice,” I mutter.
“It is.” Eileen sighs dreamily. “I think we’re doing the company Christmas party there again this year, but I keep telling Morgan we should do a summer party too.
The pool is insane. There’s a slide. And Burberry had the cutest swimwear this year—” Eileen stops short, her eyes flicking briefly behind me.
“You know what, hold that thought. I really have to pee.”
Then she’s gone, deep into the sea of guests before I can say anything.
I turn to where she’d glanced, and my gut turns inside out.
It’s Morgan.
She wears a wide-leg color-block suit that’s all black on one side, all white on the other, hanging open to reveal a diamond-studded silver corset underneath. Her hair sweeps up in a sleek high ponytail, showing off the point of her ears and the diamond ear cuffs that match her corset.
Her hands are in her pockets, but she’s tense.
“Jamie,” she says flatly. “What are you doing here?”
My cheeks are on fire. I think I’m about to have a panic attack. “I swear I got an invitation.”
Oh god, how pathetic do I look right now? Crashing her birthday party? Wait, how did she not know?
Morgan lets out a sigh, and some of the tension dissolves. “Eileen.”
“S-she must have just forgot to mention. I can go, though—I’ll go.” I turn and try not to run.
“Wait.” Her voice is still flat, controlled.
I turn, unsure whether it’s omega-me or human-me that can’t disobey.
“Stay.” The word is quiet. The mask wavers, and I see something in Morgan’s eyes.
I manage a slight nod. “O-okay.”
We stand there awkwardly.
“Great party,” I force out.
“It’s fine.”
More awkward silence.
I fidget with the button on my cuff. “I heard your… pool is really cool. It has a slide?” Oh god, what am I doing?
“Mhm.”
“…Happy Birthday. Even though it’s… kind of unlucky. For me.”
I’d be naive to think I see my pain mirrored by the flash in Morgan’s eyes. I’m sure it’s secondhand embarrassment. Maybe concern that I’ll say too much.
“Thanks.”
“I’ll… let you get back to it. I should go make sure Eileen didn’t get lost on the way to the bathroom.” I turn and take a step.
“Jamie…”
“Yeah?”
“We should talk.” Morgan tilts her head in a direction, then heads that way, and I follow.
She leads me through the chatter of the party and up a custom wooden staircase to another living area that’s currently empty.
She goes up to the glass wall and pulls open a sliding door, stepping out onto the balcony.
She leans out over the railing, and I join her, taking in the ruffle of the breeze still warm from the ocean and the glitter of the city at night.
It reminds me of that night on the bay.
Morgan takes a long pull from her drink, which I’m pretty sure is scotch on the rocks.
I’m trying not to stare too much, but I’m scanning her face, squashing the hope in my chest, because I’m pretty sure she’s about to tell me I shouldn’t work at Artemis anymore.
Her eyes remain out over the city, and her expression is unreadable.
“I don’t usually struggle with things like this,” Morgan says quietly, glancing towards me. “But you’re the exception to… a lot of my rules.”
She’s definitely about to fire me. For the good of the organism. And the worst part is, I agree with her. I made myself a liability when I fell—
Shit. I can’t let myself think those words. Not now.
“I… want to apologize,” Morgan says.
My breath goes still in my lungs. “What for?”
“I let you believe that I was making some decisions for our… mutual benefit. When they were ultimately self-serving. And I don’t regret making those decisions, but… I do regret misrepresenting them to you.”
“What decisions?” My voice is hardly more than a breath. Is this going to be about how she should have never invited me on the campaign to begin with?
“When I sent you home, I led you to believe that… it didn’t affect me. Perhaps even that I was… content with the… duration of our relationship.”
“I’m so sorry I overstayed my welcome—”
“Jamie,” Morgan says, almost a laugh, but there’s a tremor in her voice. “It wasn’t long enough. I miss you. And I… I never miss anybody.”
The ground spins under me. “Really?”
“Really.” She seems bewildered. Gathers herself.
“The reason I canceled the rest of the tour was that… I could not handle spending any more time with you and not…” She sighs, leaning her forehead into her hand, her elbow propped on the railing.
“Gia’s right—I’m so bad at this. Okay, look, that night in the garden, when… ”
The memories tumble back in fragments, and my spine tingles while my stomach twists with anxiety. “Yeah…”
“It took everything to not rip that collar off. And I never accept that there’s anything that I cannot do. But I just…” Her voice shakes. “I had this clear, certain thought. I can’t do this again. I can’t do this again and not…” There’s an openness, a vulnerability on her face.
“And not do something you’d regret?” She didn’t want to be stuck with you. Nobody wants to be stuck with a needy omega.
“No,” she says sharply. “I’d never regret…
” Her eyes find mine, wavering in the starlight.
“I know I said I didn’t want to make a permanent decision for you, and that’s…
abstractly true. But the real reason is…
” She takes a deep breath. “It scares me, how bad I want you. Letting you in would be very… vulnerable.”
I force myself to focus. This is an apology. An explanation of why we can’t be together.
“I should have told you, but I didn’t… I didn’t know how I felt. And I just needed time to… sort it all out. I, um… I freed up some time in my schedule. Quit two boards. Transitioned some projects to other execs.”
“That’s good,” I say, shoving my feelings away and keeping my tone measured. “To find some time for yourself. Finally gonna watch TV again?”
Something warms in Morgan’s expression, and she turns a wry grin towards me. “Let’s call that the backup plan. You really don’t know where this is going, do you?”
I swallow hard. “I… I thought I did…”
“You’re such a pretty little idiot.”
She says it just like before. My chest aches, and my eyes sting. My resolve wavers. “Please don’t talk like that and then make me go.”
“Jamie… the time in my schedule is for you. If you want it.”
“For me? To do… what?” Is this going to be more PR work?
“Oh, for the love of—Maybe this will get through to you.”
Morgan grabs the back of my head and pulls me into a kiss.
My body goes tight with shock, then as her scent surrounds me and I taste the scotch on her tongue, I melt into her. Everything is heat and light and relief and yearning.
I can feel how badly she wants me, how tight her fingers are in my hair, against my back. I push as high as I can onto my toes, pressing into her, locking my arms around her neck.
Morgan reaches down and lifts me against her chest, carrying me over to a deck chair. She sits back, and I settle across her lap. Our kiss turns hungry, urgent. Three months of longing pour out, and I’m never letting go.
Morgan’s breath shakes, and I lean back.
The moonlight reflects in the tears lining her eyes. I pause, and Morgan pulls me tight against her chest, my cheek against her collarbone, my forehead against her neck.
“These were the worst three months of my life,” she murmurs.
I tighten my arms around her neck. “Mine too.”
“Does it make any sense to you?” she asks. “Falling so fast?”
“None whatsoever,” I murmur, nuzzling against her.
“Well, glad it’s not just me.” She kisses my forehead.
“But what does this mean for… How do we… I thought you said you couldn’t… again…”
“I can’t,” she says quietly. “So that’s the… that’s the offer.”
“What’s the offer?”
Morgan’s chest rumbles with a laugh. “Let me try it this way. Jamie ‘Pretty Idiot’ Brennan, will you marry me?”