Chapter 13 #2
I'm not normally like that. I'm the Omega who apologizes for existing. Who makes herself small and convenient and easy to overlook. Who learned through painful experience that being too loud or too demanding or too anything gets you in trouble.
But there was just something about Theo.
Something about his calm possessiveness matched with that obvious declaration of claim when Nash and Grayson arrived.
The way he pulled me onto his lap in front of everyone—in front of Jasper and Kael's pack—and made it clear that I was his. That I belonged to them.
Theirs. The word sends shivers down my spine that have nothing to do with the cooling bathwater.
The defiance in that moment. The rebellion of it. Claiming me publicly when I'd just been mocked and dismissed by Alphas who thought I wasn't worth their time. It made me want to reward him in this odd, primal way that bypassed all my usual anxieties and insecurities.
And the sex—
God, the sex.
It was everything I could have asked for and more. Everything I didn't even know I wanted until I was experiencing it. Theo was rough and gentle and demanding and giving all at once. He knew exactly where to touch, how hard to press, when to slow down and when to speed up.
And that man can eat pussy like it's his favorite flavor of ice cream and someone just told him the shop is closing forever so this is his last chance.
I shiver at the thought, the memory so vivid I can almost feel it again.
The scratch of his stubble against my inner thighs.
The heat of his mouth. The obscene sounds he made like he was genuinely enjoying himself instead of just going through the motions.
The way he looked up at me with those eyes while his tongue—
Nope. No. Not going there right now. I'm already overheating in this bath and that train of thought is not helping.
I dare to wish I could experience that all over again. In slow motion this time. With more time and less urgency. In an actual bed instead of against a supply closet counter. With the freedom to be loud without worrying about being overheard.
I sigh, sinking deeper into the tub until the water is up to my chin and bubbles are tickling my nose. Try not to get horny about the idea. Try to focus on the Christmas music and the face mask and literally anything else.
If only they could be my pack. If only that public claiming last night was real instead of just a protective performance to get Jasper and his asshole friends to back off. If only Nash and Grayson and Theo actually wanted me for more than just one night of bar drama and supply closet sex.
Hell, even temporarily would be enough. Even just for the deal with Evergreen Media that I'm definitely not getting because I don't have a pack to satisfy their corporate policies and liability requirements. Even fake would be better than nothing.
That would be a blessing in disguise wrapped in a Christmas miracle.
I could show the world what it's like to enjoy the Christmas holidays in the heart of Oakridge Hollow with three gorgeous Alphas who actually seem to give a shit about me as a person instead of as a convenience or a transaction.
Document the small-town charm—the winter festivals and tree lightings, and caroling in the square.
The community events where everyone knows everyone and actually cares.
The cozy coffee shops and local businesses decorated within an inch of their lives.
Make content that's genuine and warm, and everything people love about my channel, but elevated with better production value and actual budget behind it.
Professional photos instead of selfies. Video editing that doesn't look like I did it on my phone at 2 AM because I did do it on my phone at 2 AM.
Maybe even some of those fancy drone shots that make everything look cinematic and aspirational.
I could prove to Jasper and Kael and Ross and Harold that I moved on and moved up.
That I found a pack exponentially better than them—Alphas who see me as an actual person worthy of love and respect instead of just a warm body to fill a regulatory requirement.
That I'm not just some failed Omega who couldn't make it work, but someone who chose to leave a bad situation and built something better.
A pack that could potentially love me. Even if it's fake for the cameras and the content and the brand partnerships.
Even if it's just for views and exposure and the professional benefit of looking stable and successful.
Even if it ends the moment the six-week contract does and they go back to their lives without me.
The payout would be good. Life-changing, actually.
Twenty-five thousand dollars. Enough to pay rent for a year without panic.
Enough to afford suppressants without having to choose between medication and groceries.
Enough to maybe upgrade to a studio apartment that has a bathtub I can actually fit in and walls thick enough that I can't hear my neighbors having sex.
Enough to stop panicking every single time I check my bank balance and see it dropping into double digits.
And if the sex was like last night with all three of them?
If Nash is as skilled with his hands as he seems to be with legal documents?
If Grayson is as gentle and thorough as his book handling suggests, he might be?
I'd be winning the ultimate bingo Christmas experience of professional success and mind-blowing orgasms and maybe—just maybe—feeling genuinely wanted and valued for the first time in years.
My phone starts ringing, the sound cutting through Mariah's high notes and jolting me out of my fantasy spiral.
It's probably Marcus checking in on me. Making sure I'm okay after last night. Maybe asking if I can come in tonight to cover another shift because someone called out and the weekend rush is always brutal.
I reach for my phone carefully, trying not to knock it into the toilet or drop it in the bathwater. My fingers are pruney and slippery with bubbles, making it difficult to grip properly.
I answer without looking at the caller ID.
"Hi, Marcus? Do you need me to come in again tonight? I can probably—"
"Reverie! Hi, it's Charlotte Webb from Evergreen Media."
Oh. Oh no. It's the agent. The one I met yesterday when I went into the city for what I thought was a courtesy meeting but turned out to be a real opportunity that I'm definitely blowing because I don't have a pack.
I sit up too quickly, water sloshing everywhere, bubbles cascading off my shoulders. "Charlotte! Hi! I'm so sorry, I thought you were my other boss. Marcus. From the bar. Not that you sound like Marcus, obviously, you sound nothing like him, I just—"
Stop rambling. Stop embarrassing yourself. Breathe.
She laughs, the sound warm and professional. "No worries at all! I hope you have a clear schedule though, at least until Christmas."
Clear schedule? Why would I need a clear schedule? Is she letting me down gently? Telling me they're going with someone else but phrasing it like a scheduling concern?
"Um, why?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady and failing spectacularly.
"For the deal, silly!" Her voice is bright, enthusiastic, like this is obvious. "Didn't you get the final paperwork? I express shipped it to your address so you should have received it. You just need to sign it and send it back."
Wait. What? The deal? Final paperwork? What is happening right now?
"Uh, no. Not yet. Must be early still," I manage to say, my brain struggling to process this information.
I'm working on getting out of the bath now, standing up too quickly, and nearly slipping on the wet porcelain.
Water streams off my body, bubbles sliding down my skin.
I grab for the towel hanging on the hook by the shower curtain.
I turn on the tap, readying myself to pull the plug so it can drain and wash the bathtub from the glittery beauty of my bath bomb, but I decide to confront the obvious elephant in the room.
"Charlotte, I'm confused. How would I sign the final papers when I haven't found a pack yet? You said that was a requirement. That corporate policy requires pack representation for Omega talent."
I'm dripping all over my bathroom floor now, trying to wrap the towel around myself one-handed while keeping the phone pressed to my ear with my shoulder. The face mask is starting to itch and crack. My hair is dripping down my back in cold rivulets.
"Oh, but you do have a pack now!" Charlotte says cheerfully, like this is totally normal information.
"Your pack leader came in yesterday afternoon, right after you left.
He signed all the representation paperwork.
Very professional, very thorough. Asked all the right questions about contracts and obligations. "
Pack leader. My pack leader. The pack leader I don't have because I don't have a pack.
"What? I don't—I don't understand. I don't have a pack. I told you that yesterday. I'm—"
The doorbell rings.
No. No no no. Please be my Uber Eats. Please just be the sushi delivery and not the express-shipped paperwork that apparently exists even though I have no idea what's happening.
I curse under my breath, clutching the towel tighter around my waist. It barely covers me—hitting mid-thigh at best. My hair is still dripping wet, leaving dark spots on the towel fabric. The face mask is definitely cracking now, probably making me look like a deranged swamp creature.
An Omega should not be answering the door in just a towel at 2 PM in the afternoon. This looks like I'm asking for a booty call. This looks like I have no self-respect or boundaries. This looks like—
The doorbell rings again. More insistent this time.
"Charlotte, one second, I'm so sorry, someone's at my door—"