Chapter Eight
Grant
I woke up to the whap whap of a helicopter lifting off. For a moment, I was annoyed to be awakened after a late night. Climbing out of bed, I padded over to the window to see housekeeping pushing their cart to the door of the villa where I’d rescued Ches the night before.
My irritation faded with the knowledge the assholes had taken me at my word and were on their way to wherever they came from.
After a shower, I prepared a double espresso, not wanting to wait for room service, and sipped it while reading my emails and other messages.
By the time I’d made any necessary replies and spoken with my assistant, my stomach rumbled.
Generally I preferred to eat in the room, but I did like the little café called Thorns for a late breakfast. They had an excellent pastry chef and the ability to prepare eggs properly.
Also, being centrally located, I thought it might be my best chance to catch a glimpse of the omega. With the danger gone from the property, he might be feeling safer, but it wasn’t likely he’d be completely over such a traumatic experience.
Which was why I’d had no choice but to turn him down when he suggested sharing my bed.
It had been the hardest thing I’d ever done, and I very much wanted him to understand that.
I’d have given just about anything to say yes, to have taken him in my arms and kissed him until he forgot not only last night but any other bad experiences.
Seated with my back to the wall, I had a view of most of the central main floor.
Many staff members moved past, even quite a few omegas, but not the one I had an eye out for.
My eggs came, a perfect French omelet, rolled and delicate with a creamy interior and pale-yellow outside.
A sprinkling of fine herbs was the only “add-in.” I had nothing against a traditional American omelet, but as I closed my lips around the first bite, a sigh escaped.
If I ever had time, I was going to learn to make these.
And bread. And a perfect oatmeal cookie.
Until then, I’d be at the mercy of others, dependent upon their skills for the simple pleasures of life. I ate the omelet slowly, both for enjoyment and to kill time. If I didn’t see him, I wasn’t sure what I’d do.
“Would you like anything else, sir?” the server asked. Another omega, was he a friend of Ches’?
“I think…I’d like something sweet.”
“We have a number of pastries today. Chef has been very busy baking. Would you like me to bring you a tray to look over and make a selection?”
“Just pick out something and surprise me. I’m sure it will be good.”
Leaning back in my chair, I sipped fresh-squeezed orange juice and continued my casual surveillance. The server brought me a plate with three miniature desserts, all made with puff pastry but with different-flavored fillings. “Is this all right?”
“Yes, excellent. I can try more this way. Thank you for thinking of it.”
“You’re welcome, sir. Please let me know if you need anything else. You’re charging this to the villa?”
“That’s right.” I almost asked him about Ches, but he was working, and I didn’t want to cause any problems. So, I finished my juice and ate the three flaky treats with their creamy fillings of bittersweet chocolate, mango, and salted caramel, then left the restaurant after signing for the meal and leaving a nice tip.
On the way out, I let the manager know what a good experience I had.
“The food, the service, everything was without flaw.”
“That’s nice to hear. Our omegas try hard to please, and they usually succeed.”
“I feel like there’s a ‘but’ there?”
“No, not at all. Thank you for the feedback.”
“You’re welcome.” I knew what the but was.
Sometimes the guests, the alphas in particular, could be jerks.
Or worse. Which had me right back thinking about the guys in the next villa and how easily they’d gotten off.
As I started down the hallway, I overheard a snippet of conversation between two omegas, expressing relief that the “old creep and his minion left early.” How many omegas had he pulled his shit on?
If he’d kidnapped any others, surely they’d have been missed, but he’d definitely been up to mischief.
How could I not bring what happened to someone’s attention.
His boss or even the authorities. Shifters were not big on going to the human police, having our own methods of dealing with wrong actors.
But someone was going to have to address the matter.
I couldn’t in good conscience let the pair go on to harm others with nobody the wiser.
“Excuse me?” I addressed another passing omega.
“Yes, sir? How can I help?”
“I’d like to speak with the human resources manager.” It seemed like the best way to start. He would be the one who dealt with employee matters. Then we’d escalate from there.
“Let me take you to his office.” He didn’t argue, or even ask why. Did guests often ask to see HR?