by Kathryn Moon
“It was all right, though,” I said, lifting my chin, my tongue flicking out to catch cream at the corner of my mouth. Leo’s stare tracked the movement, and I marveled at the slight widening of his pupils. “He hasn’t been aggressive or anything.”
Shock flashed over Leo’s face, eyes widening, before vanishing quickly. “He wouldn’t,” he said. “Cyrus isn’t…well, let’s just say if he wanted to be aggressive, he’d get your permission first. They’re…my pack’s not like that, Lola, I promise.”
I shrugged and turned away, crossing to my small counter that separated my minuscule kitchen from my marginally larger living room. “It makes sense, if they already have their omega,” I said.
I pushed myself up onto the counter with one hand and had another bite of food as Leo studied my bare legs with an absent interest.
“I understand why you’d be wary,” Leo said. “I’ve had my own negative experiences with alphas. It was part of why I opened Philia.”
I was sitting on my counter, a bite of waffle dripping cream hovering halfway to my open mouth, when his words sank in. “You opened Philia? Oh my god, that’s why you asked if I was looking for you specifically?”
Leo blushed and crossed the open space between us, his hip pressing to my knee. He set his plate down and pushed it aside, his hands coming down slowly over my thighs. “I own the club and…I’m a partner in a real-estate firm. I thought for a second maybe you knew who I was. Rake and I have had issues in the past with people kind of tracking us down…wanting a way into our pack.”
I coughed at the thought and then pushed my own plate aside. I looked at Leo and raised an eyebrow.
“I’m guessing you’d believe me now if I said that was definitely not the case?”
Leo smirked, and I watched the shift of his mouth with growing interest. “I believed you before. But yes, I can see now how unlikely that would be. I do have a question for you though,” he said.
I was busy drinking him in by sunlight, the slight wave in his rich black hair and the soft dent beneath his full lower lip. I nodded for him to continue.
“Is my pack going to be an obstacle if I want to see you again?” he asked.
His fingers on my thighs gave the faintest encouragement to open, so light I could’ve ignored the suggestion without any effort. I parted them slowly, and Leo filled the space until the sensitive skin of my legs was bracing against the soft fabric of his pants.
His question sank in slowly, and I found myself tensing slightly as I gave it thought. Could I get involved with a man who was bonded to an alpha? Sure, I was already in regular contact with one alpha from his pack, but that was a simple arrangement. Cyrus was my boss, there was no question that in our relationship, he held the power. What kind of demands could Leo’s alpha make on me if I was in a relationship with the beta?
Leo was patient, he didn’t push or speak a word while I thought, but he raised one hand from my leg and brushed his fingertips up my jaw. My eyelids fell shut and I leaned into the touch. God, I hadn’t realized how totally touch starved I was until this morning.
“I…”
I needed to say ‘no,’ to put myself squarely out of reach of this pack, even if that did make it impossible between Leo and I. Since when did I really want a relationship, anyway? I had my weekend hookup habit for a reason.
Except that reason was that I didn’t want anyone to see what a complete disaster I was, and Leo had already witnessed that for himself. What was he even still doing here?
“They won’t touch me?” I asked. What was I doing? Leo couldn’t promise that to me, not if his alpha didn’t want him to.
“No one is going to touch you without your express interest, Lola,” Leo said, his voice taking on a rough edge. My eyes opened and found a deep groove between Leo’s eyebrows, his jaw ticking. “I know you don’t know them. You don’t really know me. But I can promise you not one of my pack would ever disregard your comfort or consent.”
“This would just be between us?” I asked in a whisper, my eyes burning.
He dipped his head, gaze holding mine. “Just us.”
I sighed out, breath trembling. I wanted this. I wanted someone to see me.
You’re going to shatter this time.
I leaned in and Leo was there, his nose grazing against mine, foreheads touching. For a moment, we just breathed together. I hadn’t had anything but brief club quickies for a year, no hesitation and no lingering. My whole body felt like a raw nerve waiting for a blow to hit and to prove that snarling version of my mother’s voice in my head right. Leo waited, one sticky thumb stroking the inside of my thigh, his other hand cupping my neck gently.
I tipped my head back and our mouths slid smoothly together, soft puzzle pieces shifting closer and blending sweet, brief movements into a slow series of kisses. There was fruit and cream and sugar on our lips, and a little taste of mint on his tongue as it swept against the seam of my mouth and then retreated again. His hand on my thigh shifted to the back of my hip, pulling me to the edge of the counter until we were flush from chest to hips. I slid my arms over his shoulders and crossed my legs behind his back, waiting and curious to see if the mood would escalate.
Leo hummed into the kiss, and I thought I could feel him stirring with arousal against the thin material of my sleep shorts, but neither of us took it any further than the decadent, drugging kisses. Gradually, kissing turned back into breathing, and I turned my head to feel his stubble scuff against my cheek.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Hm? Which part?” His voice was rough and low, and it sent a light shiver down my back and warmth pooling in my core.
About me, I thought.
“That this is okay,” I said instead.
Leo huffed, and his breath raised goosebumps on my neck. “I’m sure. More than. We’ll take it slow.”
I nodded. Slow was good. Slow gave plenty of time for warning.
I had Leo’s number—along with a waffle maker, which I hadn’t really settled on how to process—when he left that afternoon. I also had a serious case of beard burn on my lips and neck, and a frustratingly stubborn case of arousal.
My phone rang while I was in the bath, trying and failing to—ahem—handle the arousal issue on my own. I huffed and sagged in the cooling water. I should’ve talked Leo into fingering me again. He almost kind of owed me one anyway, since the last orgasm had been spoiled when I freaked out at the sight of his bondmark.
I gave up on my ‘relaxing’ bath and wrapped myself up in my fluffy robe, rushing to my bedroom to catch the call before it dropped.
“David!”
“Are you all right?”
I gaped at my empty bedroom. “I…” Was David somehow suddenly aware of my inability to get myself off? And if so why? And how fucking awful.
“I spoke to Cyrus.”
“Oh. God, really?” I grumbled and curled up on the foot of my bed, glancing at the still dented pillow where Leo had slept. I flopped down into the spot and rolled my face into the mattress, breathing in his clean smell and maybe huffing that warm alpha tone too. Just a little. It was harmless if I never intended to have any contact with him, right? “I’m okay,” I mumbled, still holding the phone to my ear.
“Don’t be embarrassed.”
“Too late. My boss called my cousin—who got me my job—to tell him I had a panic attack.”
“Actually…I called him. I just wanted to see how you were—”
“Oh my god, David,” I whined, squeezing my eyes shut as if that could prevent me from dying of embarrassment.
“He said you’d already made yourself invaluable. That you’d probably just entirely reshaped one of the department’s regular layouts and you stood out for the team at a photoshoot,” David said.
That shut me up at least.
“It wasn’t until I was ready to hang up that he mentioned the elevator shutting down and…everything. He said Leo got you home okay though?”
“You k
now Leo?”
“I know them all. Mostly Cyrus and Rake and Matthieu, but I’ve met them all. Lola, you’re okay?”
“Yes. Yes, I’m okay. I’m debating coming down with the stomach flu—”
“Please don’t do that.”
“—but I am actually…fine.” I rolled over in the bed and blinked up at the crack in my ceiling when I realized I was telling the truth. I’d had panic attacks while still staying with David and barely left my bed for three days. “It wasn’t actually being in the elevator with them. I was just surprised, and then the dark…”
“They’re…they’re a good pack, Lola. I wouldn’t have gotten you that job working for Cyrus if I didn’t trust him completely. And I was right anyway, he speaks very highly of you.”
I actually smiled at that. “I did have a really good first week, panic attack notwithstanding.”
“Come over for lunch tomorrow and we’ll celebrate it. Or commiserate.”
“Deal.”
I hung up lighter and a little relieved. Cyrus had led with everything I’d done well this week instead of my meltdown. That was a good sign, right?
My phone chimed in my hand, and I lifted it to see an alert for a text that must’ve come in while I was still in the bath.
UNKNOWN - 6:46
missin u
I frowned at the screen, and swiped open the text, not sure what I was expecting to find. There was nothing else but the message, and no clue whom it was sent from. Cool dread trickled down my spine and I forced it away.
It wasn’t… It wouldn’t be from them. Buzz was dead. Indy was gone. They’d let me walk out of their clubhouse.
And ‘missin u’ definitely didn’t seem like the kind of sentiment I’d have gotten from either of them. Maybe if the creepy anonymous message was ‘you dumb bitch’ I would worry, but this was probably some kind of weird baiting bot. I deleted it and pushed my phone face down on my bed.
Maybe my bath couldn’t relieve my tension, but I was pretty sure if I could find my batteries, I knew what would do the trick.
Seven
Lola
I considered calling in sick on Monday, just to avoid running into Cyrus or Matthieu or…anyone really. Even after David’s call, I was flushing red every time I thought about collapsing in the dark elevator, whimpering and whining like a pathetic creature waiting to be kicked.
Downside number one to agreeing to testing the waters with Leo was that he could tell my boss I’d been well enough to text him a picture of waffles—I was experimenting—the night before.
Instead of wallowing at home, I decided the best armor I could wear was a good face of makeup and a fierce outfit.
I had my shit together.
I was living on my own again.
I had my dream job, even if it was a little bit gifted to me. That was okay because I was earning it.
Cyrus wasn’t even in the group office when I arrived in my dagger heeled boots and crimson red wrap dress, but I got an approving chin dip from Zane and an ‘ooo’ of excitement from the girls.
“Guess what makeup artist got booted from Rakim Oren’s fashion week entourage?” Zane asked me as I took my own seat at the long table.
My eyes widened. “Wait. Courtney?”
“Courtney,” Zane said, waggling his eyebrows at me.
“Way to go, killer,” Betty said.
My lips twisted to fight my smile. “Okay, I do feel bad though.”
“Don’t, she’d been with him for years and she was getting lazy. There’s no room for error on a fashion week catwalk anyway,” Anna said with a wave of her hand. Anna reminded me of myself a year ago. She had highlighter yellow hair, and today she was wearing a vintage, sequined green jumpsuit that clashed with her vivid red eye makeup. Looking at her in all her technicolor glory, I missed my own purple locks.
There was a rap on the door, and I was still smiling when I saw Cyrus hovering there. My smile froze for a beat as his eyes met mine, and I might’ve imagined the flinch on his face for how quickly it disappeared, but it made my gut freeze all the same.
“We’ve got a quick meeting in Wendy’s office,” Cyrus said.
“Oh god, Lola, thank fuck you look decent today,” Betty blurted out as the whole team scrambled out of their chairs.
“Delicate as ever, Betty,” Cyrus muttered, but this time when he looked at me there was genuine humor and friendliness.
Maybe I had imagined the flinch, or maybe Cyrus was disgusted by my show of weakness, or maybe he was pissed that I was getting involved with his pack. The evidence was gone now, though, and he took the lead of our group with his back to me as we marched to the elevators and rode them up to Wendy’s office. He did keep everyone else between us in the elevator ride though.
Quit overthinking it, idiot. Be professional.
Wendy Thurman was every bit as polished and perfect as anyone might imagine a fashion and beauty editor to be. She was tall, statuesque, with deep honey-colored skin and pin straight salt and pepper hair down to her waist. She was wearing high waisted pants, her hands plunged into the deep pockets, and a romantically tailored rose-colored blouse. If she wore makeup, it was imperceptible, but she was flawless so I suspected she just had an extremely precise routine. No one had perfect pores without a little extra help.
She wasted no time, and I’d barely made it into the room before she addressed us. “This is good,” she said, pointing to a projection on the barren white wall of her palatial office.
It was a polished version of our product feature layout. And my ink drawings were still there.
“If this doesn’t get drowsy over the next few issues, and you keep focusing on product versatility, it’ll be your new format,” Wendy continued. Her tone was abrupt and her voice a bit naturally raspy. She pressed a button on her remote and a new projection was up—the images from the photoshoot on Friday. “This, however, was deeply uninspired. Try a little harder, Cy.”
“Got it,” Cyrus said with a simple nod.
It wasn’t until I saw Corey’s shoulders drawing in, that I realized my own were raised high. Wendy Thurman was a beta, and she was talking down to Cyrus like he was…
Like he wasn’t an alpha.
It made me edgy, but I was surprised to find that Cyrus seemed calm. His bubbly scent was muted, but it wasn’t souring either.
“And this,” Wendy said, pointing to the photo of Rakim. “Which of you lent your helping hand on this one?”
Now Cyrus stiffened, but I didn’t see his hand spreading behind his back in warning to me before it was too late, and my own hand lifted in the air.
“New girl,” Wendy said, narrowing her eyes at me.
“Lola,” I said.
“Lola gave us the idea for the new product feature layout,” Cyrus said quickly.
He was sticking up for me. I braced myself as Wendy rolled her eyes. “I’m not looking at the product feature. Lola, are you a makeup artist or an assistant beauty editor?”
“Assistant beauty editor,” I said, lifting my chin, ready for whatever this powerful woman wanted to throw at me. But I winced when she turned back to Cyrus.
“Cyrus, do your assistant beauty editors do our models’ makeup?”
“Rakim insisted—“
“Is Rakim your boss?”
Finally, Cyrus’ impenetrable cool calm cracked, just the softest scoff at the back of his throat before the sound was cleared away. “No, Wendy, he is not.”
He’s his omega, I realized. This wasn’t really about me doing Rakim’s makeup, it was about Rakim’s influence over Cyrus?
“I let him bring his personal makeup artist onto my shoot, I expected him to actually use her, and not start rearranging everyone’s job description,” Wendy said.
I pinned my lips shut and so did the rest of the beauty department, Cyrus shifting in finite twitches.
Wendy sighed and turned away from us all, clicking her remote again and bringing up another fashion shoot, one edgier than before th
at must’ve been done before my arrival.
“This isn’t awful, but it doesn’t change anything. Doesn’t add anything. I’m not impressed,” Wendy said with a shrug.
And just like that, whatever battle had just taken place between Cyrus and Wendy over me, or maybe over Rakim, passed. Wendy picked apart a few more projects from the team, praised the cover feature, and I wondered that everyone seemed so relaxed after she’d finished telling us that she was disappointed in all but two of our efforts for the issue.
“Cy, Lola, give me a minute,” Wendy said, just as everyone made a move to head for the door.
“Brainstorm,” Cyrus told the others, turning and offering me a quick and tight smile in support.
Wendy slid behind a vast glass top desk that looked as if it might be there for the sole purpose of making her appear more imposing. Cyrus pulled out a chair for me, stepping away and offering me space as he took his own. Wendy sighed as the glass doors to her office swung shut with a whisper.
“I apologize for overstepping my role,” I said, deciding I’d rather draw the first bullet than be left watching Wendy pepper Cyrus with them.
Wendy waved her hand. “You’re not really the one who overstepped though, are you?” she asked, but she was staring at Cyrus instead of me.
“Wendy, come on. Are you really mad that Rakim fired his own makeup artist?” Cyrus asked, relaxing back into his chair and filling the space with languid limbs. The pose feigned relaxation, there was an edgy tension in the air around him, as if he were trying to restrain his own alpha presence.
“After going to the trouble of making me hire her for the time? Yes, Cy, I’m pissed,” Wendy bit out. She collapsed back into her own chair with a huff and glared at Cyrus. “I’m going to be even more pissed if he poaches the new assistant beauty editor you wheedled me into hiring. No offense, Lola, you did good work. You were the neck down on his shoot, yeah?”
I nodded, and her lips pursed.
