Lights, Camera, Omega (Hollywood Omegas #1)

Daph,

I’m bringing some friends to drinks tonight and thought you might like something that didn’t come from some shopping mall.

Don’t worry, the getup has been paid for.

Consider it a treat from your ‘guardian angel’.

See you tonight!

I’m not sure how the man is so skilled at pissing me off, but it takes everything I have not to give into my pride and return the dress, utterly trashed, to Vinny. Then he can fucking wear it if he likes it so much.

Deep Breaths.

The guy may be a total skeeze, but he’s also the one who managed to pull auditions with pack Dubois and the Panopticon Pictures pack.

My heart pounds and the muscles between my legs clench. I’m almost fucking wet just thinking about that stuntman, Sol Cooper, and our magical morning on the set of the new Amos Bennet western.

I recognized his scent from the cards Vinny had brought to our last meeting. That juicy pear, candied ginger, butter pastry smell had been so good I wanted to take a bite out of him right then and there, but he clearly hadn’t recognized my scent or had a clue who I was, so I panicked and didn’t say anything.

We were hurried apart on set so quickly, I didn’t get a chance to talk to him about the audition. I had assumed that we’d end up running into each other before the screen tests ended, but I was wrong. By the time I was done with Barton, Cooper had already been long gone.

Grudgingly, I pull myself from my Sol Cooper daydreams and re-read Vinny’s note. He’s been less than subtle that he’s planning on ambushing me with one or more members of Lost Daze.

I groan as I look at the clock. Wearing a dress and shoes like this means I need an everything shower. An everything shower, and a few extra minutes to at least remove the last of my glitter nail polish, since that manicure Vinny so snidely mentioned, hasn’t been arranged for yet. Then there’s hair, makeup, and figuring out how the hell to glue false eyelashes on because I only do it once every three months, then forget how again.

All of that takes time, which means my nap is officially over.

I arrive at the bar, exfoliated, moisturized, and highlighted within an inch of my life. My blonde blowout and false lashes round out the most glam I’ve been in years for anything that wasn’t a daytime television awards ceremony.

Vinny obviously approves. I can see the way his beady eyes light up when he sees me walking up to the huge glass doors of the sleek cocktail bar.

It takes everything I have in me not to touch my lips to ensure the brilliant blue hued red is still there and not creeping over the rest of my face. It’s not my usual look, but this is for the future of my career, right?

“Daph, sweetheart!” He crows happily.

“What did I tell you? You clean up pretty good, kid!” He gestures to me from head to toe. It’s a little embarrassing to stand in the wake of his backhanded compliments, but my entire success till this point has been built upon my ability to be agreeable and take direction well. I guess this isn’t any different.

I smile and say nothing, waiting for Vinny to lead me into the bar, and my inevitable ‘surprise’ meeting with members of the Lost Daze pack.

“Good thing too, because there’s someone I want you to meet!” Vinny waggles his bushy eyebrows, offering me the crook of his arm to escort me to our table.

I make big doe eyes at Vinny. I know the fake lashes are putting in the work, because he looks so pleased with himself for the payoff of his ‘clever’ angel clue in the card having been missed by little old moi. Wonderful, let him savor my ‘surprise’. Getting along will get you far in this business.

I’m feeling rather smug and pleased with myself, when suddenly I realize that I’m being walked past glass topped high tables and the long, chic underlit bar. I had been expecting something fairly casual, not particularly intimate. Instead, it appears that Vinny is steering us toward a secluded lounge, separated from the rest of the establishment by heavy velvet curtains and two large bouncers with necks like support columns.

“Rocco, Bobby,” Vinny greets the two bruisers as they part the curtains for us.

The intimate space is dimly lit, its windowless confines much darker than the outside restaurant—where the sun has yet to fully set.

There’s a myriad of smells, but that strong undercurrent of sweet agave and woody cedar lets me know that Johnny Angel, along with an undetermined number of his pack, are sure to be around the corner.

“Vinny, Miss Dale!” An older woman with a shocking pink bob and huge oversized sherbert orange glasses stands up from the table, brushing her hands down the front of her leopard print cigarette pants before she offers her hand to me.

“Melody Harper, I’m the boys manager.”

A booth of chattering men sharing drinks and a pool table are visible in the scarce low light of the secluded space.

I shake her hand. Overwhelming tuberose, gardenia, and cloying bubblegum assault my nose.