Lights, Camera, Omega (Hollywood Omegas #1)

The band members who had been chatting vigorously in the booth had now turned to face our little volley of accusations and excuses.

“Not to mention, I set up this little friendly ambush after Daphne’s been to and from Vancouver on location for a potentially large and demanding project.” Vinny spreads his hands wide, turning to Johnny and the other band members seated behind him.

“You guys know how exhausting it is being on the road. You’re never yourself after a red eye and a few hours of sleep,” Vinny plays the sympathy angle. To my great surprise–all of them, even Johnny, give solemn nods of solidarity.

“Why didn’t you just say so?” Johnny reaches across the small distance between us and caresses my face with the back of his hand. The gesture is surprisingly gentle, but something about it still makes my blood run cold.

“If you were too tired to play, that’s all you had to say.” He smiles slyly at me, his band members mirroring the expression just beyond. It’s all I can do not to shudder, but I understand that Vinny has thrown me a major bone here, and that I should gracefully take my leave–without leaving insult or injury to pride, and potentially destroy my new omega career before it’s started.

Be a good little actress. I tell myself.

“I am utterly exhausted tonight,” I sigh before adding coquettishly, “Perhaps some other time.”

The words make Johnny’s eyes gleam. With delight or cruelty, it’s still hard to tell.

It’s never a good sign when Sol and Julian have their heads together, scheming in scratchy whispers when you walk into a room.

When they’re in a clandestine conference at the edge of your bed when you emerge from the shower, it may very well portend the end of the world.

“Gentlemen, to what do I owe the honor?” I scoff, adjusting the rolled edge of the towel wrapped around my waist, shaking the water from my ears.

“The honor is all ours, I assure you,” Julian says coyly.

I enjoy the lingering moment his sea glass eyes take to travel down my body.

“Whenever you two are pspspspsp-ing, I can usually count on something particularly egregious.” I snort, making my way to the dresser for a pair of boxers.

Sol only laughs, Julian lifting his small, upturned nose into the air to pantomime insult and injury.

“Come out with it, I need to get ready to meet with that Swedish cinematographer at that ghastly bar by the studio that’s all the rage right now,” I remind them of my strict schedule before promptly dropping my towel, allowing Julian and Sol to look their fill before I eventually step into the slinky boxer briefs—the distraction delaying Julian’s eventual response.

“Well, you remember how you said I should get in touch with the omega placement agency a few days ago?” Julian sing-songs, knowing all too well that I remember—very clearly.

“Mmhm?” I open the mirrored panel of the closet door and pull a pair of bone colored linen pants from a wooden hanger.

“Well, it just so happens that there was a match that seems–how shall I say? Serendipitous.” Julian continues as I fasten the top button of the linen slacks.

“Is that so?” I turn away from the boys sitting on the edge of the bed and reach deeper into the closet for a snowy white french linen button down. I hear the bed shift as Julian stands up, approaching me from behind.

“Why don’t you give this a try?” He extends an arm, his wrist resting in the space between my neck and shoulder—a tidy white square of paper pinned between his extended index and middle fingers.

The scent coils itself around me like a giant jungle snake—layers of creamy peony, sticky apricot, and golden honey assault my senses with a familiar yet overwhelmingly different bouquet.

Sunshine and freckles, spilled coffee, the tang of lemon aioli.

“I don’t understand—” I struggle.

I can see Julian’s impish grin in the mirrored sliding door reflection.

“The beta from the craft services tent?” I shrug his hand from my shoulder and attempt to clear my head, the sweet vapor still clouding my mind.

“She’s an omega actress now. Julian helped her off set later that day when she started perfuming.” It was Sol who chiming in now, rocking up and onto his feet from the edge of the bed with his own excitement.

“She’s the one who I rode with on set when you sent me out to Vancouver for Pack Dubois.” He’s quick to add—silver storm eyes glittering with excitement.

I study the two of them, like a pair of kids running in to beg a parent ‘Please can we keep her!?’ at the first sign of a stray that has shown them kindness.

The fact that Sol is so immediately smitten comes as no surprise to me. The kid has a heart of gold. He instantly trusts deeply and always sees the best in everyone.