Lights, Camera, Omega (Hollywood Omegas #1)

“What? No!” I backpedal, already back in front of my closet, eyeing my potential outfits for the evening.

“Daph, this is going to be huge exposure for you in this new stage of your career,” he explains, putting on his agent-lecturing voice.

“I know! I’m excited for it—a big kickstart to my career as an omega,” I chirp in another saccharine attempt to remove the metaphorical bee from Vinny’s proverbial bonnet.

“While I may not have any interest in courting the Lost Daze pack, I am certainly aware of the opportunity that starring in one of their music videos could afford me in terms of future castings,” I continue, dutifully.

“I know that your first meeting didn’t go so hot, but you really shouldn’t count them out of the running Daph,” Vinny lobs back.

“Vinny, I’ve told you—there just isn’t any interest there,” I volley back, firmly and directly.

“I’m telling you, when you start working with them on set, when you see the guys—especially Johnny, in their element. It’s going to be a totally different ballgame. It’s going to make you feel things.”

I can practically feel the salesmanship wafting off of him through the phone. Part of me wants to tell him that I’m literally picking out outfits to go solidify my courtship with the Panopticon Pictures pack—but there’s that nagging little voice in my head that says, Don’t tell Vinny, he’s being so weird about your pack placement–but he’s just an agent at the end of the day. The decision is mine to make, and I’ve made it. He can find out about it later when he stands less chance of fucking things up for me.

“Only time will tell I guess.” I give a non-committal sigh, but my lack of outright refusal seems to buoy Vinny’s spirits.

“Shooting starts next week; the director has been looking at spaces to shoot in. Once the record company signs off on the expenditures—we’ll be rockin’ and rollin’!” he says, excitedly.

“Super.” I do my best to be convincing, pulling a pair of strappy high-heeled sandals from the bottom of my closet to examine their worn soles.

“I’ll stop by the center for you and pick up all the refills for your scripts before we head over to the production headquarters to get you fitted for costumes for the music video, etc. I know you’ve been so busy with all the hubbub of becoming a professional in the omega space—you’ve been doing great sweetheart.”

“Great, that would be really helpful actually! Plus, I’m sure you’ll tell me all about the insider info you’ve gathered on the video shoot on our way to the LaRenta audition this Friday.” I do my best to throw Vinny his metaphorical bone while also redirecting the conversation to an audition for a project I’m actually interested in as an artist.

“About that.” Vinny tries to slither away, but I refuse to relent.

“What happened to the LaRenta audition, Vin?” I press.

“Daph, I gotta call you back—I’m getting a ring right now from Melody; just don’t worry about the LaRenta audition, I’m gonna make it happen. Just not this Friday. I’ll call you about the video shoot. See ya, sweetheart!” he offloads me in a rush.

I’d be more pissed off about him fumbling the LaRenta audition if I wasn’t so deeply engrossed in preparing for tonight.

Deciding that these are problems for tomorrow Daphne, I toss my cell phone onto the bed and prepare to launch myself into the shower.

After changing a grand total of seven times, I finally decide on my outfit for the evening, a remarkably simple satin slip dress in a shimmering shade of periwinkle. I go back and forth on which overwrought and fanciful bra I should wear with the nearly backless frock–and ultimately decided that between the heat, the tangled strap drama, and the fact that I think my boobs actually look better under the slinky fabric’s draped, low neckline without a bra; tonight, the girls will go free.

I’ve slathered every inch of myself in rich lotion and dusted my suntanned skin with fine shimmering powder. My makeup has been carefully attuned to enhance my features without eclipsing any of my natural ones. My freckles are still visible and my long blonde lashes are still winking like bits of sunshine as the sun begins to set. And of course, I spent forever on my hair, doing my best to tame my natural curls from their dry, frizzy, out of control state into a glorious glossy nimbus of golden ringlets.

My efforts are rewarded when I open my apartment door and Sol lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree.

“Daphne! You look incredible, as always,” he gushes, a grin spreading his lips from ear to ear.

He looks good enough to eat; his brassy gold mane tied into a low pony, a lime sherbet colored knit silk polo hangs beautifully off his rugged, muscular frame, well tailored gray and white striped seersucker pants and a pair of worn leather boat shoes the color of sand.

“Thank you, Sol.” I bat my lashes at him, slipping into a pair of bedazzled clear plastic mules with kitten heels and grabbing my clutch.

This time he’s shown up in a baby pink metallic Bel-Air. I jokingly call him The King as he opens the door and helps me in. In response, he plays nothing but Elvis tunes from the modernized stereo all the way from my place to Cypress House.

He helps me out of the car, his hand lingering at the small of my back, his fingers warm on the cool satin of my dress as Julian opens the massive front door and welcomes us in.

“I’d say it’s Malibu Barbie and Ken, but you two look far too chic in these summer ensembles.” Julian reaches for my hand, spinning me around slowly as if we’re dancing.

“Why thank you, Mr St.James,” I say in my most sparkling transatlantic accent—drawing a delighted Laugh from Julian; himself a vision in a pair of taupe, cropped linen slacks and a nearly see through silk chiffon button down in an iridescent, mermaid-y shade of shifting blue to green.

He leads Sol and I into the dining room. The dining table is elaborately set and decorated with fresh flowers—long white taper candles in their contemporary sculptural holders glowing with soft flame. The low lighting against the shimmering blonde Cypress inlay of the walls and monolithic dining table all lend to the incredibly romantic atmosphere.

Though I am not the centerpiece of tonight’s meal, as I was in my dream; the thought sends my pulse racing and a heat surging through me that has nothing to do with the balmy summer evening.