Lights, Camera, Omega (Hollywood Omegas #1)

“Hey.” I take Daphne’s chin between my thumb and forefinger.

“I may not give a fuck about the gala, but I do want everyone to see my beautiful new omega on my arm,” I say with pride.

Daphne lights up, her eyes suddenly glossy with sparkling tears.

“You do?” Her voice is watery, as if she might cry.

“I do.” I press my lips to the round of her cheek.

“I want them to see you for the last time before you’re the guiding star in our constellation,” I whisper sweetly in her ear.

“Let them get a good look at you before I take you home tonight,” I add, unable to keep a growl of passion from my voice.

Our limo pulls into the long line of other hired cars waiting in the queue, in readiness to empty their famous occupants onto the narrow strip of red carpet leading from the ornate turnaround to the entrance of the old Layton Majestic Theater.

The flash of cameras and the bustle of clamoring fans create a palpable anticipation—Daphne’s nose nearly pressed to the glass of the window as she takes in the sight before her.

“Hopefully I don’t trip over my own feet and make a total ass out of myself and embarrass you,” she laughs, a shallow, breathy sound.

“I’ll make sure you don’t take a tumble,” I assure her, laying a soft kiss at the gentle angle of her jaw.

“I know it might sound totally conniving and self-serving of me to say this—especially on our date.” She cranes her neck, getting a good look at all the photographers snapping photos of arriving guests on the red carpet.

“But I really wished that dingbat Vinny had gotten me the LaRenta audition, I could have maybe impressed Martine LaRenta by showing up with Cosmo Lamont on my arm.” She loops her arm through mine, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“You wanted to audition for her new post-apocalyptic jungle thriller?” I raise a brow, surprised that Daphne would go for such a genre-specific role so early in her career transition.

“She said she wants to ‘redefine what we think of when we hear, action hero’ in her interview for the Reporter,” Daphne gushes, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

“I have wanted to work with her ever since I saw Takeout. I think she shoots her talent in a way that really makes you feel like you know them. Magnus does the same thing–but I never thought I’d get a chance…” Daphne confesses.

A lightbulb goes off in my mind.

“A shame Vinny fumbled it, then.” I offer my support, folding her hand inside mine—scheming about how to best to introduce Daphne to Martine all the while.

“Cosmo! Over here!” a photographer shouts as a flashbulb detonates in my face—blinding me for a fraction of a second.

“Lamont, who’s your new girl!?” Another paparazzo shouts from the anonymity of the shadowed crowd.

I allow my hand to rest at the small of Daphne’s back, just above the delicate drapery of satin on the rear cowl of her gown.

Even though I know she’s about as star-struck as the paps snapping shutters around us, Daphne looks poised, experienced, professional. She finds each lens with ease, posing like studied Hollywood royalty at her very first A-list red carpet event.

We trot down the red carpet at a glacial pace, press and other partygoers stopping us every few steps on our way to the door. It takes nearly 20 minutes to travel the short distance from the curb to the Majestic’s glass doors. Once we’re inside, I guide Daphne to a quiet lagoon of space in the murmuring crowd.

“How are you holding up so far? You look like a seasoned pro,” I speak into her ear, stealing a kiss while I can.

“I don’t know if I can fully feel my legs,” she giggles.

“But I’m having a great time,” Daphne beams, leaning against me, our hands still clasped together.

We make our way to the table in the center of the lobby, hundreds of tiny cards illuminated in gold calligraphy indicate guest names and their seating arrangements. I make sure to collect ours, ‘Cosmo Lamont’ and ‘Cosmo Lamont, Guest’ from the crisp, white linen.

Mrs. and Mrs. LaRenta have outdone themselves again—the orchestra seating has been temporarily cleared out of the way, so the huge proscenium theater can be used as a ballroom for their enchanting gala.

Daphne, with her keen gaze and impressive ambition, immediately spots Martine, standing next to Winne—my mentor, Magnus’ oldest colleague, and Martine’s devoted wife.

She could ask me to introduce them at this point. It wouldn’t be too self serving or rude. I’ve dropped several mentions of Winnie—not to mention the fact that we’re attending this Gala due to the LaRenta’s deep connection to Pack Silver… But, Daphne hasn’t said a thing.