"Uh, so who is this very clearlyjust a friendthat we have to thank for bringing you over to LA?" Seb asks.
The shyness drops from her face as a sardonic eyebrow raises. "Someone who values their privacy. And what do you all do when you aren't chatting up strange omegas in bars?"
I snort. "We're… well, we own our own specialist service provider business. I guess you would call us… um… support workers." I try to keep the fatigue out of my voice.
She's staring at me, her brow twisted by something that looks a lot like concern. I school my face into a relaxed half-smile.
She tilts her head. I try not to notice the loose wave brush against her cleavage. "Support workers? Tell me, who do you support?" Her gentle voice drags my attention back to her plush lips.
I shrug. "Whoever needs supporting. Mostly in New York, but sometimes wherever they need it." I gulp down the last of my G&T. "Seb used to be an ER nurse. James was a physical therapist. Zeke was—"
Zeke's snort cuts me off. "I just did the heavy lifting," he mumbles. I can barely hear James murmuring into his drink, but knowing him, it will be something along the lines of"not any more if I can help it."
"What about you, Ralph?" She turns and stares at our beta, her pupils blown wide, her pink tongue darting over her lips. Clarke's fresh mint mingles with the scent of freesias. The fragrance grabs me by the spinal cord. I can't remember ever smellinganythingthis good before.
"I, uh, did a lot of business support. Help people manage red tape, find clients, and help service providers meet the needs of clients. Stuff like that. Still do a lot of that stuff."
She nods, a finger trailing unconsciously down her neck, her eyes locked on Clarke's. I can feel him practically vibrating through the bond.
Dellie stares at me, her face flushing again. Freesias dance through the air around me, and I can feel the fresh, bright notes of my lemon verbena fragrance mingling with it. It's taking all the restraint I have not to bite my knuckles and groan. I squeeze my toes into the soles of my loafers.
Hang on. I used my nasal spray this morning. Phero-block is supposed to dampen non-bonded pheromones for at least three weeks. It's stopped us scenting the pheromones of every omega we've encountered. I shouldn't be able to scent her anywhere near this strongly.
"And you," she asks breathlessly, "Allen, what did you do?"
I smile my gentlest smile, trying not to let my mental whiplash show. "I was a psychologist." Whenever I tell people this, their reaction is usually to either clam up like I'm about to pull out their darkest secrets—or they just go ahead and dump all of them on me.
Instead, she smiles at me. "That's cool. So—support workers. That keeps you busy?" Her eyes flick over me. They're large and grey-blue. Like a misty morning.
Clarke nods. "Yeah. Pretty busy."
"People need a lot of support these days," Zeke mutters.
She snorts. "I guess that's true.Somepeople anyway. I guess it's a good thing you're there to help them."
A scoff slips out. "Very true. No shortage of demand any time soon."
Her fingers dance along the pale skin of her neck. She glows in the dim light. Her scent is palpable on my tongue when I lick my lips.
"And you've been doing this for a while? The job treats you well?" She leans forward.
"We started the business… God, what was it? It has to be twenty years ago now. And yeah, I'd say it does. We've been around long enough with a good enough rep that we can charge what we want and pick our clients. Support work itself… well. It's really satisfying, knowing that you've helped someone when they were vulnerable, but itdoestake it out of you." I try to keep my face soft and relaxed.
Her forehead puckers slightly. "I mean, support work sounds great and important. But… who supports you?" Her eyes look… hungry, but worried. She fiddles with the straw of her empty drink as words evaporate from my tongue.
I don't like being asked questions I can't answer.
My mouth opens and closes. She tilts her head, her brow furrowing slightly. My lips pinch between my teeth. I don't know what to say to that.
She smiles, maybe a little uncomfortably, and winks at me. "Turnabout is fair play."
I chuckle awkwardly, feeling something tighten uncomfortably inside me.
"Touché." Seb smiles at her and raises his almost empty glass in salute. Her face lights up, a light blush dusting her cheeks.
I breathe deeply. Her scent flows through the room. My better angels are lecturing me.This… this is a fine ethical line we'll need to walk. And this close to a booking? We can't show up to an omega's heat smelling like another omega. Especially not one who smells as good as she does.
I open my mouth to ask for her number and say goodnight, to warn the pack that we have to go—but as I breathe in again to speak, her eyes catch mine, and she smiles. Her scent curls, settling in my chest.
