Page 34 of Glitterati Omega

Seven

R

upert showered, then napped. whenhewoke up again, it was late afternoon, judging from the way the sun laid across the blankets. He pondered them for a moment or two, then rolled over and pushed his face into the pillow, breathing deeply.

He was so used to Thomas that he kept jolting with fright at Winston’s scent—as though he’d ended up in the wrong alpha’s bed quite by accident and now needed to be guilty about it. He wanted to get over that; he didn’t want to expect Thomas ever again.

He slithered out of bed, then noticed someone had left a case that looked suspiciously like one of his by the door. He opened it up, fishing through it and frowning.

He suspected Moose had packed it; Charli might have known better than to send bandage dresses and form-fitting trousers.

The thought no one had told Charli sank like a stone in his stomach.

He pulled on one of the wrap dresses, fussing with how it settled over his tummy; he glared at himself in the mirror, hating how the dress drew attention to how his belly pooched out.

He didn’t understand it; an omega was most fertile during heat, but he never feltlessattractive than he did while he was in the middle of a cycle—bloated and crampy and generally moody and miserable. The only thing that seemed even somewhat helpful was that he was quite randy while he was in heat, although he’d never been one of those omegas who lost his head. He’d always wondered if there was something wrong with him, because heat had never been the way it was portrayed in movies andtvshows. He supposed he didn’t really have to wonder; there was a lot wrong with him, actually.

He sucked in, straightening up, then slouched when it didn’t help his cause.

He searched the house for Winston but couldn’t find him. He wasn’t in the bedroom (clearly), nor was he in the bathroom. The living room and kitchen were empty as well. He checked in the yard, amid all the plants, but still couldn’t find the lawyer.

Finally, he realized there was another bedroom at the opposite end of the hall. Or, at least, it had been a bedroom at some point, in all likelihood; Winston had converted it into a study, with a big mahogany desk and towering bookshelves.

“Hello,” he said, finally glancing up from his screens.

“Are you working?” Rupert accused, shoving a stack of papers aside so that he could actually see the lawyer when he sat down in an old chair on the near side of the desk.

“You were asleep,” the alpha said, “so I thought I would get a bit done on these cases.”

“It’s Sunday,” Rupert complained. “You shouldn’t work on Sundays.”

“There is lots of work to be done,” Winston replied, gesturing. “It is all right to work whenever, so long as one remembers to balance it properly with rest.”

Rupert quirked a brow. “And do you? Remember to rest, that is?” He glanced pointedly at the file folders.

“Mm.” Winston sat back in his chair, folding his hands. “Well, most of the time, anyway. I usually go for a hike on Sundays. But you were sleeping so nicely, and I wasn’t sure you’d feel up to it.”

“Hiking,” Rupert repeated.

“I told you,” Winston said, “I have many interests.” He tilted his head. “Do you go hiking?”

“Well, I can’t say as though Ihike, per se,” Rupert mused, “although I’ve done some trekking, most certainly. I don’t mind being outdoors. I did work as a field nurse.”

Winston nodded. Rupert sighed. “I wouldn’t have been up to it today, though. I haven’t been up to much in a while, I’m afraid.”

“You’d mentioned you were sick.”

Rupert’s breath caught. “Did I?”

“Yes. Last night. You told me this might be your last heat and you haven’t had one for two years, because you’ve been ill.”

“Nn.” Rupert chewed on one of his nails.

“Your chief of staff said you’re supposed to get on a flight tonight, to make it back for a consultation with your surgeon on Monday.”

Rupert slouched lower in the chair. “I suppose I am supposed to do that.”

The lawyer waited a moment. Then he said, “It sounds to me like you’re still sick.”