Page 101 of Beautifully Scarred Omega

I’ve had three cups today and it’s evening, but I’m not going to sleep anyway, so I don’t argue.

The coffee corner is a small room off the main office, barely big enough for a counter, a sink, a commercial coffee machine, and a round table with four chairs. There’s a tin of biscuits on the counter with a handwritten label that says EVIE’S. TOUCH AND DIE. (Just kidding. Help yourself.)

Evie busies herself with the machine, pulling mugs from a cabinet with the efficiency of someone who does this fourteen times a day. “Milk? Sugar? I also have oat milk if you’re into that.”

“Oat milk would be perfect.”

It wouldn’t. I take it black. But Sophie Dysart drinks oat milk, and Sophie Dysart is who I am right now.

“Yes! Oh, thank God, someone else.” Evie beams at me like she just found out we’re long lost sisters. “I keep it here for myself and everyone in this wing looks at me like I’m drinking poison.” She hands me a mug and settles into the chair across from me, curling one leg beneath her. “So. Sophie Dysart. Personal assistant to Pack Cavill.” She props her chin on her hand, her hazel eyes sparkling. “You lucky, lucky girl.”

I wrap my hands around the mug. “Am I?”

Evie frowns, her brow furrowing in genuine disbelief, as if I’d just asked whether water was wet.

“Are you. Sophie. You work directly with Max Cavill. And Ethan Brooks. And Finn Preston.” She ticks off each name on her fingers, her voice dropping into an exaggerated whisper. “Three of the most eligible, most gorgeous, most ridiculously successful alphas on the planet. And you see them every single day. Up close. In their offices. In meetings.” Her hand presses against her chest. “I would combust. I would catch fire and burn up into a little pile of ash.”

“They’re my bosses,” I say, because Sophie Dysart would say that. “It’s really not as glamorous as⁠—”

“Max Cavill,” Evie interrupts, leaning forward, “looked at me once in the elevator. Once. Made direct eye contact. I didn’t speak for the rest of the day.”

I take a sip of coffee to hide whatever my face is doing.

Because I know what that eye contact feels like. I know it intimately. I felt it with my wrists pinned to the wall beside my head, and I haven’t recovered from it yet. May never recover from it.

“And Finn.” She sighs, a genuine, full-body sigh that ripples through her like a breeze through wheat. “Those dimples. I mean, come on. That should be illegal. He smiled at me during the company Christmas party and I walked into a glass door.”

“That must have hurt.”

“I didn’t even feel it. That’s the power of those dimples, Sophie. They override your pain receptors.”

Despite myself, despite every instinct I have to remain detached and professional, I feel my lips twitch. Evie’s enthusiasm is so complete, so utterly without guile, that it’s disarming. She’s not performing. She’s a woman who appreciates attractive men and sees no reason to be subtle about it.

“And Ethan,” she continues, reaching for a biscuit from the tin. “Ethan is the sleeper hit. People overlook him because he’s quieter than the other two, but honestly? That’s what makes him dangerous.” She bites into the biscuit and chews thoughtfully. “He’s got that whole accidentally-sexy-professor thing going on. The glasses. The rolled-up sleeves. The way he gets so focused on something that he forgets you’re there, and then he looks up and sees you and his whole face just—” She makes a gesture like something blooming. “Lights up.”

I know exactly what she means.

I take another sip of coffee and say nothing.

“They’ve had women, obviously,” Evie says, shifting to what she clearly considers the juicier territory. “I mean, three alphas who look like that? With that kind of money? Please.” She brushes biscuit crumbs from her lap. “There was this model a while back. Rachel something. Gorgeous woman. They dated her for a couple of months.”

My fingers tighten around the mug, and I cover it up quickly by lifting the cup to my mouth.

“Rachel.” I keep my voice lightly curious. Sophie Dysart, mildly interested in office gossip.

“Mmhm. She was at a few company events. Absolutely stunning. The kind of woman who walks into a room and every other woman just gives up.” Evie waves her biscuit for emphasis. “I think she modeled for some Italian designers. Anyway, she was around a few months, seemed like things were going well, and then, poof. Gone. No drama, no big breakup. She just wasn’t there anymore.”

I stare at my coffee. There’s a tightness in my chest that I don’t like. A constriction, like something being wound slowly and deliberately tighter.

It’s not jealousy. That would be absurd. I have no claim on these men. No right to care who they dated, who they touched, who slept in their bed.

“Why didn’t it work out?”

Evie tilts her head, considering. “You know, I don’t think it was Rachel. She seemed really into them. I think...” She pauses, reaching for another biscuit. “Honestly? I don’t think they’re the type of pack to ever settle down. Do you know what I mean?”

I set down my mug. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t picture it. The three of them with one omega, doing the whole bonding thing, the whole domestic routine.” She shrugs, popping the biscuit into her mouth. “They seem perfectly happy the way they are. Just the three of them. They’ve been a pack for years, they’ve built this incredible company, they have that beautiful house. What would an omega add, really? Besides the obvious.”