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I had peeked at the invitation on the way over:You are cordially invited to the Omegas in Tech Fundraiser Gala.Well, Editor Stevens was, anyway. I had given her name at the door, earning an odd look from the bouncer, an inhumanly huge man in a tux. I lifted my chin, giving him what I hoped was a confident smile, and hoped he wasn’t familiar with my boss–we didn’t look anything alike, even besides the fact that she was about 30 years older than me. He sniffed disdainfully, obviously not convinced, but collected my invitation and waved me through.
The room I found myself in was large, with a high, vaulted ceiling, and the black and white marble checkerboard floors were obscured by dozens–maybe hundreds–of partygoers dressed in tuxedos and gowns, all milling around, shaking hands, availing themselves of the free drinks and hors d’oeuvres. The building itself was old, historic, maybe, but the interior was surprisingly modern. Or maybe unsurprising–it was a tech nonprofit, after all. Where once there would have been curlicues of decoration, architectural flourishes, now it was all clean lines and sleek elegance.
At one end of the room was a small stage, with a string quartet playing, the music drifting quietly out over the dance floor, and I was reminded of the costume dramas my stepmother loved, full of meaningful looks and choreographed dances. I certainly wouldn’t be doing any quadrilles tonight, not if I could help it, and I didn’t anticipate any heated glances, either. These were… not my people. For one, the whole place smelled strongly of alpha–a musky scent that permeated even the suppressants and scent blockers pretty much everyone used.So much for Omegas in Tech, I thought to myself. I was certain I was one of very few omegas here tonight. For as much as we as a society pretended that we werecivilizednow, that designations didn’t matter, that we were all equal, there was a reason why all the wealthy donors gathered here tonight were alphas. Why an Omegas in Tech non-profit had been founded–had beenneeded–in the first place. Omegas had suppressants to stop heats–thereby allowing us to take part in the modern work force–and didn’t rely on alphas for protection, not in the way we used to, but… Alphas were still in control, even if they had adapted their methods: less savage brutality, more unpaid internships handed from alpha to alpha. Legacy admissions at universities that had, until recently, not even considered accepting omegas. Insider trading. It was everywhere, if you knew where to look, and my journalism degree meant I was always looking.
Besides that, these people didn’t look like they were wearing rented clothing and borrowed shoes. Even the betas walked like they owned the place in expensive red-soled heels and Italian leather loafers. The way they chatted casually with one another made me feel even more out of place: many of these people clearly knew one another. This was their social circle, these people were theirfriends–or at least their frenemies. The dress that had felt so glamorous when I had put it on felt like a dress-up costume now, like I was at a masquerade–and the fact that I had given the wrong name at the door didn’t help. I shook my head, trying to clear it of the intrusive thoughts.Act like you are meant to be here, Ella,I thought. I was lead editor of theCityStyle, at least for one night. I straightened my back, lifted my chin, and walked purposefully towards the bar. I may not have gotten a bubble bath tonight, but I still wanted my glass of wine.
* * *
I had finished my delicate flute of champagne and had moved on to canapes–in fact, eating mythirddelightfully silly mini cheese puff–when I saw him.
He was staring at me from across the room. Our eyes met, and a bolt of electricity shot into me, landing somewhere in my chest, making it hard to breathe. I broke eye contact, looking at the floor, blinking rapidly while I tried to pull myself together. I glanced back up to see him still looking–watching me, his eyes intent. His blond hair was gleaming in the low light, his face framed by a boyish floppy hairstyle, strands pushed back messily like he had been running his hands through it. His face was hard to read–his eyes were tight, his brow furrowed. Had he realized who I was? That I didn’t belong here? But although his strong jaw was set, his mouth–pink lips that I couldn’t help but rest my eyes on for just a moment–betrayed a hint of softness. A warmth that made me want to tease a smile from them. To kiss them. To taste their softness, to let them to kiss me, to let them part my own lips, to taste me, to feel our tongues tangling together, to–
I realized too late thatIwas the one staring now. Andwhatwas I even thinking? My face felt flushed, and I knew I was turning an unattractive pink. So much for elegant and professional newspaper editor.
But when I glanced back, I saw his smile, and I forgot to be embarrassed again.
He was standing next to a gorgeous woman, her stark red lips and pristinely bobbed black-blue hair at odds with her generous curves, her bust nearly spilling out of her dress. As she spoke, she reached up to rest her hand on his shoulder. He looked down at her with a smirk, then a real smile, and I longed for that smile to be fixed on me. I ached for it, a low, burning heat–jealousy? desire?–building in me, my hands clenched together, my body straining to approach him.
And do… what, exactly? Say what?Hi, I’m an imposter, I crashed your party. These shoes are from a cheap department store and they aren’t even mine.I could still feel my heart pounding in my chest at the way he looked at me and my blood fizzing like champagne under my skin, but it wasn’t like we would have anything to say to each other. Then again… I wasn’t Ella tonight. I wasLara Stevens, editor.Youngest editor in decades, in fact, improbably enough.This dress? Oh, it’s just something I found in the back of my closet. Love the champagne, but don’t you think the cheese puffs could use some more truffle?
So when he turned away from the woman–still with that possessive hand on his arm,damnher–and looked my way, I fluttered my eyelashes at him flirtatiously, and smiled in invitation.
Charlie
I would have knownthat scent anywhere.
Not a particular smell, although this one was gorgeous–peaches, but deeper, like the fruit had been baked, its sweet juices dripping to caramelize in the heat–but the instantaneous reaction of my body to it. Even in this room packed with people, it was as if my nose, my heart–other body parts I’d rather not mention–instantly sought it out, drawing my eyes to her.
Andfuck.
She was gorgeous.
Blonde hair, lighter than mine, and something deep and feral inside of me thought of the tow-headed children we’d have. Her dress skimmed over her body, showing off her slim figure, although her posture struck me as defensive, somehow, her pose was a bit stiff, the way she was holding her champagne flute a bit forced. Her skin was pinkening even as I looked at her, her flush making her look just-fucked and… I was getting ahead of myself. The small hand on my arm grounded me, brought me back down to reality before I did something really embarrassing.
“Who is making you look likethat?” Margaret whispered to me, and I glanced down at my sister-in-law for a moment, smirking. I loved Margaret; I could tell her things I wouldn’t–couldn’t tell my brothers, for fear of being mocked mercilessly. This so-new-it-was-nonexistent thing I had with the beauty who smelled so delicious? Margaret would understand. Not just because she was an omega, but because she wasMargaret.
“I’m not sure what her name is…” I replied, “but that woman in blue is my mate.” I smiled at the subtle expression of surprise that flashed across her normally cool, reserved features.
“Well then, Charlie,” she whispered, her dark eyes shining with understanding, a small smile curving her lips. “I was right.”
Ella
I regrettedmy flirtation almost immediately.
As he stepped away from the vixen and toward me, I panicked. What if he knew the editor? What if he knew the bouncer, and was coming to kick me out? I’d rather not take my chances with the bouncer–he looked like he could snap me in half–but what were the chances that the real Lara Stevens, a brusque fifty-something with a penchant for ill-fitting blazers, knew this adonis in a perfectly-tailored tux? I decided to go with it: I was Lara Stevens, editor,CityStyle. I tried to channel her–not therealher, who would be, I guessed, just sort of stumping around asking awkward, probing questions, themeher–as he approached. Miss Stevens holds her champagne elegantly, like she’d been born with crystal stemware in her hand. Miss Stevens always wears designer gowns, and her feet never get tired or achy in heels.
As he approached, I could tell that whileImay not have been the real thing, he certainly was. His tux was perfectly fitted to him in the way that only custom tailoring can achieve, moving with his body, instead of against it like an ill-fitting rented suit sometimes does. His shoes were polished, but not so new that I would suspect he bought them for the occasion; he attended functions like this regularly. His teeth were straight and white, his skin clear, brow unlined. Deep blue eyes, almost gray, and that quiet curvature to his lips. Lips that drew my eyes, lips that made me smile almost involuntarily in response, lips that opened as he stood in front of me and said, “Hi.”
A beat too late, I remembered: it was my turn to talk now. “Hi.”
His small smile widened very slightly, as if he hadn’t expected thatvery clever, deeply charmingresponse. “I, uhh,” he said, equally charming, “I noticed you were enjoying the gougeres.” He nodded to the cheese puff still in my hand.What was it, number four?
“I think they could use some more truffle,” I said, my internal monologue getting tragically, awkwardly external for one horrible moment. I closed my eyes for just a second. I opened them to find that unfortunately, I had not disappeared into the floor.
And fortunately, he was smiling. “I thought so, too.” I had only ever had truffle on overpriced food truck tater tots, so I couldn’t tell if he was serious or not until he continued. “And maybe some gold leaf.” He cracked a grin, lifting an eyebrow as he glanced around the room. “For these guys? Only the best.”
After a moment, I realized he wasjokingwith me. Hot and a sense of humor?Noooo.I was done for.
