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Chapter1
Sunshine
“Okay, Sunshine, it’s time for you to decide. Are you a spit or swallow girl?”An evil smile curling on her face, my best friend Rain waved a shot glass filled with warm, raw oysters back and forth under my nose. “Spit? Swallow? Throw up the eleven petit fours we ate before the meeting?”
“You’re so cruel.” I struggled not to inhale the stench that wafted all around us, and put a hand over my stomach. “But I’m not giving my petit fours back, no matter how bad the funk.” The brunch at Chez Palette before the Omega League meeting had been exquisite, and I would not disrespect the desserts I’d consumed.
I stopped talking as Mrs. Cantervale walked past, lecturing on how to overcome aversion to odors. Specifically, how an omega could learn to get past the way most alphas smelled to us. “Now, we all know omegas’ perfumes appeal to all alphas.” The room tittered in agreement. “And alphas who are better matches can smell just as lovely to us. But unfortunately, not all of your suitors’ aromas will be ideal.” She tapped her nose. “Even a casual embrace or a goodnight kiss can be disastrous in the early stages of getting to know an alpha that your biology doesn’t recognize as a compatible suitor. A dinner date may pose unique problems, as some find it difficult to eat in the presence of less pleasant pheromones.”
That was the truth. Most alphas smelled sort of mildew-y to me, like they’d been left in a laundry basket overnight.
Bored, Rain lifted the shot glass full of oysters closer to my nose. “Spit or swallow, my sunny Soleil. What kind of omega are you?”
I bared my teeth in the worst smile I could—which, according to her, still made me look like a kitten, just a mad one—and shoved her hand away. “You already know I’m a spit girl. You’re the one who hasn’t tried giving a blow job.” Or anything, actually.
Rain arched one dark eyebrow. “I’m almost positive I’d be a swallow girl,” she said, and picked up her own cup of oysters, slamming it back. She wiped her mouth on her linen napkin, then gave a tiny burp, smirking. “Anyway, oyster jizz is my favorite.”
I covered my face with my hands and groaned. “Tell me why we’re doing this again?”
“Honestly, Soleil, you tell me. You’re the one who hired her for this gig.”
She was right. As the Vice President of the Southern Georgetown Omega League, the oldest and most well-respected organization for omegas from eighteen to twenty-five in the city, it was my job to plan our weekly activities and monthly educational visits.
“Because Mrs. Cantervale is a widowed omega who needed money to keep from being evicted. And she’s old school.”
“She’s a sadist,” Rain murmured. “Valentine and Flora both just vomited in their napkins, and she’s already pouring them more hot oysters.” We both stared at the table. We’d been given three shot glasses apiece, and they all smelled particularly ripe. “Must have been a day-old sale at the fish market.”
Another omega raced from the table to be sick in the bathroom, and I sighed. I needed this day to go well, especially since last month’s speaker had failed to turn up, and I’d been forced to entertain the group for two hours with an impromptu lesson on napkin-folding. It was weird how all our cloth “roses” had turned out looking like squat dicks with enormous knots.
Well, that was omegas for you.
The chestnut-haired woman on Rain’s left was the newest League member, and I fought to remember her name as she muttered, “Every alpha I’ve met stunk like three-day-old roadkill. I’m sure as hell not gonna kiss one. I’d hurl in his mouth.”
I almost snorted. The alpha my parents wanted me to marry, Tarquin Gotto-Cambert, smelled like sweaty socks and old cheese.
“I don’t have time for this.” Rain leaned down, grabbing something from her purse. Her long, straight hair made a dark curtain between us, so I couldn’t see what she was up to.
“Rain, do you have nose plugs in there? Because you know a real best friend would share. I only need one.”
Before she could reply, Mrs. Cantervale spun on her four-inch heels and returned to our table. We all straightened up, and I smiled brightly at her. “You may find that certain alphas are an acquired taste.” She tapped a finger lightly against her lips, shushing us. “In fact, you may find the safety an alpha provides can make up for much more than a lack of scent compatibility.” When she drifted away again, I twisted in my chair and saw the phone on Rain’s lap.
The image on her screen—a rain cloud with a sun peeking through—was the business logo for our new, secret, slightly illegal enterprise: the Blue Skies Concierge Agency.
It wasn’t technically illegal for omegas to own a business, though according to the county tax office, we were required to have a parent or guardian give permission, even after we turned eighteen. Even though Rain’s mom had signed off for her, I’d skipped that step. My parents held very traditional views about omegas and would never have agreed to let me try it.
We’d started in December as an online-only business, offering everything from virtual assistants to life coaches to in-home meal prep. But ever since our other bestie, Candy, had taken a job we’d thought was PA work but had ended up being childcare, our focus had changed. Mainly since we’d only been contacted to provide workers to cover one sort of temp position.
Betasitting.
We didn’t have many beta friends. In our experience, the instant an omega started perfuming, most of her beta friends ghosted. We were considered less emotionally stable, less reliable with the heat cycles that kept us locked away in our nests for a week at a time, and less intelligent. Which was bullshit.
So we’d filled the betasitting spots with omegas. Omegas who took scent blockers while on the job, or if, like me, they were allergic to those, they wore enough eau de parfum to dull even an alpha’s nose. For some reason, most people thought omegas didn’t like other people’s children, which meant no one expected the woman showing up for the job to be one of us.
Maybe it wasn’t legal for omegas to represent themselves as betas while working, but it was a calculated risk. As long as no one found out their “betasitter” was an “omegasitter”? We would be fine.
“What’s going on?”
She didn’t answer.
