Page 25 of Wild Omega

Hannah rests the back of her hand on my cheek. “Gorgeous and smart. You’re wasted in the film business, Rickon. You should catwalk for me.”

I chuckle. “We both know I’m a foot too short for that.”

“Pity,” she murmurs, shaking her head. “But no, we don’t have a hairpiece yet. We work on the accessories range after we get the dress lineup sorted.”

I smile. I’m sure I can cobble something nice together. “We’ll take the dress. You’ve saved my tush, Hannah.”

She eyes me up and down. “Well, we wouldn’t want to endanger that tush, would we? Pleasure doing business. I’ll get the early release contract.”

I’m feeling so smug, it takes two swipes of Lyra’s credit card through the EFTPOS machine before I realize something is very wrong as it beeps at me.

“Card declined,” the sales assistant says, a little louder than necessary. She takes the card out of my fingers and checks it. “This one expired yesterday.”

Heat burns in my cheeks. “One moment, please.” I speed dial Lyra.

“What?” she answers.

“Hi, Lyra. I’ve got a dress, but your card’s expired.”

“So? Just pay for it, and I’ll reimburse you.”

I shake my head, even though she can’t see it. I can’t recall the last time she reimbursed me for a coffee, let alone a dress worth thirty grand. I cup my hand round my mouth, trying to shield my words from the prying ears in the store. “I don’t have that kind of money lying around to spend on a dress.” Especially one I might never get reimbursed for. “Give us your credit card details over the phone.”

“I don’t have my purse with me, Rick.” Shit, I hate that name, especially the way she says it so curtly. I glance over at the desk, where the sales assistant stares at me with her mouth drawn tight.

“Oh my word, is this a Summer preview gown?” A woman I recognize as an actor’s wife picks up the tag hanging on my dress bag. My pulse stutters. What if I lose a second dress today?

Lyra snaps, “Get it done, Rick. I’m going into my yoga class now; I’ll sort it out with you after.”

Another stylish woman comes out of a dressing room, and suddenly the store feels overfull. Sweat trickles between my shoulder blades as I bring up my banking app and transfer my house savings into my checking account and increase my daily spending limit.

I shouldn’t be doing this; every instinct says so, but it’s like I’m no longer in control of my body. All I can hear is my heartbeat pounding in my ears, telling me to hurry, hurry, hurry and get the hell out of here.

The bag drags heavily on my arm as I rush out of the store. I refuse to take such an expensive dress on the subway, so I wave down a cab and slide into the back, cradling the prize across my lap like it’s a living thing.

It’ll be okay. Lyra will pay me back, and she’ll be in awe of the fact I secured a preview dress just for her. I press a hand to my heart and breathe deep. Everything will be okay.

Everything is not okay.

“What the actual fuck is this?” Lyra’s rage sends ice down my spine. She hefts up the weighty dress and turns it side to side in her office at the agency.

I swallow hard, shoving down a sudden rush of terror. “It’s a Sorentito’s Summer preview dress. You’ll be the only person wearing a preview from her collection.”

Lyra holds out the skirt and scoffs. “This isn’t a dress; it’s a press scandal waiting to happen.” She touches the edge of the stiffened bodice. “Where’s the rest of the torso? I’ll fall out.”

I barely contain an eye roll and opt for patience instead. If I piss her off, Lyra will get real catty. “We’ll use a suction bra across the front and tape the sides. You won’t flash anyone.”

“We?” She arches her thin brows in disdain. “Why don’t you wear it then, Rick? You’re pretty enough to pull off a dress.” Her scathing tone cuts deep, and I take a step back. “And geez, did you choose the most expensive dress in the shop?” She flicks the tag away like it’s offensive, and the piece of card flutters helplessly on its ribbon, chained to the dress. Like me.

I roll my hands together. “You asked for a Sorentito’s, but they had nothing that would suit you left in the Winter Collection, not after Donna stole the only one I picked out.”

“That bitch!” Lyra curls her hands into fists, careless of the tulle in her grip.

I wince on behalf of the crushed fabric.

“She’s still nursing a grudge because she couldn’t hold on to this role.” Lyra scoffs under her breath and hangs the dress back on a hook with a decisive snap. “I have a spare Panquin’s gown at home; I’ll wear that instead.”

Shock freezes my blood. “Pardon?”

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