Page 15 of The Alpha Escort Agency
“Exactly, it’s the best way to drink it.”
He waits for her to brew their drinks, twisting his watch into position on his arm and adjusting the time and then allowing himself to gaze around the room, trying not to watch her. The flat is decorated in bright vibrant colours, turquoises and pinks and greens. It's striking yet playful, and he knows it's all her design.
Children's artwork, with ‘To Aunty Alice' scribbled at the top, is pinned to the fridge door and along a shelf sits a collection of mismatched teapots. The sofa is a deep blue with a random selection of cushions scattered along its length and a patchwork blanket folded on an arm. A pile of industry and fashion magazines are piled by the TV and a laptop charges on the floor.
She's a large collection of books stuffed higgledy piggledy into one of those IKEA bookcases, intermingled with framed photographs of family and friends, plus what looks like a small glass award.
"Here." She places a cup in front of him and takes a sip of her own tea, cradling it in both hands, as she takes the seat next to him. He leans forward to pick up his cup. "Oh." She jumps up to her feet, and he springs back. "I forgot the brownies. I found those too. I can't believe there was so much food left."
"You didn't eat much." You were too busy being fucked, he thinks, but he doesn't say it out loud. He's not sure he's ever been with an Omega who needed to be fucked as much as she did. Another reason he's bone tired.
She brings over a plate of the neat chocolate squares and places it on the table between them.
He takes a gulp of his tea, his body feels stiff and not from the workout, he's tense, wanting to make a good impression, not wanting to say the wrong thing.
"Do you have work tomorrow?" he asks.
"Yes, I can't afford another day off. I'm waiting to hear if we get to pitch for this massive client."
"Sounds like a good opportunity."
"It is. I've wanted to land them for years, but they've always been with another agency. Now finally they're shopping around. It's our big chance. I've been schmoozing the client, you know, trying to convince them to include us on the roster. Hopefully, we'll hear soon." He notes the excitement in her voice and the way her eyes sparkle.
"What kind of work is it?"
"Marketing." Lifting her cup to her lips as if to drink, she stops and adds, "I know it's not saving the world or making great pieces of art. But I love it."
He nods. "What do you love about it?"
"Climbing inside people's heads and trying to determine what it is they want, what will appeal to them, what will speak to them, what will persuade them to buy the product whether it's a new sports car or a bucket." Her cup is back on the table and her arms dart about in front of her face with enthusiasm.
"Sounds complicated."
"Ahhh not really! Most people want the same things." She brushes a piece of hair from her face and flicks it behind her ear. The movement is natural, and he remembers the smell of coconuts in her hair and the softness of the curls.
"They do? Like what?" he asks, swallowing down another mouthful of tea.
"Status symbols. Beautiful things. Boasting rights. To feel special."
Status symbols, luxury items. That sounds about right to him. He sips his tea, thinking about that.
"Who is the client?" he asks.
"Symix, they're a makeup brand — you probably haven't heard of them."
"I have." It was the brand Joanna used.
She looks directly at him with those excitable eyes. "Working for a client like that with their budget brings the opportunity to do creative, innovative things." Snapping off a corner of a brownie, she pops it into her mouth. "How about you?" she asks, "Have you got work tomorrow?" Then she obviously remembers who she's talking to, what he is, and her face freezes, her cheeks blushing pink. "Shit. I'm sorry that was—"
"I've got several days off. Recovery time," he mumbles.
The pink of her cheeks rushes across her whole face and she chews her bottom lip. An unease sweeps over him, knowing he's unsettled her, but there's nothing he can do. Coming here in the first place was foolish, yet he's not ready to leave.
"Will you sleep?" She fiddles with the hair elastic on her wrist.
"Tomorrow, yes. Then I'll probably head out of the city, go take some photographs in the countryside."
"You take photos?"
