Page 50 of Pack Choice
I stand and shake hands, introducing Molly and the bodyguard. By the time everyone is seated, there is one spare seat at the table.
I eye it with suspicion, wondering whose seat that could be.
When I turn my attention back to the omega, she’s studying me.
“This doesn’t seem like your scene.”
“What doesn’t?”
“Putting yourself up as a lot for charity.” She taps her fingers against her parted lips like she’s thinking. “Perhaps this is all a ruse and you’re hoping to snag a rich wife.”
“It isn’t a ruse,” I tell her.
I’d do just about anything for this charity. Shit, I’d probably swim with sharks if they asked me to and I really, really hate sharks. In fact, a date with some of the rich women of the city isn’t that dissimilar from diving into shark-infested waters. I’d do it anyway. I am doing it anyway. This charity means a lot to me.
* * *
Felicity isan old hand at these types of events. She knows to wait until after dinner is over to run the auction, when all the guests have chugged down bottle after bottle of expensive wine, tongues are loose, reservations even looser. The more drunk the patrons are, the more likely they are to open their wallets.
The first few items up for auction are the big ticket ones. There’s a stay in someone’s private villa in the Caribbean. There’s an exclusive piece of art donated by the city’s hottest painter. A visit to watch Chris Sampson film his latest superhero movie. And a large diamond necklace that glints obscenely under the stage lights.
I bid for the painting. Not because I want it, but because I want to impress the omega and I can tell how much she likes the artwork, humming with approval when two men wearing white gloves carry it onto the stage. However, I’m out bid by Rock Jameson, a serious art collector, who I know will sell his first-born son to land the painting.
When it comes to the necklace, I lean into the omega. “You want me to buy that for you, sweetheart?”
“No,” she says, wrinkling up her nose. “It’s tacky as hell.”
I chuckle, not surprised when Deborah is the one to win that bid. Hopefully, that means she won’t have enough money to bid for me. But her pack were oil tycoons. I know I won’t be that lucky.
After that there’s a short interval and one of Felicity’s assistants creeps over to our table to whisper in my ear.
“Would you follow me please, Mr. Turner? They’re ready for you next.”
I pull back my chair, tossing my napkin on the table.
“Good luck,” the omega chimes with mischief in her eyes.
“Omega,” I tell her, resting my hand firmly on her arm in a manner which has the bodyguard bristling, “I’m counting on you.”
“And I won’t let you down.”
As I follow the assistant backstage, I am pretty certain that firecracker of an assistant of mine has every intention of letting me down. I also know that omegas can be territorial as hell when it comes down to it. I’m hoping she won’t like the idea of another woman, or man, taking me away from her. I smile to myself. It’s a risk. But I like to gamble.
Just off stage in the shadows are two other people who have offered themselves up as dates. One of Deborah’s daughters. The one I think Molly hates. And a model I’ve seen advertising underwear all over the city. Both of them smile at me, eyelashes fluttering, as the assistant tells me to wait right here.
“Hi Colt,” Deborah’s daughter purrs, as the other woman tells me how excited she is to meet me.
Maybe the idea of chatting up two women, having them paw all over me, would have been appealing a couple of weeks ago. That was before I met Molly Stormgate. Now, there’s only one woman on my mind. So I respond to their chatter with polite one-word answers, peeling their hands off my body, relieved when the worst offender, Cassidy, is motioned onto the stage.
She plasters a shy, coy look on her face and steps out from behind the curtain, sashaying across the stage in a deliberate way that has all the men in the room sitting up and paying attention. I step forward, ignoring the underwear model, and scan the crowd for the omega. She’s rolling her eyes hard at Cassidy’s little act and I can’t help chuckling.
However, the laughter dies on my lips as I see a figure approach our table. He stops by her seat, leather jacket slung over his shoulder and taps the omega on the arm. She peers up, a smile forming on her face, and he bends down to kiss her cheek, the stupid bodyguard doing nothing to stop him as his hand closes in on her waist. Then he takesmyseat.
River fucking Caspian takesmyseat.
I contemplate flinging back the curtain, marching across the stage, seizing the microphone and telling him to fuck right off. I consider leaping off the stage, striding to my chair and turfing him off it.
Before I have a chance to do either of those things, the host is wrapping up the bidding on a date with Cassidy, and calling me forward. I prowl across the stage, eyes locked menacingly on River the whole way. He’s not even looking at me, he’s too busy whispering into her ear, his arm draped casually over the back of her chair. At least the bodyguard’s eyes are locked intently on my friend, every muscle and tendon in his neck taut with tension.
