Page 169 of Party Girl: How a Naughty Omega Finds Love
ChapterForty-Seven
WHITNEY
Avi’s car idles outside the Omega Council headquarters. With a little convincing, I got the key and was able to come on my own. As much as I’d like them here, I needed to do this alone. I tighten my grip on the steering wheel and glance around. There are no guards. There are a few cameras on the outside of the building. I don’t know if this is a good idea, but I have to believe that with Reagan as head of the Omega Council, she’ll pardon me. She was auctioned off. She knows what it was like to have no choice. I flip the visor down and check my makeup. I put on mascara and a little bit of pale pink lipstick before leaving the hotel. I’m wearing the navy and pink empire waist dress Trev bought me and a simple pair of flats. This is the nicest outfit I had at the hotel, and hopefully dressing up will help my case.
I could have worn jeans, but with Reagan living with the Royal family, I didn’t want to look ridiculous. I want to make a good impression. Well, a good second impression. Our first time meeting wasn’t on our best day. My burner phone vibrates, but I stick it in my purse and ignore it. If I text the guys now, I might chicken out and drive back to the hotel. They’re my safe haven and this is nerve wracking. I breathe deeply to calm my fluttering nerves and climb out of the car.
No one races out to arrest me. It’s silly to assume a guard is watching the camera closely enough to spot me, but this is the Omega Council we’re talking about. History has shown they’re not the most reasonable organization. The lobby of the building is clean and sterile, almost corporate feeling with mass manufactured art and furniture. A few cute plants are the only thing that save the place from looking cold.
I breeze over to the elevators and press the call button, looking around like a paranoid crackhead. My gaze catches on a camera situated in the middle of the two elevators. Unease fills my stomach, but I ignore it.
Reagan isn’t going to shun me.
That’s a bold assumption, but I believe it. She was so mad at the auctions.
The elevator doors swish open, and I step inside, adjusting the strap of my purse on my shoulder and pressing the button for her floor. The same one Camila used to lord over. The elevator music is bright and cheery and makes me smile a little. I focus on my breathing like Avi taught me, counting the inhales and exhales. My panic attacks have gotten a bit easier to manage with the new technique, but that tightness in my chest hasn’t disappeared. It’ll take more than a few deep breaths to work through my anxiety, but I’m a work in progress. Another thing Avi taught me.
Even though I think I’m doing good, something will happen and make me feel like I’ve lost all my momentum. The truth is, those moments are opportunities to strengthen my understanding of my triggers and how to handle the aftermath. Being taken by Camila’s men set back some of the progress I’d been making, but I’ll be damned if she makes me weak. I’ve been through worse than those few days in that cell. My own flesh and blood has punished me harsher than the Omega Council. Not knowing my fate has me wanting to run and continue hiding, but logic tells me that’s not the right answer.
Hence the stress-inducing trip to see the fiery omega who pissed off Camila’s mate at the auction. The elevator arrives at her floor, and I walk to her office. The building is surprisingly empty given that there’s a Compatibility Ceremony happening in a few short days. Her office door is slightly ajar. I take a deep breath and knock.
“I swear, Lucas, if you didn’t bring me curly fries, I’m going to be pissed.”
Oh great. She’s hungry. Everyone knows a hungry omega is a dangerous omega.
I clear my throat. “Um, hi, Reagan.”
A rolling chair scoots across the floor. Reagan appears at the door a few moments later. Her light brown hair is swept into a sloppy bun, and she’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt. I’m way overdressed. I glance at my dress. I should have worn the pants.
“Can I help you?”
I lift my gaze to meet hers, and her eyebrows pinch together. She looks at me a little harder.
“I know you. What happened to your face?”
“Camila happened, and we were auctioned together.” I smile, then worry that’s an odd reaction to my statement and drop it.
Her nose wrinkles. “Oh right. That was probably the second worst day of my life.” She opens the door a little wider. “Would you like to come in?”
“Sure.” I walk into her office and take in stacks and stacks of paper on the desk. “What was the first?”
“What?”
“The first worst day?”
“Oh”—she laughs—“probably when I thought I was going to die.”
I raise my eyebrows, but she shakes her head.
“It’s a long, boring story.” She walks around her desk and sits, gesturing at the empty chair across from her.
“Death hardly sounds boring to me.” I take the seat and meet her gaze. Best to just dive in, no? “As you know, I was auctioned off. I was sold to Pack Ginty, but then they were arrested for dealing drugs. I was taken in by another pack, and I’d like to request the Omega Council’s official blessing to stay with them. Without repercussions for what they’ve done.”
She growls softly. “And what did they do to you?”
“No, no,” I say quickly. “They didn’t do anything to me.” I glance above her head and say, “theyliedtotheomegacouncilandhidme,” in one breath. “And they broke me out of where Camila was holding me. She was going to shun me.”
“Did they now?” She doesn’t miss a beat. “Well, Camila was a bitch, so I can’t say I blame them.”
