Page 34 of The Boss Omega
I narrow my eyes at her as she steps into the hall. “Go home.”
“For New York I’d tell them everything.Everyth—”
I shut the door in her face, leaving the house annoyingly calm. I head back to my office and try to pretend this is a normal morning.
First a quick meeting with my assistant. Then a call with our chief of logistics. Both of which I mostly fake my way through because my brain is busy replaying Cammie’s little medical overshare in mortifyingly vivid detail. By the time the calls end, my nerves are stretched tight.
The buzzer at the front door rings. I stare very hard at my laptop. If I ignore it long enough, maybe everyone will forget why a world-renowned omega doctor is apparently coming to examine me.
The buzzer rings again. Still not moving. A moment later Graham appears in the doorway, knocking lightly on the frame. “Jeremy is here.”
Jeremy, I assume, is Pops. Silas’s father. The famous omega specialist.
Fan-fucking-tactic.
My omega perks up immediately. Someone is coming to take care of us. It’s her favorite thing. I, however, briefly consider crawling into my nest and pretending I no longer exist. It’s a very appealing option. Unfortunately, I have dignity. At least a little. So instead of hiding under a pile of blankets like a sensible omega, I close my laptop and stand.
Silas is standing beside the couch when I walk into the living room. Next to him is a man who looks enough like him to make the relationship obvious. Same high cheekbones. Same strong nose. Same serious set to his mouth.
But where Silas is broad and built like a mountain, his father is taller and leaner. His shoulders narrower, his build long and rangy. Pale skin. Sharp blue eyes. Brown hair that leans red in the light that’s coming through the window.
Those eyes take me in quickly. A clinical assessment that does nothing to settle my nerves.
Silas gestures for me to come closer. “Lark, this is my Pops, Dr. Jeremy Caron.” His hand settles briefly at the small of my back before he adds, quieter. “Pops… this is Lark. My scent match.”
I fold my hands together awkwardly. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Caron.”
He waves a hand immediately. “Jeremy, please. Or Pops, like Silas and Graham say.”
Pops feels… like a lot. “Jeremy,” I say carefully.
He nods once. “Do we need somewhere private to talk?” His gaze flicks toward the kitchen.
I glance at Graham. He’s sitting forward on the couch, hands clasped together. His expression is so earnest and worried I have to look away. Silas isn’t much better. The tension around his eyes hasn’t softened since breakfast.
We’ve known each other less than a full day. But I know what it means to be scent-sensitive. I grew up in a scent-sensitive pack. My mom moved into her alphas’ house the day they met. They never spent another night apart. I grew up on those stories. I know how emotions can settle on things long before a person’s brain does. So, I have a good understanding of what this must feel like for them.
For me.
“No,” I say finally. “We can talk here… together.”
Jeremy studies me for a second, then nods. “Alright.”
He sits across from us in the armchair. I sit next to Graham, on the couch, and Silas squeezes in on my other side.
“Why don’t you start by telling me about your heat history?”
I shift a little on the couch. “Well… for a while I had a friend’s pack who helped me through them.”
Graham blinks. “They helped you?”
“Yes,” I say. Then, thinking it might be important for the doctor, I add, “When they weren’t at work.”
Graham’s expression shifts to outright horror. “They left you?”
“They weren’t my pack,” I say gently. “They were helping when they could. People need money.”
A low sound rumbles beside me.Silas.
