Page 33 of The Boss Omega
“Do you have a doctor?” Silas interrupts.
I glance at him. He’s watching me the way a hawk watches a rabbit. It’s uncomfortable as hell.
I like it,my omega hums.
Traitor.
“I mean… not a regular one.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw, and I swear I can hear his teeth grinding.
“You haven’t seen anyone since then?” Graham asks.
I shrug. “I’ve been busy.” Even I can hear how thin that sounds.
Silas pushes back from the table. The chair legs scrape against the floor. He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out his phone. Without a word, he walks into the kitchen.
Cammie slowly turns to look at me. “You’re in trouble,” she whispers. She doesn’t look even slightly bothered by it.
I glare at her. “This is your fault.”
She selects another strawberry. Entirely unbothered. Five minutes later Silas returns. He slides his phone back into his pocket like nothing happened.
“What was that about?” I ask.
“I called my pops.”
I blink. “Your… what?”
“My dad,” Silas says. “He’s a doctor. He’ll be here in an hour.”
My stomach drops. “Silas,” I say carefully. “Your dad must be busy.”
“He’s not.”
“You can’t just summon a doctor to my house.”
“He’s not just a doctor.” Silas meets my eyes. “He’s one of the top omega specialists in the country.”
Mortification floods my veins. And underneath it, something else. The feeling of being taken care of by someone who didn't wait for permission because they could see what you needed before you could. I don't know what to do with that.
“Go do whatever you need to do,” Silas says calmly. “Graham and I will clean up here. I’ll let you know when Pops arrives.”
I stare at him. He doesn’t budge. Underneath the mortification, my omega is purring. I hate her a little for that.
I walk Cammie to the door. “Traitor.”
She snorts. “Think of it as friendly espionage. I’m selling your secrets, but it’s for your benefit.”
“You sold me out for a few slices of bacon.”
“Worth it.”
Honestly, she’s not wrong. Silas’s bacon is exceptional. Still.
“What would you have told them for pizza?” I ask.
She grins. “Depends. Deep dish or New York?”
