Page 2 of Omega’s Fever (Prime Match #2)

Milo

“You’re going to wear out the buttons on that thing,” Kao says from behind me.

I glance over my shoulder at my best friend and office mate. His dark hair sticks up at impossible angles, and there’s a crease mark pressed into his left cheek. The mark is too deep to be from a pillow. He didn’t go home last night.

“Some of us don’t sleep at our desks.”

“Some of us worked until three AM on the Pemberton merger.” Kao stretches, joints popping audibly. “Coffee smells good though.”

The machine finally produces something resembling decent espresso. I pour it into a mug with the law firm’s embossed logo.

“Speaking of late nights,” Kao says, taking a seat with his own mug of whatever cheap instant coffee he prefers, “Andrews called in sick.”

I pause with the cup halfway to my lips. “Again?”

“Yep. Which means someone else is going to have to take his defense case.” Kao grins at me over the rim of his mug. “Not it.”

I suppress a sigh. Pro bono work is a necessary evil at our firm. All the junior associates are expected to participate, but criminal defense isn’t exactly my specialty. Or my preference.

“What kind of case?” I ask, though I’m already dreading the answer.

Kao shrugs. “Some gang thing. I don’t know. Some alpha arrested for running drugs or something equally charming.”

Great. Just what I need to advance my career: defending a thug who’ll plead guilty in exchange for a reduced sentence, assuming he even shows up to court sober.

“Milo?” Anne’s voice cuts through my internal grumbling. She pokes her head around the corner of the break room. “Could I have a word?”

Kao’s grin widens and makes finger guns at me. “You’re it.”

My mentor’s office is gorgeous, big and spacious with floor to ceiling windows that look out over downtown. It smells like the jasmine tea she drinks constantly. One day this is going to be my office.

Anne Spencer has been my guiding light since I started at the firm two years ago.

She’s everything I aspire to be: successful, respected, feared by opposing counsel.

The fact that she managed all this as an omega in a field dominated by alphas makes her achievements even more impressive.

Anne is the reason I applied to work here.

“Sit,” she says, gesturing to the chair across from her mahogany desk.

I take the offered seat, then sit back waiting for what I know is coming.

“Andrews won’t be back for at least a week,” Anne says without preamble. “Food poisoning, apparently, though I suspect it’s more likely a hangover from his weekend in Vegas.” She slides a thick manila folder across the desk toward me. “Pre-trial hearing is this morning.”

The folder is thicker than it should be. Exactly what I don’t need right now.

“Anne, I’m not sure I’m the right person for this. Criminal defense isn’t really my area of expertise, and I have the Morrison deposition tomorrow.”

“Milo.” Her voice carries that subtle edge that makes junior partners scramble to attention. “You’re a lawyer. You went to Harvard. You passed the bar. Handle it.”

I sigh inwardly. I had to try. I take the folder “Of course. I just—”

“The hearing starts in an hour. You should probably get reading.”

And that’s me dismissed. I make it back to my desk without running, but it’s a close thing. The folder seems to mock me as I set it down next to my computer.

Kao glances over from his own paperwork. “That bad?”

“Pre-trial hearing in an hour for a case I’ve never seen.” I flip open the folder and immediately wish I hadn’t.

The photograph on top shows a man who looks like he could bench press a small car.

Broad shoulders strain against an orange prison jumpsuit.

Dark hair, dark eyes, a nose that’s been broken at least twice.

There’s a scar on his left eyebrow and what looks like the edge of a tattoo peeking out from his collar.

He looks exactly like what he is. A thug.

Kellen Hayes, age thirty-two, arrested during a raid on some club called The Pit. Charges include human trafficking, fraud, assault and battery, racketeering, and about six other felonies.

I flip through the police reports, trying to make sense of the timeline. Underground fighting ring. Illegal gambling. Women forced to work as dancers and... other things. My stomach turns as I read the details.

This isn’t some kid caught dealing drugs to pay for college. This is serious. Organized crime serious. It’s the kind of case that makes careers or destroys them, depending on how badly you screw up. No wonder no one wants to touch it.

I check my watch and curse under my breath. 9:47 AM. The hearing starts at 10:30, and I still need to drive across town to the courthouse.

“This looks pretty cut and dried,” I mutter, more to myself than to Kao. “Guy runs illegal fighting operation, gets caught, goes to prison. Simple.”

“Famous last words,” Kao says without looking up from his computer screen. “Have fun.”

I gather the documents and stuff them into my briefcase. No time to read everything, but the basics seem straightforward enough. We’ll try for a plea bargain, reduced sentence, case closed. I can have this wrapped up by the end of the week.

“Wish me luck,” I say, already heading for the door.

“You won’t need it,” Kao calls after me. “Just don’t let the big scary alpha intimidate you.”

If only he knew how laughable that suggestion is. I’ve been dealing with alphas my entire life. Growing up with my uncle Kenneth, working in a law firm where I’m one of three omegas out of forty-seven attorneys, navigating a world that still sees omegas as a pretty decoration rather than an asset.

The elevator down to the parking garage gives me a few precious minutes to think. This is exactly the kind of case Anne warned me about when I started. The problem isn’t the defendant himself, but these cases can drag on if you’re not careful.

You get guilty clients who insist on their innocence and prosecutors looking to make examples.

My BMW starts with a purr. It’s my pride and joy.

I’ve been fortunate in a lot of ways. I know that, but I also work long hard hours.

The car is a well-deserved treat. The drive to the courthouse should only take twenty minutes, but despite the speediness of my car, downtown traffic has other ideas and I know I’m going to be late.

I use the time at red lights to think through my approach to the Hayes’ case.

He has no prior arrests, although one of the police statements hinted at a sealed juvenile record.

The cops aren’t supposed to tell us about that kind of thing but they do it anyway.

Whoever this asshole is, he started his life of crime young.

I find a spot on the third level of the courthouse parking garage and take a moment to check my appearance in the rearview mirror. My tie is straight. My hair is neat. I look professional. I take a deep breath and whisper, “Professional. Confident. Competent.”

I’m a control freak and I know it. My parents died when I was young and I was raised by my uncle. I don’t remember if I was so controlling before they died, but ever since I can remember, I’ve needed to do everything exactly right or I get a stomachache.

It’s one of the things that attracted me to law. Yes, I come from a family of lawyers, but there’s something ironically simple about the intricacy of the legal system. There’s not much black and white. You win the case or you lose it. Your argument is legally valid or it is rejected.

My mantra carries me through the security checkpoint and up to the fourth floor.

Courthouse C, Judge Melkham presiding. I’ve never had him before but he has a reputation for running a tight courtroom.

I’ve also heard he’s old-fashioned and not a fan of omegas in the legal profession.

I’m going to have to be twice as effective as the prosecutor to make sure he listens to me.

Being late is not going to help. I take a deep breath and push through the heavy wooden doors.

The courtroom is smaller than I expected. It is lined with wood-paneled walls. The floor is covered with burgundy carpet that’s seen better decades.

Melkham sits behind his bench, reading something that has put a deep frown on his weathered face.

At the defendant’s table sits the biggest human being I have ever seen in person.

Kellen Hayes is even more imposing in real life than in his photograph.

The orange jumpsuit strains across shoulders that belong on a linebacker.

His hands are settled into his lap, but I can see the thick muscles of his forearms and the careful way he sits in a chair that is far too small to easily hold his bulk.

He turns slightly as I approach the table, and our eyes meet.

His scent hits me like a punch to the face.

It’s rich and warm and utterly, devastatingly perfect. My knees go weak. My breath catches in my throat.

Alpha. Not just any alpha, but mine . Recognition slams through me with the force of a freight train, every nerve ending suddenly alive and singing.

My briefcase slips from my fingers, hitting the floor with a crack. The papers inside scatter across the polished wood, but I can’t make myself care. Can’t make myself look away from those dark eyes that seem to see straight through me.

Heat floods my face. My heart hammers against my ribs so hard I’m certain everyone in the courtroom can hear it. Between my legs, my body responds with embarrassing enthusiasm to that incredible scent.

No, no, no.

This cannot be happening. Not here. Not now. Not with him.

But my body doesn’t care about logic or my professional reputation. It doesn’t give a shit that this man is a violent criminal. My body only knows that it’s found its perfect match, and it wants with a desperation that borders on pain.

Judge Melkham’s voice seems to come from very far away. “Counsel, are you quite ready to proceed?”

I force myself to look away from Kellen Hayes’ face, to bend down and gather the scattered papers with shaking hands. Professional. I need to be professional.

I close my eyes for just a second. Professional. Confident. Competent. I’m trying to ground myself but it’s impossible.

His scent follows me as I move, wrapping around me like a caress, and even worse I know that I am emitting an absolute fog of pheromones in response to it. This is the worst thing that could happen.