Page 55 of Omega's Fever

“Milo.” She doesn’t look up from the papers on her desk when I knock. “Come in. Close the door.”

I do as instructed, sinking into the chair across from her. The leather is butter-soft. I could fall asleep here. “How did it go today?” She still hasn’t looked at me.

“The witnesses are lying. It’s obvious they’ve been coached. Their stories don’t match their original statements, and—”

“I don’t care about the witnesses.” Now she looks up, and her gaze is sharp enough to cut. “Do you know what the partners said when I recommended you for this position?”

I shake my head, not trusting my voice.

“They said no, that we have enough omegas to show that they’re not prejudiced but it’s not necessary to take on any more.” Her fingers drum against the desk. “I fought for you. Told them you were different. Told them you could handle yourself in any courtroom.”

“I can—”

“Can you? Because from where I’m sitting, you look like every stereotype they warned me about. Shaking from suppressants. Mooning over your client.”

My nausea returns full force, mixing with shame until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

“I’m doing my job,” I manage. “I’m providing competent representation—”

“Competent isn’t enough.” She turns back to me, and there’s something almost like pity in her eyes. “Not for us. Not for omegas. We have to be twice as good to get half the respect. We have to be perfect.” She leans back in her chair steeples her fingers. “This case is a test,” she continues. “Not of your legal skills—we already know you’re brilliant. It’s a test of whether you belong here.”

“No pressure,” I mutter.

Her smile is sharp. “If you can’t handle pressure, you’re in the wrong profession. Now, I’m going to give you some advice, and I suggest you take it.”

I wait, knowing exactly what she is going to say.

“Wrap it up for fuck’s sake. You are in a shitty position, I understand that. You have a choice between suppressants that are killing you or giving into the worst prime match I’ve ever seen,” I flinch. I’ve never heard her swear before. “But you do have a third option. Stop being prissy about this and let the case go.” She waves a hand dismissively. “Ask Sutter for a plea bargain. If this case isn’t done by end of week, we will need to reconsider your position here. You look a mess and we can’t have that.”

I push myself to my feet, legs unsteady. “Yes, ma’am.”

The dismissal is clear. I stumble out of her office, past her assistant, into the hallway. The elevator doors close, and I finally let myself sag against the wall.

She’s right. I know she’s right. The suppressants are killing me. But the alternative—letting Kellen go to prison—feels like stepping off a cliff.

When the elevator opens to the waiting area, Kellen is exactly where I left him. Still reading that ridiculous magazine, looking absurd. He looks up when I approach, and I see the concern flash across his features.

“Ready?” I ask.

We walk back to the car in silence. Kellen hardly says anything anyway, but I’m turning the conversation with Anne over and over in my head.

If the case isn’t done by the end of the week, I lose my job. There is no way I can do that without Kellen accepting a plea and I can’t let him do that. I’m about to throw my career away for him.

17

Kellen

Milo hasn’t said a word since we left the law firm’s parking garage.

Something happened at his firm. I know his boss called him in and he hasn’t told me why, but it doesn’t take a genius to work out that it was something to do with me and it was something he didn’t want to hear.

His jaw works as he drives and I can practically see the gears turning behind those wire-rimmed glasses.

I check the passenger mirror for the third time in two blocks. Silver sedan four cars back, maintaining perfect distance. Could be nothing. It probably is nothing. But after seeing Cobb in the park, vigilance is the only way to go.

“Take a left here,” I say, breaking the silence.

Milo’s eyes flick to me. “My apartment’s straight ahead.”