Page 40 of Worthy or Knot (Serendipity Omegaverse #3)
Forty
THREE YEARS AGO, LOS ANGELES
MARCUS
“ F antastic seeing you as always, Mr. Bowen.”
The coordinator for one of the local youth charities smiled warmly as I shook her hand.
“The pleasure is all mine, of course,” I said, keeping my voice warm. “How has everything been with the classes this year?”
This coordinator was the final person I needed to see before I could finally duck out of the event.
Not that this particular schmooze-fest was all that awful.
In fact, it was a happier and lighter affair than a good portion of the events I attended on behalf of the LA Philharmonic as the Assistant Director of Donations.
But there was an itching sensation just under my skin that I couldn’t manage to shake the entire night, like wearing the worst wool and being unable to do anything about it.
“Oh, simply wonderful,” she beamed. “The kids have loved having a few of the musicians come by and play with them. We’re so grateful you were able to make that happen for us.”
My smile was more genuine then. “Always happy to get kids excited about art and music. And the musicians who volunteered are just as passionate.”
“You can certainly tell.” She took a small sip from her champagne flute.
I didn’t bother to mirror the action, but she didn’t seem to mind.
“Oh, I don’t know if we can make requests.
We’re of course delighted with every one of your musicians who is willing to come.
But the cellist, Mr. Miller? The kids absolutely adore him. ”
Jasper Miller was one of the newest additions to the philharmonic, joining about a year before. He was calm and polite and brilliant with teaching, especially children.
“Glad to hear it. I’ll reach out through the channels and see if he’s available for more time.”
“Margie, do you have a moment?” Johnathan Fallon stepped up beside her, a careful, polite touch to her elbow.
Johnathan Fallon was the reason this particular event was better than most. He had an understated taste to these types of things—understated but over-performing.
It was practically the unsung motto of his financial conglomerate, Fallon Capitol.
It certainly held true for the three non-profits he funded in LA, practically entirely independently.
Sure, other donors were listed and given space on walls and pamphlets and social medias.
But realistically? It was Johnathan Fallon writing most of the checks that kept these music non-profits functioning.
“Oh, of course,” she said with another warm smile. “You’ve met Marcus Bowmen, right? He’s the Assistant Director of Donations for the LA Philharmonic.”
Johnathan shook my hand with a brief smile. “Of course. Pleasure to see you again.”
I offered a general nicety back and tucked my hand in the pocket of my suit pants.
That itchiness was getting worse. Another few minutes, and I wouldn’t be able to keep it off my face.
No one wanted nor needed an Alpha losing their shit at a high brow event like this.
And it wasn’t like I even had something—some one —to freak out over.
Sometimes the instincts and drives just really fucking sucked.
“I’m sorry to pull her away,” he offered, breaking through my thoughts.
I gave another bland smile that I hoped looked more convincing than it felt. “Not at all. Have a wonderful night, both of you.”
As they walked away, retreating into the small milling crowd, I set my half-drunk whiskey on the table nearest me and then quickly exited the doors on the far side of the ballroom that led to a balcony. I needed fresh air, and I needed it now.
The balcony was decorated with strings of lights that shone almost yellow in the fading sunlight.
A few people milled about, chatting with each other.
One couple stood off to the side, clearly not part of this particular event based on their attire.
The man leaned into the woman, wrapping his arm around her waist as she giggled.
Fuck, that just made the itchiness worse.
I forced my gaze away, pulling out my phone to give me something to do.
There were a few outdoor seats open maybe twenty feet down the balcony.
I dropped into one, doing my best to ignore the young blond man sprawled out on one of the others, his head tilted back and his eyes closed.
His suit was even nicer than mine, something probably bespoke.
The tie was definitely silk, as was his shirt, both catching a faint shimmer under the string lights above us.
His face was made of sharp cheekbones and full lips and long, dark lashes that would make more than one woman weep.
His olive skin looked exquisite in the fading sun.
My body took an interest that I immediately tried to squash down.
Trying to hook up with someone was not the smartest idea right now.
Partly because it would be unwise when I was technically here in an official capacity and anybody from that charity event could see me sneak off with a stranger.
But mostly not when every fiber of my being was vibrating with a need I hadn’t felt since I’d accidentally ended up helping out an Omega classmate in college when she dropped suddenly into heat right before our class started.
I forced my gaze away and scrolled aimlessly through social media, not really seeing any of the posts. When that no longer worked, I switched to the local climbing group page and read through the latest gossip in there.
“Nice watch.”
I glanced up from my phone. The man was looking at me now.
His hazel eyes held a coy glint that echoed in the little curve of his mouth.
Now I could tell he was younger than me by at least a few years.
Probably in his early twenties. In many other cities, it would make his entire getup odd, like he was trying too hard to fit in.
Or stand out. But the bespoke suit didn’t really mean much in LA where so many wealthy elites played and mingled.
He had “trust fund kid” written all over him.
His eyes dropped to my lips and then to the watch in question. It wasn’t anything particularly fancy. I’d purchased it a few years ago when I first started brushing elbows with the rich and powerful, knowing the brand would hold weight even if it was their budget line.
“Thank you,” I murmured. The restless feeling settled in my veins, quieting until I almost couldn’t feel it. I breathed in the heady relief, and then I took a leap, unable to take my eyes off the way his lips and cheeks harmonized together. “You waiting for someone?”
Most people out here were paired—there were even a few slightly larger groups, probably packs going out with their Omegas. Another ten feet down, a door was propped open, leading to the hotel’s main restaurant and bar.
He shook his head. “Not tonight. Just needed some fresh air before I head back home tomorrow.”
Home. “You’re not from LA?”
“Nope.” He popped the “p”. It made me want to kiss him. His eyes dropped to my lips again. Fuck, he was being really damn bold with that.
Well, I could match him if he was willing to be that out in the open with his interest.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
His smile was slow to grow, but it spread like sunshine across the mountains. “I don’t drink alcohol, but I’m sure I can find something else.”
Hell yeah, he could.
He stood in an easy rush of lean limbs. The suit fit him even better standing, fitted so well it would make tailors weep. His shoulder brushed mine as we walked through that door and sat at one of the high tops in the hotel’s bar.
I couldn’t remember what we talked about, just the way his gaze was always so earnest, the way he leaned forward and kissed me that first time, bold and brave.
How his laugh was bright, like a warm day at the beach, and it lit up my entire damn body.
How he had a room in the hotel, something that probably cost more than my damn rent.
The way his eyes darkened when I fucked him, slow and then harder when he insisted.
I could remember the way he was sprawled on the bed when I let myself out at nearly three in the morning, the way my heart seemed to beat a different rhythm from that night on.
And, for the rest of my life, I could draw the exact moment when my teeth accidentally broke his skin when I came deep inside him, even knowing that Alphas were supposed to be so fucking cautious with shit like that.
I could always remember the look of horror when I felt him the next day, felt his emotions like they were my own, and realized he was an Omega whose name I didn’t know.
All I knew was his hazel eyes and olive skin and the apple scent that clung to him.