Page 54 of Your Wild Omega (The Feral Actress #2)

Chapter forty-three

Callisto

I snatch a few hours of sleep after Red’s surprise call, but the omega appears in my dreams. Nothing I can recall specifically, but the warmth lingers as I dress for the day.

It mingles with the relief I felt the moment I heard her voice on the phone.

I’d missed her more than I realized. Red calling me just because she needed someone to talk to feels wonderful. I’m still important to her.

The cotton undershirt slides over my head and I smooth it down my torso as I roll the conversation around in my head. Red fills every corner of my mind.

It’s great she called, but what does it say that she expected to find me awake at one o’clock in the morning? I guess I really am a workaholic. Or something worse, according to Simon.

As I turn to lift my shirt off the hanger, I catch my reflection in the hotel’s wardrobe mirror. The inked clock on my shoulder, which freezes the moment my dad passed away, ripples as I move.

I’ve forgotten how to stop and smell the roses, or, in my case, the omega.

I think I need to give myself a timeout to reflect, so I never make the same mistake again.

And a visual reminder of this lesson wouldn’t go astray.

For a moment, I cover the clock with one hand.

I got it to remind myself to never waste time, but unfortunately my definition of waste got messed up.

Now I want a reminder not to mess up my priorities ever again.

The idea stays with me as I ease into my shirt and add a vest and tie before walking across the busy street to the office.

A quick scan of the interactive whiteboard hosting my project management schedule helps me get my head into work mode, but a corner of my mind always returns to the Jones pack.

The call with Red soothed some of the raw agony in my heart, which has burned ever since Zack pulled rank on me.

I know I don’t have a place in their family, but it feels like he and I have unfinished business.

Hale calls out as he swings into the office and hangs his cashmere cardigan over the back of his chair. “Morning, Callisto.”

I lean in my doorway to watch him settle into the desk in the outer room.

The clever paralegal sports a unique style of sophisticated and shaggy-chic fashion.

His black suit pants nip in with professional tailoring, and his leather belt flashes with a designer buckle.

But his wiry hair fights the confines of a hair tie to hang halfway down his back in a thick bush.

Usually he wears it up in a man bun, which makes me think he might’ve run late today.

He catches me staring and crooks one brow. “If you’ve got time to ogle me, you must not have enough cases.”

I snort, since we both know that’s not true. “I’ve been thinking—”

“Dear God, no.” He holds up a palm. “I do not have time for that kind of cataclysm.” Hale dives for his takeaway coffee and slurps half the contents in one hit.

“Hilarious.” I roll my eyes. “Actually, I need you to schedule some vacation time for me. Three weeks should do it, whenever I have a break between court appearances.”

My assistant jumps up and stalks to the window overlooking downtown Laversham, crossing his arms as he stares out into the city.

“What are you doing?” I ask, frustrated. “Didn’t you hear me?”

He throws me a dry smile. “Cataclysm just upgraded to Armageddon, and I plan to enjoy the view from here, thanks.” He raps his knuckles against the glass.

I groan. “Hale, I’m being serious.”

His eyebrows rise. “So am I. You haven’t taken a vacation in years.” He gestures to his computer. “I have an entire inbox dedicated to harassing emails from HR begging me to get you to clear out some of your accrued time.”

I snort. “Really?”

He holds my gaze, steady as a rock. “Want to see it?”

Hale would be a killer poker player, I’m sure, but I’m inclined to believe him because those same emails used to land in my inbox before I blocked the entire HR team.

I shake my head. “Fine. But theatrics aside, please book it, and don’t accept any new clients without checking with me first.” I snap my fingers at him and point to his seat in a silent order to get to work.

He sighs like I’ve wounded him before slinking back to his desk.

“And is my calendar up to date? I need to book a personal appointment for two hours. Also, can you send me the court start date of the Rucluzio vs. Martbris case?”

He frowns as his mouse zips across the screen.

“The one from a few months ago? Sure. And let me check for court date notices and client deferment real quick before I confirm about your calendar.” Just like that, the drama queen morphs into serious work mode and the apocalypse gets canceled for today.

I hide my smile as I head back to my desk.

Hale shoots me a calendar invite labeled free time for an afternoon later this week, and I get straight on the phone to an old acquaintance. “Hi, Juan, it’s Callisto Wren. You did my clock tattoo a few years back.”

“Hmm, left shoulder, how could I forget?” His silky tone resonates down the line. “How you doing, alpha?”

I lean back in my plush leather chair and smile. Hearing his voice takes me back to our school days. “I’m good. Working flat out. How’s our valedictorian?”

Juan chuckles. “Oh, I’m living the high life, brother. Nothing better than doing what you love and getting paid for it.”

“Good to hear.” I twirl my pen across the desk, staring into the distance.

I used to feel the same about my job, but now a niggling sensation in the back of my head isn’t so sure I’m where I’m supposed to be.

But I didn’t call this man to get philosophical.

“How do you feel about getting paid for an extension to your previous work?”

“Hell, yes. Your clock’s in my book of bests, alpha. When are you coming in?”

“Can you consult Friday at two?”

“For you, I can bite the moon on Friday at two.”

I laugh, knowing Juan talks to all his clients this way, but still enjoying it. “Thanks. Lock me in.”

I dig into my caseload, constructing witness lists, reviewing testimonies, and formulating arguments, working methodically from the most urgent to the least. My conversation with Red hums away in the back of my mind and I can’t help myself from pulling out her file.

I spread my special visual criminal-charges tracker page across my desk, tracing my links on the A3 page. We only have a few solid charges.

Ray Fibbistachi: Possession of illegal haze, abetment of illegal haze extraction, resisting arrest, and abetment of omega trafficking.

Rape, trafficking, abuse, and confinement have no basis. Yet.

The only evidence I have is the haze found in his house, which a fantastic lawyer could argue reasonable doubt on.

My medical expert is ready to get in the box to say the amount of haze seized couldn’t be sourced consensually or ethically, and the forensics team ties it to the haze that was still at the trafficking hub, but we have no direct link saying Ray was the alpha responsible.

And while we have him on resisting arrest, it’s a minor charge.

Without a substantial crime given as his reason for fleeing, he can explain away his actions as alpha instinct or shock.

His colleagues aren’t giving him up either, and despite him being caught during the raid, none of the other omegas even saw an alpha in the compound prior to that day.

Red mentioned something about kicking him, so I pull up the statements from the arresting officers on the day. Can I show an omega held a clear grudge against him? It’s grasping at straws.

I groan softly into my palm.

“That one’s really bothering you, isn’t it?”

I twitch to find Hale standing over me, my lunch in hand. I glance at the time on my screen saver to see that it’s already one thirty. “Thanks,” I mutter as he sets the Caesar wrap and a bottle of Coke on the edge of my desk.

“You worried it’s going to kill your win streak?”

I blink at him as I crack the soda’s seal and take a swig. “What?”

Hale points to the top corner of my whiteboard, to the number written inside a bold circle. Ninety-five. Rickon’s domestic violence case was my last win, but I don’t recall writing it on the board. Hale must have updated the tally.

Strange, though, I can’t remember the last time I thought about my win streak. Or my ticket to firm partner.

“Huh.” I lock my hands behind my head and tilt the chair back. “I forgot about it.”

I didn’t mean to say that last bit out loud, but Hale hears and freezes, one hand stuck in his carry bag. “Seriously, who are you and what have you done with Callisto?”

I chuckle and shake my head. Who knows? “Time and tide wait for no man,” I quote softly.

He arches his brows. “Except Callisto Wren used to be an immoveable lighthouse, not a man.”

I snort. “Seems like you’re in a good mood today, giving me all the sass.”

He shakes his head, indicating he won’t talk about it, and fishes out a napkin. Hale’s a very private beta. “Don’t be hating,” he says. “It’s just strange seeing changes in you.” He’s halfway out the door before he calls over his shoulder, “Doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing, though.”

I unwrap my food, smiling. I think so too. Even old dogs can learn new tricks.

Just a pity it’s too little too late for me.

Juan welcomes me to my consultation appointment with a hug, stealing a few whiffs from my shoulder as we embrace. His shaved head shines under the parlor lamps and he runs tattooed fingers over his dome as he steps back.

“You look fine, alpha,” he declares.