Reclaiming His Omega_M/M Non-Shifter Alpha/Omega MPREG Page 2

  “She’s going to be a force to be reckoned with when she’s all grown, no doubt.”

  How did every conversation seem to circle around to children? I guessed I was just at that age, everyone had already settled down and either had a few or were on their way to starting their family. Not me, though. Maybe never me. I didn’t have the time to commit to a family, anyway. I was out of state, out of the country on business too often.

  “You should swing by the shelter sometime,” Dash interrupted my thoughts. “I think you’d be really pleased with the facility.”

  “I just might do that.”

  Dash saw himself out and I called my assistant, Lisa, to the room.

  “Lisa, can you see that this is sent to Harold’s family? And check my calendar, if you wouldn’t mind. See if I have time to visit the new animal shelter and set that up?”

  I knew I didn’t have to be more specific than that. Lisa knew my life and business almost better than I did.

  Lisa made a few notes on her phone. “Anything else, sir?”

  “What’s my itinerary for the rest of today?”

  “Nothing today, but you have an early meeting with Ambassador Tanaka and I sent the investment reports you asked for to your email.”

  “Excellent. What time should I be ready for the meeting?”

  “The car will pick you up at quarter to seven tomorrow morning.”

  “Thank you, Lisa.”

  Instead of opening my email to review the investment reports like I should, I pulled up my list of Café Om locations. It had been three months since I had met someone at the fundraiser who had mistaken me for my twin brother, Zeke, and revealed that he was working as a barista. I’d only been able to mark six locations off my list. I could have hired someone else to investigate for me, hell, I could have hired a private investigator and had my answer in less than twenty-four hours, but I honestly hadn’t decided what I was going to do. I hadn’t decided if I truly wanted to find him after he had shunned me so thoroughly with no explanation. But every couple of weeks, I found myself pulling up the list and driving to a new location and subtly asking about him.

  I doubted he wanted to see me, and I didn’t know if I wanted to see him. But something made me keep looking.

  4

  Miles

  “Mr. Schofield, your father would like to see you,” Mrs. Jones squeaked over the intercom, not even pretending to apologize for interrupting my work, knowing full well I didn’t really have any.

  I pressed the button to reply. “Thank you, Mrs. Jones.” I sighed, pushing away from my desk. The last thing I wanted to do was talk to my dad today. My brain was still reeling from running into Parker’s lookalike the day before. True, he had been older, more filled out, with that ridiculous hair, but he still rattled me to my core, bringing back the nightmare.

  It had been two years since the last, and it was always the same: Parker and I fought over my desire to transfer to a school with a better pre-law program while pregnant while he still refused to tell his family about us and the baby, and neither of us was rational or fighting fair. The middle was always different, probably because I didn’t remember much about the accident, but it always ended with the nurse apologizing for the loss of my son. The first time I knew my child’s gender was at his death. The pain of being hit by that car was nothing compared to losing him.

  “Mr. Schofield, he says now.” I wiped at the tears that had begun to escape my eyes, happy for Mrs. Jones’s rudeness for once. At least she pulled me from my thoughts.

  When I finally composed myself, I made my way to my father’s office. As a kid, I had loved coming here and hearing my father regale his staff with stories about how I was going to be his partner one day. It was mind boggling how his view of me and my potential plummeted all because of one little medical test. That stupid piece of paper lost me my best friend, yanked my parents plans and dreams for my life out from under them, and lost me my full scholarship, leaving me with more student debt than I was ever going to repay, especially as a peon at Dad’s office.

  I rounded the corner to find my father standing at in his doorway with another man about his age, both of them laughing. I relaxed. He was calling me in for work—not to fire me because I’d ask for heat leave earlier than normal; not to tell me I needed to find a purpose with my life—meaning he thought I should get a mate; and not to tell me I needed to quit avoiding family dinner. Work I could handle, easy peasy.

  “Ah, there you are, son.” His face beamed. At least my dawdling hadn’t been too noticeable. “Andrew, this is my son Miles. Miles, this is Andrew Martin.”

  “Nice to meet you.” I held out my hand in greeting. Mr. Martin took it, but instead of shaking it, he just held it. In any other circumstance, I would’ve pulled it away, but work was work.

  “The pleasure is all mine.” Great. Dad’s new client was a creeper. At least creepers paid the bills.

  “Enough of that, come into my office.”

  Andrew gave my hand a final squeeze before dropping it and holding his arm out to indicate I should go first. I could feel his eyes on my ass and made quick work of sitting down so he would no longer have the view. He sat in the chair beside me and accidentally moved the chair closer to mine as he sat.

  “There’s much to discuss,” my father began. “Andrew here is a good friend and client. He stopped by to make so tweaks to his will, and we began to talk.”

  A sick feeling began to build in my gut.

  “What your father is trying to say is that he noticed I was giving all my money to charity in the unlikely hood of my demise. I’m very healthy, you see.”

  No. No, I did not. Except I did. I just didn’t want to.

  “You see, I am no longer mated, and I have no children.” He crept closer as he spoke. A quick glance at my father told me his creepdar was broken. He was looking at Andrew as if he were a beacon of hope. A beacon that I’m sure he thought shone on the path where I fell madly in love and mated this jerk before plopping out a dozen kids.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” I kept my words soft so not to show the hostility building inside me. Not at my dad—he seemed to honestly want the best for me, no matter how misguided it was—but at this man for… for existing. I had to get out of here. “Father, I have an appointment I need to get to. If you will excuse me.”

  Fine, the appointment was with a salesperson in hours, but I had to get out of there.

  I didn’t even listen for a reply, getting out of there as quickly as I could. I didn’t even stop at my office on the way out, instead, heading out the side door, turning my phone off as I did. I couldn’t handle any of this today so, like a mature adult, I decided to ignore it.

  I found myself in my car headed to Café Om before I processed that I had even made a decision. I needed to see Marcus. It was sick, and twisted, and probably the worst idea ever. There was something about being around him that was comforting. In the moment, anyway, because I knew I was asking for more nightmares by hanging around him, but fuck it.

  It was an odd time of day, not quite dinner but well past lunch, so I was able to find a spot quickly. I supposed that was the universe trying to make up for me walking out on work to avoid a creepy client.

  How had this become my life?

  5

  Parker

  I had a rare night with no plans, but the idea of going home and attempting to relax had become foreign to me. I could go to dinner on my own, perhaps steak and a glass of wine at my favorite steakhouse. I had never understood the fear of eating in a restaurant alone. I liked the solitude, the time to focus on simply enjoying an excellent meal while letting my mind drift over the various challenges my company was currently facing. It was like meditation, in a way.

  But I knew that wasn’t what I needed tonight. Not that I particularly wanted to listen to the quiet voice niggling in the back of my mind, but neither did I want to sit motionless in my car in the parking tower either. I pulled up my list of Cafe Om locations
.

  I’d hit up the main ones on my way to and from home and work. Tonight, with my strange state of mind, I felt like a bit of a drive might help, so I picked one on the western outskirts of the city. I plugged the coordinates in my GPS and my car started smoothly, almost silently. My finger hovered over the audio system’s power button. Did I want the distraction? Yes. But what I needed was space to think. I left the sound off and shifted into reverse.

  It wasn’t long before I was on the highway. I never left work before six, and so the roads were fairly clear, rush hour dying down and everyone enjoying a few hours at home before heading out for a night on the town.

  Everything felt a bit surreal tonight, everything flowing a bit too smoothly. Did that mean tonight was the night I’d find Zeke? Something seemed right… and it forced me to seriously consider what I was going to do if I actually found him.

  Did that mean tonight was the night I’d find Zeke?

  Something seemed right… and it forced me to seriously consider what I was going to do if I actually found him.

  My brother had been missing for ten years. Not like there was a missing persons file on him or anything, but from what my mother had said, one day, he just up and lost it, yelling that our parents hated him and never wanted him, that I always treated him as lesser because I was alpha and he was omega. That they wished he was an alpha too. None of what she said made any sense to me, and she had a tendency to exaggerate. Especially when it came to Zeke. The two of them clashed worse than any of the bullheaded alphas I’d ever known. And it didn’t make sense. Zeke and I were twins; nothing had ever been big enough to come between us before. Our designations hadn’t. Our completely opposite personalities hadn’t. So I couldn’t figure out what could possibly make him suddenly decide to stop speaking to me, especially without telling me what I did to fuck up so bad.

  But when I asked Dad, he didn’t deny Mom’s story. That didn’t say much, and so I asked some of their long term staff, men and women who had practically raised me like aunts and uncles, and the story remained pretty much the same: one day, Zeke blew up, denounced our parents, told them he was leaving and not to try to find him, and as far as I could tell, simply disappeared off the face of the earth. Until someone had mistaken me for him a few months ago.

  I searched for him that first year, but I was already such a mess from everything with Miles, which had happened just before Zeke disappeared. I had needed to talk to my brother. But his phone number had been disconnected. His credit cards cancelled. And the friends of his that I talked to seemed to have no idea where he had gone.

  I hadn’t slept much at all that year, worrying about Miles and Zeke. I turned my thoughts away from Miles. That was something I would likely never get the chance to apologize for. But Zeke…

  If I did find him, I was going to do whatever it would take to get my brother back. If I had to throw myself at his feet and beg forgiveness for whatever it was I had did in the past, I would, no matter what it was. Nothing was worth the giant Zeke shaped hole in my life.

  I pulled into the Café Om parking lot with a new spring in my step, imagining Zeke being back in my life.

  My face felt stretched from the smile that had overcome my face. How long had it been since I had truly smiled, that this hurt already? I tried to suppress it so that my cheek muscles wouldn’t start twitching, and approached the barista. She was a small thing, with long brown hair. My smile must have been still pretty glaring, because she smiled back at me. I leaned against the counter.

  “Welcome to Café Om! How can I help you?”

  “I’m actually looking for someone.” Normally I danced around the subject, finding coy ways to ask if Zeke was working there, but feeling particularly confident and bold, I addressed her more directly. “His name is Zeke, or Ezekial?”

  The girl looked around the empty seating area. “Are you supposed to be meeting him?”

  My hopes started to deflate. She didn’t recognize the name. “No… I think he works here.”

  The girl shook her head sadly. “Sorry… I’ve worked here for two years, and I don’t think we’ve ever had anyone of either of those names. Unless he just started?”

  I shook my head. “No, it would have been at least a few months.” I pushed back off the counter, my smile vanished, my shoulders sagging from more than jet lag.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help. Can I get you something to drink?”

  I thought about it for just a moment, but shook my head. “No, but thank you. Have a good night.”

  I rested my head against the steering wheel in my car. I had felt so certain this was it. How could I have been so wrong? It occurred to me that Zeke could have asked his coworkers to lie if anyone ever came looking for him, but I probably would have at least seen some sense of recognition in the barista’s eyes. Zeke and I weren’t identical, but it was beyond clear that we were brothers.

  I started my car. It was only just three in the afternoon, but I didn’t have energy for anything more than to drive home and go to sleep, and hope any dreams would stay at bay.

  6

  Miles

  A week later, I was wandering around the city like a loser. Yep, that was me. My father invited me to a work lunch with the same creeper from the other day and once again I feigned a meeting before high tailing it out of there. At least last time I’d had a meeting later in that day to use as an excuse if he called me on my shit. Sure, the meeting had been with a salesman at the local office supply place going over which new fangled printing systems we might be interested in leasing and not anything in my actual field, but it was legitimate. Today I had nothing.

  I turned on my phone to see the time, because the stupid clock on my dash was broken. I instantly regretted not leaving it of as it all but exploded in my hand. Sure enough, Dad had figured out my deception.

  Text after text from my parents appeared. Kill me now.

  Dad: Mrs. Jones says she you have no meetings today.

  I wracked my brain. Nope. Never said it was at work. All good on that front, technicality wise. They would still be pissed, but I could defend myself just like the teenager they treat me like.

  Dad: I expect an answer, young man.

  The time stamp indicated he had waited an entire minute between those two. Yeah. I wasn’t worming my way out of this one easily.

  Dad: Get back here now. You were rude and I had to reschedule with Andrew.

  I had so called that one. It wasn’t a work lunch or if it was, a barely working one at that. It was a throw your kid to a creeper kind of meal. Really? He thought an old alpha I didn’t even know was an acceptable option? I was pushing thirty, not sixty. Not that I ever planned to get mated. That had fallen off the table almost a decade ago.

  Mom: Dinner is at seven.

  And Dad had called in reinforcements. Of course he had. At least my mom wasn’t showing her anger via text. Not that she wasn’t angry; my guess was she was doubly upset. When my designation results in, she made it clear that my purpose in college was to get an M.R. and not an academic degree. The only reason mom, either of them, for that matter, allowed law school without a huge fight was they saw it as the ideal stepping stone to becoming the perfect house husband to an alpha lawyer. Male or female, it was all the same to them. They wanted me mated, with kids, to someone who fit their picture of success.

  Dad: Still waiting.

  This one was five minutes later, so at least he pretended to let my mom give it an honest go.

  Mom: You will be here.

  And Mom for the kill. They were the roof over my head, as much as that sucked, and crap on a cracker, they were livid. Perfect. Just what I needed—pissed off parents.

  I texted back that I had my phone off during my meeting at Café Om and I apologized for missing their texts and promised to be at dinner.

  I guess Café Om it was. At least it would make my lie just a partial one. I needed to man up and tell them I had no desire to be set up. And I would. After
a pour over.

  7

  Parker

  As I tossed my carry on suitcase into the bag of my car after returning home from yet another too-fast trip to Japan, with another one to New York coming up tomorrow, I considered taking an actual vacation after his project wrapped up. I hadn’t had one of those in, fuck, forever. As I paid my parking fee, I realized I didn’t know where I was headed. It was mid-day, so the office would still be in full swing, but they didn’t expect to see me until tomorrow. My sleep schedule was all kinds of messed up from switching time zones so rapidly, so I was pretty tired, but if I didn’t want to fuck up the rest of my week, I knew I couldn’t go home, or I’d just crash.

  The Café Om list taunted me invisibly from the glove compartment. The odds of finding Zeke were pretty low at any given location. My last attempt had hammered that truth into me. And I could really use some coffee. It wasn’t like I’d actually have to process my emotions about Zeke’s abandonment while I was in such a zombie state, and it would let me mark another one off my list.

  While I waited at a stoplight, I opened the glove compartment and retrieved the list, giving my GPS the first address that seemed reasonably close.

  As I drove, I let my mind drift to the trip, mentally reviewing it before I typed up a personal report. It had been somewhat productive. The problem I was having was interpreting the difference between someone trying to tell me about a problem while making sure everyone saved face and just linguistic quirks. As much as I preferred to handle negotiations one hundred percent on my own, I was actually considering hiring a cultural consultant. I couldn’t afford many more delays. If this project fell through, it would cost me nearly twenty percent of my operating budget. If that got out, clients and investors might lose faith in me, and it would just be a downhill spiral from there, depending on whether I was smart enough to figure out when to cut all my losses or linger stubbornly until the bitter end.