His Secret Billionaire Omega Page 3
“So you met him before. Here? In the city?” Please be no. Please be no.
“Meet, no. But saw, yes.” Abrar was eyeing me carefully. I couldn’t blame him for thinking me weak as a wounded bird, but he was wrong. I was strong. This was a blip, nothing more.
“So he lives here?”
“I have no idea.” It wasn’t a yes. I was going to have to work with that. “Do you need the afternoon off?”
“I kinda do.” I needed to get away, maybe hide in a book or a game. Schlepping coffee with a sunshiny face wasn’t going to happen today.
“Do you feel safe going on your own? I could drive you or call a cab.”
“I’m fine. He would never hurt me.” Any more than he already had, anyway.
I clocked out. Forty-seven minutes. I’d managed to come to work, come face to face with my brother, have a meltdown, plan to meet with said brother again, and clock out in a grand total of forty-seven minutes. It felt like hours.
Sugar would make all things better. I went to the front of the cafe, knowing it was the dead time between rushes and few would see me, and started to make myself a double mocha, caramel, hazelnut concoction that I planned to drown my sorrows in. That and whipped cream. All the whip cream. Screw it, I might be long past my youth, but sprinkles were going to top my whipped. Lots and lots of sprinkles.
“Hoping to go into a sugar coma?”
My head snapped to the source of the voice. Killian. He was here, looking at me all hot messed out while making comfort drinks. Could the day get any worse?
“Um, hi.” I was not going to ogle, I was not going to ogle.
I was ogling.
“How do you know this wasn’t for the take-away window?” I asked lamely. My ability to be perfect omega Marcus had zipped from me.
“If you licked off the sprinkles and then added more on a take-away, I’d have to question the health standards of this cafe.”
I looked forlornly down at my drink with the telltale missing whip.
5
Killian
I'd never seen Marcus looking this... vulnerable. Sure, he projected the innocent but slutty omega look like a champ, but I'd been watching him for a while now. I knew it was just a look. The innocence was truer than the slutty part. But right now... he was... broken. I just wanted to wrap him up in my arms and tell him it was okay. But I had to be real with myself; we'd only had one actual conversation, if you could count that as a conversation. It would be weird to pull him into my arms, right?
It wouldn't be weird to pummel that dude who was his look-alike who made him cry, though, right? Not that I could leave Marcus right now, not until I knew he was okay. He was staring down at his sugar monstrosity with the most open and heartbreaking look I'd ever seen, and when he finally glanced up into my eyes, fuck. I may have been a little obsessed with him before, but with that one look, I was gone. Something in that look shot straight through my heart like Cupid's arrow, and I knew it would take a long time to pluck it out, if I even wanted to get rid of it.
"Are you going to drink that, or just whisper sweet nothings into its fluff?" I asked, trying to put a smile on his face.
His lips twitched up at the corners. "Well, I was planning on a cuddle session first, but if I need to get right to the main event..." His tongue darted out and swirled around the whipped cream, lapping up all the sprinkles. I swallowed hard and looked away. Even with his sad eyes, that tongue was dangerous. When I looked back, his eyes held the hint of a smirk that said he knew exactly what I was thinking, but instead of playing it up like I'd seen him do countless times at Club Royale, he turned to add more sprinkles and then slapped a top on his drink.
"If you need anything, Lola will be out in just a second, but I'm clocking out early."
Because of whatever had happened with that alpha double. Curiosity burned my gut, but I could tell Marcus wasn't interested in discussing the tear tracks down his cheeks. "I was actually just leaving. Can I walk you to your car?"
"Oh, aren't you sweet?" A hint of the flirty omega I was used to infused itself in his words, but his shoulders remained hunched in as he took off his apron and picked up his drink. "That's okay, though, sweetie. I'm just going to grab the bus, but thank you."
He came around the counter and patted my arm with his last words, and I captured his hand with my own. "You're not riding the bus right now."
I could see through the thin mask he'd been able to draw up over the last few minutes to the terrified man inside, which only strengthened my resolve.
"How else do you propose I get home when I don't have a car?"
"I'll take you." It didn't even take a second thought. I had a car. He didn't need to worry about weirdos or pushy alphas or whoever he might run into on the bus. Besides, the Marcus I knew, Blondie, he wouldn't be caught dead in public with the evidence of his pain so clearly marked on his face.
"How do I know I can trust you?" His voice had dropped to nearly a whisper, but he didn't pull his hand away.
"You already know you can trust me. I'm a Red Knight. I've been watching over you for months at Club Royale."
Marcus's hand trembled in mine, but he still didn't pull away. "Okay." He lifted his chin, the confidence I was familiar with returning to him. "But write your name and license plate down for Lola here so she can report you if I go missing."
I laughed and let go of his hand to do as he asked. "Sure." I would never hurt an omega, any omega, and certainly not this omega, but it pleased me that he knew how to take care of himself, that he was cautious. I wrote down the information he requested and he handed it to Lola, telling her that if he didn't text her in the next thirty minutes to call the cops on my ass.
As we stepped out of the building, Marcus slipped a hand through the crook of my elbow and leaned against my side. "You know, Killian, you picked the worst day ever to find out where I worked."
I loved the sound of my name on his tongue; he tripped over the syllables like a song. "I actually found out where you worked last night," I admitted.
"What? Really?" Marcus squinted his eyes as he thought. "Oh... that big bruiser you work with... he came through yesterday, right?"
I nodded.
"Did you come all the way out here to see little old me?" Marcus drew one hand to his chest like a southern belle and batted his pretty eyes at me.
I blushed, and he dropped his act, his mouth falling open. "Oh. My. Alpha. You totally did! You totally came just to see me! That is so adorable. And you definitely picked the absolute worst day to visit. Not that I had pictured anything like today turning out this way." He nearly mumbled the last sentence.
"From my point of view, this was the best day. I hate the idea of you alone on the bus after... that." Whatever that had been. I left the door open for Marcus to choose to explain, but he was silent until we reached my car. I opened the door for him, and he slid in.
As I closed my door behind me, I asked, "Do you want to put your address in the GPS, or do you just want to tell me where to go?"
"Oh, GPS for sure," Marcus said. "I barely know how to get there myself."
I could feel his flirty omega mask descending again, and a cloud wrapped itself around my heart. I hated seeing Marcus so upset, but it had been a privilege to see him so open, so real. I wanted to figure out how to get back to that Marcus. The tiny glimpses he'd afforded me over the months, even though he hadn't known I was watching, had piqued my interest, and today, he'd captured it. I had to know more about this adorable, flirty, complex omega, and I didn't care how many layers and masks I had to work through, I was going to figure him out.
6
Marcus
How did that saying go? If it weren't for crap luck, I'd have no luck at all—or something. Any other day of the flipping decade would've been a better day for Killian to show up—smelling all mapley goodness, and not the pancake syrup they sell at the groceries, no. He smelled like fresh maple syrup. I wasn't going to lick him.
I wasn't.
I had one rule—one stinking rule—and I was breaking it. Never let anyone take me home. Yet there I was, all puffy eyes and messy hair, putting my address into his phone and worse—liking it—liking that I trusted him enough to give him the information.
Sure, I had him leave all his deets with Lola, but never in a million years would I actually have need to use it. But it was habit. Stay safe. Always.
"Here." I handed him back his phone, which he mounted on the dash, the GPS already annoying me with her bossy nasally voice.
"You were smart," Killian said out of nowhere after a couple of minutes of companionable silence.
"How so?" He piqued my curiosity. I'd been called many things since leaving home, smart was never one of them.
I both liked and hated that. I'd already let my facade fall with Killian and lost my chance to snag such a fine alpha. That made my comfort with him awful, because it meant we might've had a chance had I not bunged it up with my puffy eyes and red nose.
"Making me leave my name and info with your co-worker." He engaged his turn signal. The traffic today was light. The one day I would welcome heavy traffic, it had to be gone. Of course. "Smart."
"I have my moments." I was beaming under his praise, like an unhealthy fool. I was only setting myself up to be squashed like a bug. "For the record, I don’t think she’ll need to use them."
"If you did, I'd be pissed."
“Sorry?" Because I had no idea what else to say to that. He didn't seem the type to get his panties in a bunch because people feared him. Heck, his job was to scare people into not being evil at the club. It was kind of his thing.
"No, I mean I'd be pissed if you went with me if you had any concern for your safety. Always listen to your gut."
I had so misinterpreted that. He was spot on, though. Your gut knows. It was following my gut that saved me that night all those years ago. if I hadn't listened, who knew where I would be.
"I try to."
"Good. You live pretty far out from work." He pulled to a stoplight, and the GPS felt the need to remind us to go straight because stopping must mean we were lost. "Your commute must suck."
"Eh, it's not so bad." Truth be told, I kind of liked it. I got to people watch and think of new plot twists for a book I was working on, or one I might work on in the future. That’s what working at the café was good for too. I didn’t need to work there, I just liked it. On days when I didn't want to people, I just took a cab. "Only one transfer, and it runs pretty regular. It's a safer neighborhood then I could afford on a Café Om salary any closer."
It wasn't a lie, not exactly. If I only used my cafe income, there was no way I could live near work, but my cafe money was my fun money, or part of it, anyway. I could live anywhere in the city and be fine financially, but no alpha wanted a rich omega who didn’t need them… unless they wanted him for power or to use his money. And I’d turned away from that path a long time ago.
I wanted someone who wanted me for me, not the money I inherited or the books I wrote, just me. Just Marcus. Marcus the perfect omega. Because if I found the one, that was who I was going to be: their perfect omega.
"I hear that. I commute from Edmonton. I need at least the pretense of a backyard. I have a dog, Sally, and walking her in the city just doesn’t cut it for her or me. But anything closer with a yard or courtyard costs a mint."
Killian’s neighborhood was barely considered part of the city. I'd only been there a couple of times when I first came to town. I remembered it being all families, with bicycles leaning against the stoops and old men in beat up lawn chairs gossiping, each house with a tiny little grass yard. It was a nice place to live, but an odd one for a single alpha.
"Tell me about Sally."
I was a cat person more than a dog person, but hearing the lift in his voice when he mentioned her name had me wanting to know all things about her.
"She's a wonderful purebred mutt. Her head only reaches my knee, but she isn't fragile looking like those dogs celebrities carry in their purses. I'll show you a picture on my phone when we get there. Do you have a pet?"
"If you count Blubby, then yes, I do."
"Blubby?"
"A beta fish. Bright blue and, when the light hits him just right, a tad bit gold. It sounds crazy, but he likes me and gets happy to see me when I get home. I wanted a kitten when I moved in, but the building has a no fur or feather policy. I guess huge-ass snakes like my neighbor has are fine, but sweet little fluffy kittens, big problem." At the time, I even tried to pay a double deposit to get a kitten, but the landlord was adamant—no fur. I got Blubby out of an eff you you can't tell me what to do rebellion without any actually rebelling, and the sucker grew on me.
"Blubby sound like a great pet. Do you need any stops along the way? Milk or eggs or anything?"
The wise thing would've been to politely decline and let him drop me off. But out of my mouth came, "I could use some more cream, yeah. Only if you don't mind." I used my best perfect omega voice.
"Trust me, I wouldn't ask if I minded," he said as he turned into a spot next to my neighborhood grocery.
7
Killian
Marcus seemed to be feeling more himself, his hips swaying as he pranced into the grocery store. I grabbed a cart and followed behind him. I was happy to see him pulling himself together, but it was painful watching his shields pull in tight around him. I hadn't known them for what they were previously, but after seeing him lick those sprinkles off his drink with the saddest look I'd ever seen, my suspicions were confirmed that there was another side to Marcus, one he was carefully pulling back under his snarky comments and his bright attitude.
Marcus started through the produce aisle, examining the different fruits and vegetables, which surprised me. I hadn't pictured him as the kind of guy who cared too much about raw ingredients. More a pre-made salad and smoothie guy. He reached out to choose a carrot and then turned to me with a suggestive raise of his eyebrow. "What does this look like?" He expression and tone were challenging me.
It... looked like two dicks. And I said so. Marcus cracked a huge grin. "I know, right? It's totally a diphallic carrot!"
It was my turn to raise my eyebrow.
"Oh, don't tell me you don't know about the dude with two dicks. Please."
"Of course I know about the dude with two dicks. I've just never seen someone compare him to a carrot."
"Carrots are the most phallic vegetable in existence," Marcus claimed, holding the two-dicked carrot up to his mouth as if he was going to swallow it.
"You put that in your mouth, you're buying it," I cautioned.
He didn't put it in his mouth, but he tossed it in the cart. "Two dicks, too much?" He was teasing me, seeing how far he could go. Two dicks were definitely too much. I knew I didn't have any right to lay claim to Marcus, but the idea of him doing anything with more than one dick, or a dick that wasn't mine, made me rumble deep in my chest.
"What about zucchini?" I asked instead, trying to turn his game back on him. "It seems pretty phallic."
"Hmm..." Marcus picked up one of the dark green squashes. "I don't know, maybe a young zucchini, but you get too big, and you just can't get it in." He laid the zucchini down and picked up a cucumber. "I'm probably more of a cucumber man myself." He held the cucumber at the base and slid his free hand up and down it, making me nearly swallow my tongue. Damn it. He knew exactly what he was doing to me. But something crossed his face for a micro second, before he turned his smile up another watt and set the cucumber down.
What had I see in that flash before it had disappeared? Regret? It had been there and so quickly, I couldn't say for sure. I cast my mind about for something to redirect the conversation, but Marcus beat me too it.
"Eww!" he cried, hoisting a bundle of celery. "Can
you imagine a guy with a celery dick?"
A woman with a child in her cart passed behind him at that very second and shot us a dirty look. Marcus must have seen something on my face because he tossed the celery back and scurried to my side.
"It's not fair to tease a guy about his celery dick," I said quietly. "They can't help it."
Marcus snickered, ducking his head as the woman cast another glare back at us. "It's probably better than a beat dick, you wouldn't even be able to jerk that off!"
"I don't know," I said seriously. "We men are pretty ingenious at finding ways of getting off."
The tips of Marcus's ears were turning pink. Was he... embarrassed? Surely not. As good as he was giving? But this is a mask, I reminded myself. Was humor yet one more way Marcus hid himself from the world? Taking another glance at the pink tips of his ears, I was certain it was.
"So what do you need?" I asked, trying to change the subject.
"Well, I need a lot of things..." Marcus said, looking up at me suggestively.
Even though I realized now that it was a mask, that he didn't really mean it, my dick didn't really care. It had been half hard all throughout him caressing the produce suggestively, and now with him at my side, looking up at me with fuck me eyes, my dick was answering with a hell yes.
Instead of listening to my dick, I bumped Marcus with my shoulder. "I meant what do you need in the store?"
"Well, I don't think management would like it, but we certainly could..." he trailed off with a grin at my rolling eyes, and then bounced away to grab a bag of potatoes and a bag of onions. "I usually just circle the outside. Produce and meat. Lots of meat."
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I'd known that spending time with Marcus was going to be trying on my sadly neglected libido, but I hadn't expected it to be this trying, with every other sentence a full on innuendo. Realizing that anything I said would just encourage him to take it farther, I fell silent, letting him talk circles around me while I pushed the cart. Occasionally, he'd dart out and grab something to add to the cart, and then he'd be back. I appreciated that he seemed as comfortable with my silence as with my banter. And I was surprised I enjoyed listening to him talk. It was like watching a bird as he physically flit from one thing to the next and verbally from one topic to another. One minute he was ranting about the unethical conditions of chickens raised in traditional meat farms and the next he was cooing about the cute spring package design on his favorite cream cheese. He had an opinion on everything, and I loved it. He stood at the front of the cart and piled his choices on, but when it came time to pay, I gently elbowed him out of the way and slid my card.