“You were about to throw yourself under the bus,” Beau argues. “That’s not handling it, that’s martyrdom.”
His deep baritone cascades over me, making my skin tingle even now.
“It’s my career. My choice. My life.” I’m trembling now, the adrenaline from the meeting finally catching up to me. “You had no right.”
“You’re right,” Charlie says, and the agreement catches me off guard. “We should have asked. We should have talked to you first. But there wasn’t time, and we—” He breaks off, running a hand through his russet-colored hair. “We panicked, okay? Wesaw you about to sacrifice everything, and we couldn’t let that happen.”
“Believe it or not, we were planning to ask you to consider courting our pack before all of this happened,” Beau says, like it’s the most logical thing in the world—which it definitely is not.
“Why?” The question bursts out before I can stop it. “Why do you even care? You don’t know me. Not really. A few conversations, one kiss, and suddenly you’re willing to lie to the APBRA for me? It doesn’t make sense.”
The three of them exchange a look, some wordless communication passing between them that I can’t decipher.
“We care because—” Jake starts, but I cut him off.
“Just stop.” My voice cracks. I try to hide the wince when a look of hurt crosses his beautiful face, a face I used to love more than anything. “Don’t feed me some line about pack bonds or Omega protection or whatever you think I want to hear. I’m not stupid. I know what this is.”
“What do you think this is?” Beau asks carefully.
“Pity.” The word tastes like ash. “Or guilt. Or some old-school sense of honor or something, because you don’t want to see someone lose their livelihood over a video you’re in. I get it. But don’t pretend this is something it’s not.”
Charlie’s jaw clenches. “You think we offered out of pity?”
“What else could it be?” I throw my hands up. “Charlie, you’re my brother’s best friend, and you already turned me down once. Jake, our history is complicated at best, and fucking tragic at worst. And Beau?” I turn to him, and my chest aches at the hurt in his eyes. “You’re Beau McCrae. You could have any Omega you want. Why would you want someone like me? I met you less than a week ago.”
My Omega instinct objects to all of this, my scent souring in my panic that they might change their minds. My head is fucking mess.
“Someone like you?” Beau’s voice is quiet, with a look of confusion and concern.
“Useless,” I whisper. “Someone who can’t even keep her own life together, let alone fit into a pack.”
The silence that follows is deafening.
Then Beau steps forward, and this time, when I try to back away, I hit the side of my car. He stops just short of crowding me, his presence overwhelming but not threatening. His scent—the one I find impossible to resist—wraps around me, making my heart race.
“Willa,” he says, his voice, low and intense, makes little butterflies squirm inside me. “This situation is fucked, I’ll give you that. But I’m not going to lie and say I regret yesterday, or that I’d do it differently.” He raises his hand to slowly cup the side of my face, and my pulse thunders. “You are not broken. You are not baggage. And you sure as hell aren’t a pity project.”
“Then what am I?” The question comes out smaller than I intended.
“Ours,” Jake says from behind Charlie. And I have to strain to hear the rest. “If you’ll let us prove it.”
My Omega perks up at the word, and I desperately want it to be true. The place in my heart that swells with longing for a pack and for these Alphas is pure and intense. Could these three men actually want me, for a reason other than an obligation?
“This can’t be for real,” I say firmly, pulling on every ounce of strength. “Whatever they say or how much pressure they put on me or you three, I won’t trap you in something you don’t actually want just because you feel obligated to save me or yourselves.”
“Willa—” Charlie starts before I cut him off.
“No.” I hold up a hand. “If we’re going to do this, if I’m going to agree to this fake courtship, then we need rules. Boundaries. An exit strategy.”
Charlie’s expression shifts, resignation replacing the intensity. “Okay. How do you want this to work?”
“Two months,” I say, the number feeling both too long and not long enough. “We keep up the charade for two months, then we mutually agree we’re not compatible. Clean break. No one’s the wiser.”
“Two months,” Beau repeats slowly.
“And we need to be clear about what this is and isn’t.” I’m on a roll now, my brain shifting into problem-solving mode because that’s safer than feeling. “Maybe some public appearances. Enough to make it believable. But no…” I trail off, my face heating.
“No, what?” Jake prompts gently.
