I need to schedule a doctor’s appointment. I groan thinking about it. It’s easier to just ignore the problem instead of facing it.
Sitting on the jet, Smith is glancing out the window while I grab my iPad and headphones. My phone blares, and I grimace. I completely forgot to take my suppressants today. Shuffling through my bag, I grab the pill bottle and my water bottle. Opening the case, I take two tablets and chase them down with the water.
Smith stares at me and shakes his head. “You’re on suppressants?”
“Yes,” I reply, putting the pills back in my purse.
“What’s the dosage?”
“That’s really none of your business.”
“My job is to keep you safe, so I’d say it is my business. What’s the dosage?”
“It’s my body, and I’m pretty sure I’ve kept myself alive long enough in the last twenty-six years to know what my body can handle. I don’t need some judgmental Alpha telling me that suppressants are wrong or harmful. I have to be around people constantly, and if you must know, it’s the lowest dosage possible to help me live a normal life, and I wean myself off when my heats are coming,” I say angrily and nearly toss my bag on the floor.
“I don’t think suppressants are wrong, but they can be dangerous when not taken properly. I’m not sure why you’re being so dramatic.”
“Dramatic?” I sigh and count to three and calm myself. “Like I said, I don’t need a man or an Alpha telling me how to take care of myself. So you can take your opinions of Omegas and suppressants and shove them up your ass.” I’m not sure why I’m so angry with Smith. It’s not really just about this conversation. It’s about everything, how stressed I am to finish this tour, that he called me annoying, or thinks I can’t take care of myself. Beyond everything, it’s how overwhelmed I am with my next heat coming up in a little over a month and I have no clue what I’m going to do.
He looks at me wide-eyed as I walk to the back of the jet and plop myself down so he can’t look at me anymore. The longer I sit here, the more I realize my tantrum was a little misdirected. The guilt creeps in, but I shove it deep down. I will not apologize, he made me feel bad at first. I just hate the feeling of having people upset with me, even if they hurt me first.
These silent car rides and plane rides are getting old. Franklin gets our rental car and picks us up at the gate. Smith collects my bags and puts them in the trunk. We both slide into the back of the SUV. He really should sit upfront. There’s hardly enough room for him in the back seat. He and his yummy scent can go fuck themselves.
He doesn’t apologize and neither do I. I wonder how long this stalemate is going to last.
Three days, three days of no talking, that’s what I get out of Smith. I already had my show, and it went off without a hitch, but he only addresses me when necessary. There hasn’t been a single personal conversation or a moment of gentleness. Everything is strictly business with Smith.
We’re at a charity function to raise money for the local children’s hospital. Events like these are both good and bad. I sometimes find myself wondering why we need to hold an event to donate money, wouldn’t the money spent for the party be better off donated? It’s all a part of the expectation though, and I come prepared with my checkbook and a beaming smile.
Torri Fleming is here. She’s a sitcom actress, and we’re friendly and have hung out a few times. She’s not someone I would call for advice or tell my secrets to, but we’re friends, at least as much of a friend you can have in this industry.
She’s wearing a long black glittery dress and her brown hair is up in a high pony.
“Deja, how have you been?” She doesn’t even call me Cami, though I gave her permission to.
“I’m great, how about you? You look amazing,” I say.
“Filming has been draining. I’m ready for a vacation.” She grabs a champagne glass off a tray and takes a sip. Her gaze takes in Smith and she looks up and down. “Who’s that?”
“New bodyguard.”
She clicks her tongue. “Single?”
“Definitely single,” I reply a little more sharply than I intend. Not really caring if Smith heard me or not.
“Mind if I take a go?” she asks, wiggling her eyebrows. Fuck, it’s going to be like Kenny all over again.
“Go for it,” I say and sigh, taking another sip of my drink.
Torri approaches Smith; he doesn’t make eye contact as he scans the room.
“Hi, I’m Torri Fleming,” she says as she holds out her hand. He looks at it but doesn’t shake it.
“Nice to meet you, ma’am, but I’m on duty,” he says curtly.
“Oh, well. When are you off duty?”
“Not anytime soon,” he replies. He gives her a glance and then looks away. A deep inner bitchy part of me enjoys the rejection. Torri rolls her eyes and walks back to me.
