“Is he gay?” she asks.
“Don’t think so.”
“Blind then?”
I shrug my shoulders, and Torri gives Smith one more glance over before she gives me an awkward hug.
“Well, good luck with the rest of the tour. Let me know when you’re back in LA and want to hang out.”
“Sure will,” I reply, and I can’t help myself from smirking a little. Smith is still getting the silent treatment, but that move might just have gotten him out of the dog house.
There are a few other celebrities here today that I plan on avoiding, including Young Memphis. I quietly groan as he approaches me with a huge glittery smile. I can see Smith stiffen and take notice the closer he gets.
“Foxy, babe, it’s been awhile. When are we going to talk about you doing a few bars for me?” I swear I hear a little groan from behind me.
He’s wearing a tux which is surprising. It goes against everything I’ve ever seen him in. He’s relatively big in the industry, but I’m at a point where I don’t need to be in his songs. I’m doing well enough on my own.
“I’ll be in Chicago in a few days, if you would like to talk then?”
“Sounds great, baby doll. I’ll have my assistant send you the details.” He looks me up and down and swipes his tongue over his teeth. Smiling deviously at Smith, he walks away.
“He gives me the fucking creeps,” Smith says, low enough I’m not sure he is even talking to me.
“You and me both,” I say.
“You’re talking to me now?” he asks. I look up at him—at least with heels on I’m not staring directly at his nipples.
“I guess so,” I reply and take a sip of my champagne.
“I’m sorry for what I said on the plane. It’s not my business. I’ve had some negative experiences with Omegas and suppressants. Just promise me you will be careful, yeah?” He looks handsome tonight, no hat and wearing a suit. Smith can clean up nicely, that’s for sure. He doesn’t smile, but the left side of his lip twitches.
“I promise.” The nosy part of me wants to ask about the experience. Smith doesn’t seem like the pack type and with the ratio of Omegas to Alphas I would be surprised if he dated one himself—but he’s handsome, and his body is something else, so it’s possible.
“How much longer do we need to stay here? It’s like one big fucking circle jerk,” he says, and I laugh. He’s not wrong. It’s all about who you know and I’ve been in the industry enough to know relationships can make or break a career. But it’s exhausting.
“Not much longer,” I say.
We listen to a few more speeches from the major donors and keynote speakers. We’re finally ready to leave. I feel beautiful tonight. I wore a sleeveless, wine colored, floor-length gown that clings to my body like a second skin. My deep red bob-shaped wig adds to the ensemble, and it’s one of the best nights I’ve had in the past few weeks. I wonder if it’s because I feel beautiful, or the fact that Smith and I made up, or that feeling of being able to do something good with the money I make.
I have a beaming smile on my face when I catch Smith looking down at me with an expression of awe across his face.
Before I can think too much about it, a male body comes near mine. Smith is quick to put a hand out on the man’s shoulder so he doesn’t get any closer.
“Back up, pal,” Smith tells the man.
“Sorry, Deja Fox, I was just hoping to get an autograph,” he says, looking up at me. He’s a Beta, probably in his early twenties. Not terrible looking, but not someone I would usually give a second glance too. His attire doesn’t match the event, and I wonder how he got in.
Smith must be considering the same thing as he takes in the man’s appearance. I can tell he wants the guy to fuck off. But the last thing I want is a reputation for turning my fans away.
“Sure,” I say as he hands me a sharpie. I expected a blank page or a picture from one of my tours. What places in my hand is a picture I know all too well. A picture of me makeup-less, wigless, on my knees completely naked. My tongue is hanging out with drool and cum dripping down my chin. My eyes water, and I drop the pen.
Smith grabs the man by the collar of his shirt and pushes him up against the wall. “This some fucking joke to you, prick?”
“Just a big fan of her work. I thought she would think it’s fun-n-ny,” the man stutters.
“You think having pictures taken of her during her heat without her knowledge is fucking funny?” Smith barks and he removes him from the wall to just push him into it harder.
I grab Smith’s bicep. My hand barely covers half of his massive arm. “Smith, it’s okay. Let it go,” I say breathlessly.
