Donna gasped while Alice slapped her forehead.
"What?" I asked. "Does everybody in the world know this person except me?"
The women pulled out their phones at the same time and began scrolling frantically. Then they turned the screens towards me and showed me feeds of what appeared to be a makeup artist's clients. The photos were taken professionally. Each person looked like a model. And, of course, they were all decked out in intricate makeup.
"What exactly am I looking at here?" I mumbled.
"Fabian," Alice said, stressing his name, "is one of the most famous makeup artists in the world. No, not even that. He's a makeover artist. He doesn't just do makeup. He does everything. Hair, clothes, poise…" She sighed wistfully. "I would literally die to spend five minutes with him."
I snorted. "Come on, Alice, don't die for this guy’s sake. I'd rather have you alive wearing that beige sweater."
She grinned. "Thanks. I appreciate it. So I can count you in, right?"
"No," I said bluntly and began walking away.
"Come on!" Alice cried. "A week off work!"
"Not a week off if I have to spend it with someone I don't want to," I argued as I kept walking.
"The money’s going to charity!" Donna added.
"Tell me the name and I'll donate myself. I don't need raffle tickets."
They followed me until I reached my office door.
"Oh, would you look at that? I have a million notifications of work I need to attend to," I said.
"You can't even see your monitor from here," Alice muttered.
"Bye!"
I closed the door before they could worm their way in, then sighed and slumped into my swivel chair. I spun around a few times for good measure before looking at my computer screen.
I did not, in fact, have a million notifications. I wished I did so I could think about them instead of the conversation with my coworkers. The fact that I’d never dated in my whole life was a sore spot I didn't like to mention, so it stung unexpectedly when Alice squeezed it out of me. I'd spent plenty of time agonizing it in the past. I didn't need to waste any time on it.
Still, that didn't mean I needed the pity of some makeup artist. In my opinion, I looked fine just the way I was. Even if my clothes were falling apart and my posture was bad and I could barely see out of my long, limp, unkempt hair.
Even if I was ugly.
To me, ugliness was a choice. It meant I didn't have to waste my time and money on frivolous, shallow tasks like haircuts, fashion or the plethora of expensive skin care products Alice was always raving about.
And if I was ugly, it meant I knew exactly the reason why any alpha didn't want to date me.
If only Alice and Donna knew I'd long given up finding a mate. Maybe that was why they wanted me to get a makeover so desperately. All omegas my age were on the lookout forthe one. Their perfect alpha partner.
But not me. If I had a dime for every lingering glance an alpha shot at me, I'd have zero dimes.
I couldn't admit that to them, though. They'd think I was even more of a freak than they already did. What kind of omega in the prime of his life didn't want an alpha's attention? It wasn't like I was asexual or anything. I wouldn't say no if an alpha put the moves on me. But that was never, ever going to happen. Not with my appearance. And that was all anybody cared about.
"Don't need 'em, anyway," I mumbled out loud to myself, as if it made my feelings more real. "Have a perfectly good dildo at home..."
Yup. I was happy with my life just the way it was. I didn't need anyone—not Alice, or Donna, or thisFabian—interfering.
2
Fabian
I tooka step back from my canvas and observed the work I’d just done. I narrowed my eyes with a scrutinizing gaze. No, not yet... It was close, but not quite finished. It was not yet perfect and I didn't deal with anything less than perfection.
