That must be why I didn’t shy away from him.
I help myself to a glass of some kind of sparkling beverage, hoping there’s booze in the glass, but am disappointed to discover it's some kind of mocktail. Zero alcohol present. And no bubbles.
Fuck.
I scan the area, catch a few of the crew members glowering at me. Lulu flaps her hand toward the alphas and raises her eyebrows, the command clear. But I can’t bring myself to close the distance.
So I pick up one of the little canapes on the buffet table that has been largely untouched since we entered this room and nibble on the corner.
Oh, shit that’s good.
I stuff the whole bite into my mouth and grab another. Scanning the area again. My gaze snags on a shape standing near the pack, but out of the sight of the cameras. Tall, broad, dressed in a navy suit, white shirt, and a light green tie. He’s got his eyes latched onto the group across the room from me with wary intent.
Curious, I inch closer and see that he’s not watching the omegas, he’s watching the pack. The longing possessiveness in his expression has me snapping my attention over to the alphas. Only to find Prince Forsythe, the Duke of Fairhaven, staring back with the exact same look.
I pop the second canape in my mouth, chewing industriously as I look between the two males, trying to figure out who the one on the sidelines is to the pack. Obviously there’s some kind of connection there.
Forsythe looks away first and the other male wilts. Sagging against the wall, even as his gaze remains every watchful.
Oh.
Oh!
Of course.
This is Piers Harland. The beta the news articles mentioned as the pack’s personal assistant. I’ve only seen half his face, blurred, so I didn’t recognize him at first.
I’m moving before I’ve really processed it, not even knowing why I’m doing it, beyond that he looks so dejected I want to try to make him feel better.
Even though it's really not my place.
“Hey there,” I say when I reach his side, aware of the microphone clipped to my dress, and probably a camera or two following me.
He straightens from his slumped position, runs a hand down the front of his grey suit jacket. “How can I help you?” His voice is low and professional, detached.
I give him a smile, and peer up at him. “I’m Florence.” My nose wrinkles. “Nearly everyone calls me Ren, though. You should too.” I hold out my hand and wait for him to take it. Which he does, slowly, cautiously. “What’s your name?”
“Piers.” He winces after he says it like he hadn’t intended it to tell me.
“Piers.” I repeat his name, loving the way it feels in my mouth. I don’t know why it feels so good, only that it does. “Lovely to meet you. As to what you can do for me, nothing more than a little conversation. It's… difficult, being around so many omegas at once. Even if we can’t smell each other.” That sounds believable, right? I can’t exactly admit that I’m terrified of unknown alphas.
“Isn’t that what the omega academy is? A way for you all to learn to not tear each other’s hair out while around alphas.”
I chuckle, enjoying his blunt delivery. “In a way. It's more about keeping us away from alphas when we have no control over our scent. The competition for alphas between omegas has been greatly overstated.” He gives me a pointed look. “Right, well, current circumstances notwithstanding, of course.”
I shift a little closer to him, catch a scent that is light and unobtrusive. Fresh cut grass, spring rain. He’s a beta, even if he looks more like an alpha. All tall and broad-shouldered. But even still, he’s slimmer than every other member of the Ashbourne pack. His light brown hair is loose and wavy and I want to touch it, run my fingers through it, just like I want to scrape my fingers over the beginnings of his stubble on his cheeks.
I note the way his hazel eyes move from me to the pack and then back again. Glance over my shoulder to catch Courtland watching us with a curious expression on his face. He leans over to say something to Grieves, who murmurs into Thayer’s ear, and then suddenly all four of the pack members are looking in our direction.
I shiver. And not necessarily because of fear. No. It's something else entirely that has my lungs catching, my face flushing, and my pulse thundering. As one, they slide their gazes from me to the beta next to me. The look on all of their expressions is so damn familiar. I suspected from just their photos online that Piers was more than their personal assistant. But now I’m sure of it.
“You’re a member of their pack, right?”
He shoots me a bland look. “What makes you say that?”
I shrug and lean on the wall next to him. Probably not the best thing to do in a room full of straight backed glamorous omegas. But my feet—and my knee—are killing me in these stupid heels the wardrobe department decided would complete my outfit, rather than the ballet flats I’d been planning to wear. “I can tell by the way you look at them.”
His jaw ticks as he scans the room again. “I’m their personal assistant, it's my job to watch them.”
