They were scent matches. Specifically, my scent matches.
Ever since I’d kissed Maverick in the kitchen my inner omega hardly shut up about it, riding in the back of my mind like an unwelcome passenger at all times and making it hard for me to focus.
Even now it was picking up the scent of fruity, bubbly champagne—Zeke’s unique scent—and urging me to stand up from my seat and press my nose to the column of his throat to get a better whiff despite the fact that we were in a room full of people.
“If you answer that you’re fired,” I told both betas who looked like they were two seconds away from exposing one of my worst kept secrets.
Being the perfectionist that I was, I’d always tried to be as good as possible at anything I tried and had pretty good luck so far… with everythingexceptfor music.
I liked music. Listening to it, dancing to it, watching Carter play it, but unfortunately when it came to actually making it? I was like a bull trying to dance ballet. It just didn’t work.
Our parents used to joke that Carter took all of the musical genetics with him when he was born, leaving nothing in our mother’s womb for me, and I believed it.
“Don’t feel bad,” Zeke teased, his dark eyes dancing as the two stylists laughed. “I have things I’m not good at too.”
“Like music?” I asked hopefully.
Zeke scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “Ah, no, my mom made sure I played a bunch of instruments. So I play violin, cello, flute, and clarinet.”
“So you’re basically Mr. Perfect,” I scoffed, rolling my eyes.
“Says Miss Perfect,” Zeke shot back with a grin.
My face flushed at that, my brain immediately pairing the titles together and drawing a heart around them like I was a thirteen year old girl. “Then tell me something you aren’t good at then, Agent Adams.”
Zeke thought about it for a moment, tapping his chin dramatically before coming to what looked like ana-hamoment. “I am terrible at parallel parking. Never got the hang of it.”
His words immediately made me deflate.
Zeke frowned, immediately noticing the dip in my mood. “What? Did I say something wrong?”
“No, it’s just… I don’t even have a driver’s license.”
Zeke’s mouth opened, probably to comfort me about my inability to do something that millions of other people my age did as a rite of passage, but Maverick’s voice called his name from across the room.
“I’ll be right back,” he promised and then he was gone.
“He’s scary,” Lisa said with a dreamy sigh. “But he’s alsosoyummy.”
“Lisa, hush,” Landon said to his packmate, clearly seeing that I wasn’t in the mood for their chatter anymore. “Go ahead and close your eyes, sweetheart, so we can get you all pretty for tonight.
Chapter Seventeen
“And I told him that he better pay me if he wants to see my knickers,” an older man roared with laughter as the crowd around him followed suit like he’d told the funniest joke they’d ever heard.
We were two hours into the delegate’s dinner and the heels that Lisa and Landon had put me in were starting to make my calves ache as I pretended to listen.
Dinner had been easy enough. Polite conversation filled with nothing but talk about current events, the American election,and how superior those from the United Kingdom felt about their own elections—so basically the usual.
One of the first things I’d learned from a young age was the ‘grin and bear it’ method of dealing with people whose company I didn’t particularly enjoy.
I could smile and nod as long as I needed to, especially if I had other things to occupy my mind and no one was actually talking to me, which no one had during the dinner. No, they much preferred talking over me as they stuffed their faces with the nice dinner the White House chefs had put together.
The after dinner conversations were a bit harder for me to avoid. The entire group had spilled out into the Kennedy garden—not according to my plan—after complaining that the East room was too hot and had started to drink more profusely—also not a part of my plan.
Both, I was pretty sure were by the design of the guests at the dinner so that it would be harder for me and my staff to keep an eye on them in case they decided to get black out drunk… which looked increasingly more likely by the minute.
As the man, some duke or another, continued to tell his raunchy jokes with a cherry-red face, I leaned back to where Brooks and Dallas were standing directly behind me and spoke quietly. “Can you have them make sure all alcohol is watered down? Remind the staff that we’re having dinner and entertainment, not throwing a rager.”
