If I’m not up and ready to go to brunch on time with this pack my mother picked out, she’ll lose her shit. The Bancroft pack.
I might have done a bit of internet snooping on them, and they’re exactly what I thought they would be.
Their parents are big, powerful people, a lawyer and a doctor for celebrities. Three sons, Benedict, Clifford, and Elton.
From the photos I’ve seen, they don’t seem like bad-looking men. They just seem too prim and proper for me.
I’m dreading going. I already know I’ll have to force myself back into the box my mother loves to put me in.
She even went out and bought me a dress to wear. It’s brunch. Why the hell would I need a damn cocktail dress?
What happened to a cute summer dress? It’s still nice enough and more my style. She turned me down so fast.
Whatever. I’ll go, please her for now, and keep streaming on the side.
At this rate, I’ll be able to make enough money to move out, start over, and have enough for the first three months of rent, within the next month.
I could make this a full-time career if things keep going well.
The guys are excited for me, telling me how proud they are. I love it. I love their praise, their approval.
Which is not good. So not good. God, I’m such a mess.
After taking a shower, I crawl into bed and try to sleep.
It’s not until four in the morning that I manage to finally drift off. It doesn't last long, though.
By nine, Mom is bursting into my room. “What the hell?” I groan as she throws open the drapes. The morning sun smacks me in the face, blinding me.
“Time to get up, Addison. You have an exciting day ahead! I have makeup artists and hairstylists here to start working on you. We need enough time to bleach and style your hair.”
“Excuse me?” I gape at her in horror. “No fucking way. I agreed to the dress. I get that my style isn’t for everyone, but I'm not changing my hair.”
She purses her lips. “You look like bubble gum threw up all over you.” She looks around and sighs. “And this whole room. I’m going to give my interior decorator a call.”
“You will not.” I glare at her. “This ismyroom. My safe place. My things. I don’t want to change it.”
“It’s time to grow up, Addison. This is a room for a teenager, not a young Omega.”
“Mother,” I grind out. “If you keep pushing me before I’ve even had coffee, I will say fuck it and become homeless. I’ll walk out of here right now and take up camp on the street. I wonder how the press would like that.”
She glares at me. I swear, I think she hates me sometimes. “Fine,” she huffs. “You can keep this.” She waves her hand towards the room. “And your hair.” She rolls her eyes. “But you will let my team style it. And do your makeup.”
“Fine.” I glare right back at her.
“Fine,” she huffs, turning her nose up at me. She spins around and leaves my room.
“Ugh.” I throw myself back onto the pillows. I can’t believe her right now. Did she really think she could just tell me to change my room? My hair? I love my hair.
I throw the blankets off and drag myself into the bathroom to take an extra-long hot shower and procrastinate as long as possible.
I’m able to get a quick bite to eat before a flurry of people whisk me away to the sitting room.
For the next hour, I have people messing with my face and fussing with my hair. I don’t understand what the big deal is. It’s just brunch, not the damn Golden Globes.
When they're done, it’s nearly eleven.
My mother rushes into the room. “You’re not ready yet,” she huffs. “Addison, go get into your dress now. The car is ready to take you. You’re going to be late.”
