My eyes narrow into the murderous glare that’s gotten me cast as more than one background henchman.
There’s no way Christine has fewer than three dedicated stunt doubles for tricks deemed too risky forAmerica’s favorite movie star.
“You are just a wonder woman!” Tommy enthuses.
Christine gives a sly grin. “No, no, I’mElectra.”
Tommy chuckles, and the audience follows suit. “Yes! Let’s talk about that. You have a movie about to come out, don’t you?”
“Have you seen the teaser?”
“You are absolutelyincrediblein it. Here, you all have to see this.” Tommy gestures urgently at the audience, and a trailer expands to fill the screen.
Dark smoke billows across the screen, and a flash of lightning illuminates Christine from behind. She strides slowly forward, revealing Electra’s signature outfit: molded gold breastplate, matching bracers, gladiator skirt, and knee-high boots in night-blue leather, with a crimson cape flowing from her shoulders.
She reaches out a hand, and lightning flickers in the churning smoke, coalescing into a spear that she hurls toward the screen.
There’s a flash of light, and text lingers:
Electra returns this fall.
The studio feed fades back in with another surge of applause.
“Really fantastic, right?” Tommy says. “You have no idea how excited I am.”
I roll my eyes again but hold back a groan this time, ignoring Christine’s effortless-yet-practiced answer.Christine, Christine, Christine.What about the costume designer? The lighting crew? The concept artists?
“I’ve got another question,” Tommy says. “Just how tall are you?”
“Six-foot-three. Well, six-seven in heels.” She flicks an open-toed silver stiletto and a perfect French-tip pedicure at the camera.
The audience rewards her with laughter and cheers—probably because some blinking sign is telling them to—and Christine joins them, flashing her sharp canines. As she settles, she tucks her hair behind a pointed ear.
Half of why I hate Christine Evansworth is that she’s an alpha. Not only can she go wherever she wants, do whatever she wants, be whatever she wants, people will kiss her feet as she does it.
It makes me furious.
Alphas are the reason nobody will hire omegas for anything in the industry. Legally, officially, omegas can’t be banned. But it’s trivially easy to come up with an excuse to not hire someone, no matter how well they audition.Not the right look. Just not seeing the chemistry. Someone else was a better fit.
The open secret is that omegas are considered too much of a liability. Not for anything omegasdo, no. Of course not. But becausewe can’t have our star getting distracted.Becauseomegas are just fragile, everyone knows that. Becausealphas just can’t control themselves. Becauseit’s a ticking HR time-bomb.
Studios or unions could require that all working alphas be on suppressants. It’s the standard in most industries at this point. But directors worry their beloved stars will lose their ‘edge.’
Alphas in LA are wilder. Sharper. Greedier.
Omegas in LA are nonexistent.
Or so everyone thinks.
Christine laughs at something else, and the sound claws at my brain. My stubbornness finally gives out, and I stand, heading out onto the apartment’s small balcony.
I pull the slider shut, and the quiet night air rises to meet me.
With a tight sigh, I lean against the railing, then slide a vape out of my pocket and take a few deep pulls. Smoke pours from my nose as the nicotine settles my nerves.
The other reason I tolerate Scott: this view.
My eyes glide over the Hollywood Hills, settling for a moment on the iconic sign. It’s brightly illuminated, a beacon in the darkness; the pulsing, irresistible lure that drew us all here like witless moths.
