Page 80 of The Omega Verse

“No problems,” River says again, “only I’ll be stepping away at seven thirty for some private time with Cass.”

Hoover’s eyes flick my way. “Anything we can help you with?”

River just shakes his head. “Omega business.”

Hoover looks like he’s dying for more details, but he just tugs his tie and moves on. “After the preliminary speeches, the band will play two songs. ‘Afterlove’ and…”

“We’re keeping it a surprise,” Jett replies, but then laughs at the panicked look on Hoover’s face. “Of course it will be ‘Bust Street’, off the last album.”

Hoover breathes a sigh of relief. “Great. That’s perfect. Now, there will be a couple of interviews immediately after your performance, and a meet-and-greet with some of the label’s executives and biggest sponsors. The band will all be required for that, so I suggest the rest of the pack go to your suite after the show.”

“Great,” Jett deadpans, looking sour. “So we can expect to be finished around dawn?”

“This is a big opportunity for the band to clarify its future…”

“Save it, Hoover.” He looks over at the hovering support team. “I take it you lot want to get your hands on us now?”

“Your outfits are all in the bedroom, Mr Colter,” one of the creative artists says. “But we thought we’d bring each one out, get your approval, and then you can change in there.”

Jett just waves a hand and the creative artists hurry off, coming back a moment later with matching black leather pants and gold mesh tanks. River’s mouth drops open while Jett lets out a curse. “In what fucking fantasyland do you think we want to dress like twinsies?”

“We thought it would reinforce your band bond,” Felicia, one of the creative artists, explains. “Uniformity, and commitment to a shared musical future.”

Jett drops his head back and makes a slitting motion across his throat. “Fuck. That’s about as subtle as a sledgehammer.”

“Jett, you know there are a lot of rumours about where The Sundowners are headed,” Hoover says with a twitch at the corner of his eye. “We need to use every tool in our arsenal to ensure we send a clear message that the band is stronger than ever…”

“Jesus, talk about the power of fucking fashion.” Jett waves an irritated hand. “Fine. Then yes to the pants, but River will wear a silk shirt of his choosing. And you can find me a tank that doesn’t look like it’s made out of gold-plated fishing wire.”

I bite my lip, but Felicia comes over and waves a hand, clearly asking me to get up. With an uncertain glance in Jett’s direction, I remove my seatbelt and stand. Felicia is joined by Maxima, the other creative artist, and talk about twinsies. They’re both wearing severe black pantsuits with towering heels and perfectly winged eyeliner, and they stalk around me like angry crows.

“She needs a corset,” Maxima sighs as she presses a skeletally thin hand to my belly. “But I definitely don’t have one in her size.”

“That won’t work,” Felicia huffs, scowling at my waistline. “It’ll push the dresses out of shape. Maybe we can find something on the men’s rack. A tuxedo jacket might do it. If we add enough length to her legs with the right heel.”

I’m not overly body conscious – a few extra curves are just part of my profession – but I feel my cheeks blaze as they pick me apart in front of my pack. My hair is too thick, my collarbones too padded, my shoulders too broad, and my calves too defined. It’s like they were expecting a Sacher Torte, only to lift the lid and find a vanilla cupcake. I’m cute, but there’s only so much you can do with the wrong ingredients.

“Fuck off,” River says in a tone I’ve only heard him use on Celine. “Now. Both of you. And take your fucking corsets with you.”

Hoover blinks behind his glasses. “River, they’re just doing their job…”

“Oh, really?” River snaps back, his eyes like thunderheads. “Show me in their role description where it says they should insult the woman I’m in love with.” River gives the stylists a disgusted look. “And if you think beauty is just a pair of cheekbones and a pantsuit, you need to take creative out of your fucking job titles.”

Grabbing my hand, he pulls me into the bedroom and slams the door. It’s a tight fit with the racks of clothes and accessories, but we fight through the piles of leather and lace to collapse onto the bed. I manage to hold in my giggles until he flops back with his arms flung wide and I’ve crawled up beside him. “Who knew tongue-lashings could be so hot?”

“They’re dickheads,” he growls, but his lips are twitching, too. “And they wouldn’t know good taste if you served it up to them in a bakery box.”

“No bakery box for those bitches,” I huff, nuzzling into his neck. “But for the man I love… he gets all the cream.”

River chuckles, but then cups my face to look into my eyes. “You love me, sweetheart?”

“I’ve already told you it’s impossible not to.” I lean forward and kiss him softly on the lips. “And for me, loving you is easier than breathing.”

There’s a tap at the door, and Kobi appears with a silver dinner tray in his hands. “Not here to interrupt. Just come to bring you some supper.” He manoeuvres his way through the clothing racks and places it on the end of the bed, staring at me with worried whiskey eyes. “You okay, darlin’?”

“I’m good.” I wind my fingers through River’s and rest my head on his shoulder. “River’s been kissing me better.”

Kobi gives him an approving look. “You made us all proud out there. And they got the message that shit was totally out of line.” His worried eyes flicker back to me. “You know it’s all bullshit, don’t you, Cass? You’re perfect exactly as you are.”

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