Page 62 of Captive Omega

“That sounds fine. Thanks.”

And I’ll match with Blaine who is in black, a turtleneck of course, and has chosen the one chair in the room that means I can’t see his right side.

“The price isn’t important,” Vaughn says. “If it’s?—”

“It’s not the price,” I lie. “This is just a work event, right? And there’s no point in spending thousands of dollars on something I would wear once and leave when I go home.”

For one long moment, no one responds. Maybe I put a little too much emphasis on home than I needed to, but it’s important they know this stay is short, and expensive purchases would only be a waste of their money.

Garrison nods. “We can have Roman stay with you, so you won’t?—”

“I’ll stay with her,” Blaine says quietly. “Roman or Frost can watch the front. That way you’re not a man down inside.”

Silence.

The tension in the room is so palpable it skitters across my skin like a tiny static shock.

No one looks at Blaine, but I think something new just happened. Something unexpected.

Garrison pushes himself to his feet and his towering presence takes over the space, making it hard to breathe.

He halts halfway and then returns to his seated position. All without looking at me. “We can talk through those changes while Resa gets ready. Lex!”

Lex pops his head in the door. He has a strawberry pop tart hanging out of his mouth. He pulls it out long enough to say, “Boss Man?”

“Resa needs clothes. Jeans, T-shirt, maybe a sweater in case it gets cold. And sneakers. The cushioned sole type. All black.”

Lex’s cell phone leaps into his hand and he’s tapping furiously as he backs out of the room.

At no point does anyone ask what my size is.

To no surprise ever, everything fits, and my sneakers, with the cushioned sole, is like walking on a cloud.

After I’ve dressed, I walk down the stairs and I can’t find anyone.

I hear drumming. It’s faint but easy enough to track.

I follow the sound down the hallway, pushing open one half of a set of double doors and find Vaughn sitting at a drum kit, dressed all in black. Suit. Tie. Everything. He’s tied his blond hair back from his face, and he’s laser-focused on the wooden sticks he uses to drum.

He’s good. Like really, really good.

Also, he looks good in all black.

They must have gutted this mansion. It’s half gym with mats, treadmills, rowing machine, and a punching bag. Vaughn is sitting in what looks like a recording studio. The drum kit dominates the space, but on the back wall is a large computer with a leather gaming chair, expensive looking studio equipment, and a keyboard.

I’d have thought this mansion was big enough to have a room for each, but maybe they just like to hang out together.

I watch him drumming for long enough to be impressed. Then I turn to leave.

“Come back!” he calls out. “You want a turn?”

I eye the drum kit, tempted. “No, thanks.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing.” He flicks the sticks up in the air, catches both and offers them to me.

I shake my head. “You did that to show off, didn’t you?” I ask, remembering what Frost said at breakfast.

“Maybe. Were you impressed?” He looks hopeful.

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