Page 80 of Follow the Rhythm
The cherry on top of the shit sundae that my life had become was that my heat was approaching, like a dark cloud on the horizon. And the thought of going through it with a strange Alpha was now intolerable.
Surprisingly, the one bright spot was work.
Ursula called the week after that horrible meeting with the head of the label, offering me another contract, this time helping with the tour design for an all-girl pop group called Jinx.
“I mean, of course I want to do another contract. But you want to work with me again? After all that?” I asked incredulously.
“Of course. You’re smart and talented and forty years younger than me, so you’ll be climbing the scaffolding next time,” she said with a smoky laugh. “See you tomorrow, Tiny.”
Which is why my defenses were weakened when Austin called, asking if I had plans.
“No, just hanging out,” I said distractedly. I was looking at Jinx’s album art, their previous festival shows, and the social media profiles of their members to get a feel for their vibe. It was very pink and sparkly and early-2000s - so opposite to what I usually gravitated towards. I could already tell it would be a fun challenge to work on. I was playing their debut album inthe background and bobbing my head along to the bright, fizzy beats.
“Oh, good. Put on something fancy; you’re my plus one,” Austin said.
“What, are we going to a wedding?” I asked, still a little distracted.
“No, we’re going to a restaurant opening. Remember Maggie?”
The conversation finally had my full attention. “The one who accused me of leaking her personal information to some creepy Alphas? Yeah, sure do.”
“Great, thought you might. Her pack is opening up a restaurant, and I said I’d go, but you know I don’t do well around all these rich people. I need another plebeian for moral support, and to deflect the judgment of my table manners.”
Before I indulged my gut reaction to tell Austin they could fuck all the way off, I remembered my vow to be a better friend to them. “Fine. How fancy is this going to be?”
“Maggie sent me the press release. The restaurant ‘offers a tasting menu that honors the culinary traditions of French cuisine, while reimagining classics through the lens of modern, communal dining.’ So, I don’t know, pretty fancy?”
“Oh no, that’s insufferable,” I groaned.
“I’ll send you the address!” Austin yelled jovially before hanging up.
The restaurant was calledEn Famille. It was in a trendy part of the city, way downtown, but easy to get to by train, so I doused myself in descenter and made the trek. Austin looked dapper in a sharply tailored white shirt and navy slacks. I wore the fanciest, most conservative dress I had: the pencil dress I’d worn to Aunt Natalie’s funeral. It fit my black mood perfectly.
The outside of the restaurant was painted royal blue, and ivy was climbing artfully up the column detailing on the facade. The evening sun glinted off the large windows. It was smaller than I’d expected, and ten times more charming.
Inside, someone had created a French cafe so picturesque, I wasn’t even sure if you’d find its equal in Paris. The dining room was open and airy thanks to all the windows and delicate white paneling. Warm pendant lights hung from the ceiling, and sconces with orange, shell-shaped shades dotted the walls. The dominant feature, though, was the one huge wooden table that stretched the length of the room. It had to have been custom made.
“Welcome toEn Famille,” a young woman said cheerfully from the hostess stand. “You must be Austin. Maggie is expecting you at the bar. Dinner will begin in a few minutes, but feel free to get a cocktail.”
She ticked off something on a clipboard and gestured to the far end of the room where an arched wall led to a smaller, darker room. Presumably, the bar.
“Wow. This is nice,” Austin murmured as we made our way to the back.
I grunted. I wasn’t quite ready to admit it wasn’t the pretentious hellscape I’d expected.
I also didn’t want to see Maggie again. We hadn’t gotten along during her time at the Omega Center, brief as it was, and it culminated in her thinking I’d hated her enough to endanger her life.
Which didn’t reflect well on either of us. But in my defense, Maggie’s positivity and general “go-getter” vibe were super annoying.
The bar area was milling with about twenty people, who were all very attractive and almost certainly very rich. I recognized Maggie straight away from her wild curly hair. She was leaningon the bar, smiling mischievously and giggling with a brown-haired man, while a more severe-looking Alpha with a wicked scar stood behind her, his hand resting possessively on her lower back.
“Hey, Mags,” Austin called, drawing her attention. I suppressed the urge to run away.
“Ah, you came!” Maggie said, darting over for a hug. She was tall for an Omega and made me feel positively minuscule in comparison. Her scent was sweet like a ripe peach, but it was less potent than I remembered, tempered by the bond marks with her pack.
After they hugged, Maggie turned to me, her face expectant and friendly, but it fell as soon as she recognized me. She rallied quickly, though. “Oh. Hey, Jess. So happy you could come.”
I forced a smile. “Austin invited me.” Why couldn’t I stop sounding so defensive all the time? Maybe Dr. Williamsdidhave a point.
