"--need to draft the announcement–"
"--contract details–"
If they said anything else, I didn’t hear it. I must have blacked out, because the next thing that registered was the sound of a door opening and bright, clean sheets under my cheek. New room. No scent. Strangely bland, like a hotel.
"Where?" My voice was a mess. I could barely manage the word. My mouth felt full of gravel.
"Guest room at our place," Reid said, setting me down like I was made of glass. I could hear him, but it was like listening through a wall. “Scent-neutral. We had it prepared."
Of course they did. Every box checked, all according to plan. Never mind what was actually happening to me. Omega charity case, now available in a sterile guest suite.
"Need to talk," I said, forcing myself upright even though my body protested every inch. "Terms."
Reid’s eyebrows climbed. "Right now? You can barely sit up. You’re in withdrawal, Kara," he pointed out, not even bothering to keep the exasperation out of his voice, "possibly heading for a medical crisis, and you want to negotiate?"
I gripped the blanket, freezing him in place with my best death glare. Not that it was particularly intimidating with my teeth practically chattering out of my skull and me clutchingthe blanket so hard my nails nearly tore through it. "Now," I repeated.
For half a second, I thought he’d argue. He didn't. Instead, a reluctant smile cocked the corner of his mouth. "Stubborn as ever," he said. "Alright."
He waved Malik and Jace away, the former was dispatched for water and meds, the latter to call the doctor. In seconds it was just us, the weird intimacy of business negotiations while I shook apart on a designer duvet.
"Your conditions," Reid said, voice clipped. "Separate rooms, no scenting, business arrangement. What else?"
I tried to focus. The fever made it feel like my brain was full of cotton. "Six months. Not a day longer."
"Done."
"I keep creative control. No micromanaging. I stream how I want, when I want. You don't get to dictate my brand."
He didn't even blink. "Within reason. The point is that we're creating content, not changing who you are. The audience gets you, the real you, or nothing."
"I'm not a prop," I snapped. "You want a doormat, find another Omega."
It was supposed to be an insult, but Reid just shrugged. "We want you for you. That's the angle. Your brand is built on being impossible."
I eyed him, suspicious. "So what do you want from this, exactly? What's the catch?"
He ticked it off like a shopping list: "Joint streams. Some pack dynamic content. Behind-the-scenes stuff. The enemies-to-packmates story arc. That's it."
"And the Omega angle?" The phrase tasted like poison and I couldn’t keep the disgust out of my voice.
Reid’s face tightened. "We don’t exploit that. We say what happened, a medical situation, then move on. No heat content. No designation bait. Nothing like that."
Before I could decide how I felt about his answer, Malik returned. He handed me water and pills with clinical efficiency, then hung back by the door.
"The doctor will be here in an hour," he said to Reid. "She wants her hydrated, watching for increased heart rate or confusion. Standard protocol."
I downed the pills gratefully, the water almost sweet against my throat. Reality was still fuzzy, but I was tracking better now. The fog may not have cleared immediately, but I was starting to feel a little less like I’d die in the next five minutes. “I need my phone. My laptop. I have to call my manager."
"Already handled," Reid said. "Victoria Smith is in talks with our manager now."
That, more than anything, made my blood run cold. Suddenly it was hard to look at him. "Victoria knows I’m here?"
He considered for half a second. "Is that a problem?"
I looked away, jaw tight. "She's the one who got me the suppressants. The illegal ones."
Reid and Malik traded a look, the kind that said they’d already guessed it.