Page 11 of Waiting for Fate
My smile doesn’t fade as I follow behind him. I think I’m going to enjoy having Brady as my mentor. He seems like he knows how to have fun. Work-life balance is important, especially when you’re an omega.
The ride to the second floor is short and quiet, only the soft elevator music fills the air. When we step into the hallway where the studios are, it’s chaos. At least compared to the silence of the third floor. People hustle everywhere down here. Always moving from one project to the next. Bands are always in and out of the studios, as are the producers.
When Brady stops outside of the third door and clicks it open, I have to fight back a teasing grin. Manny, the beta producer I recently discovered has a Mateability account, sits inside. He raises one eyebrow when he sees me, his eyes narrowing at whatever he sees in my expression.
“They good for a break?” Brady asks him, pointing to the sound room.
I follow his finger and take in the five members of Orbital Somatic. Their lead singer is close to my height with curly, bleached-blonde hair on top of his head. He’s busy talking to their keyboardist, while the guitarist and bassist are playing random notes on their instruments in what I assume is an attempt to annoy their bandmates. Their drummer is leaning back at his kit, his tattooed arms crossed behind his hair and his eyes closed.
If I had to describe Orbital Somatic in one word upon seeing them, I think bisexual disaster works best. These men scream bi-awakening, and I understand why the label jumped to lock them into a contract as quickly as they did. If these men can help shape the world’s comfort with sexuality, that would be the biggest win of all.
Manny presses the button to turn on the speaker and calls them back out. Their heads snap to where I stand beside Brady, so I straighten my back and smooth out my expression. Every one of these men, regardless of their designation, is going to understand from day one that I’m not the omega to mess with. I mean business, and starting tomorrow, their brand is in my hands.
Tread carefully, musical hotties. I can wreck you as easily as I can boost you into stardom.
“Boys, I’d like you to meet the new assistant band manager, Miss Powell. She’ll be in charge of your care throughout the tour, and I’ll be helping guide her as needed.” Brady steps to the side to allow me to speak, making sure all of their attention remains on me.
“Hello Orbital Somatic, I look forward to working with you. Please call me Bea.”
The lead singer offers me his tattoo covered hand, the sight sending a misplaced pang through my heart as O’s hand running across my chest flashes through my mind. “Caleb Michaels. Lead singer and leader of this makeshift pack.”
The rest of the band takes turns introducing themselves. They seem chill, if playful and chaotic. I can work with their energy easily. Touring with Primordial Covenant should be a great platform to launch them toward success. If their music is up to par.
“Okay, back in the sound booth. Run me through your set list for the tour.”
They groan but comply, shoving each other as they jostle their way back to their instruments. I pull up a chair next to Manny and ignore the side eye he’s giving me. This is my show now. He can get whatever he needs from them while I listen.
Several songs in, I’m surprised by how much I enjoy their music. They’re a blend of emotional alternative rock and melodic metalcore with hints of musical theater woven in. Omen will love their stuff if she hasn’t already heard of them.
When Manny finally calls their session to an end, Brady returns with an order for me to call it a day. “I emailed you everything you need to know for tomorrow morning, including where to meet us. Go get some rest. We’re going to have a lot of work to do tomorrow.”
He waves me off when I thank him for his help, so I head back upstairs to grab my purse. Manny steps into the elevator beside me, stretching his arms and back after sitting for several hours. “Want to tell me why you looked like you were itching to bust my balls when you walked into my studio?”
My lips twitch as I fight and cannot suppress a laugh. “I found your heat helper profile,” I admit. “I wasn’t aware 5’10 is the same as 6’1.”
He rolls his eyes as we step out of the elevator. “All men exaggerate their height, Bea. It’s what we do.”
“Mhmm, sure. If you say so.”
“Like women don’t do the same. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you prefer to wear heels to tower over the rest of us.”
I shrug as I head back to the office. He isn’t wrong. Heels make my legs look amazing, but they also instill a confidence I haven’t found without them. Plus, they’re badass and act as a weapon in case of an emergency. The four-inch stilettos on my feet right now could certainly take out an eye if I swung them hard enough.
Shiloh steps into the hall as I am walking back to the office. His warm brown eyes find mine, creasing at the edges as he gives me a stern glare. “Sabine, I presume you are leaving for the day?” He tilts his head slightly, making a loose strand of his hair fall down across his temple. It’s adorable, and makes me want to run my fingers through each strand, messing them until he looks as rumpled as I feel standing beside him.
“Yes, Mr. Acherley. I promised I would leave before lunch,” I remind him.
“Do make sure you rest well for tomorrow. I expect you at the bus lot by 9 am.” Yet again, he doesn’t wait for my response as he ducks into another office and closes the door behind him. I’m torn between wanting to poke him for always being cold and abrupt, or begging him to knot me so I can see what it looks like when he falls apart. Both of which are not HR approved thoughts for the workplace.
A nap, a glass of wine, and trash reality TV should help shake off these lingering heat hormones.
CHAPTER SIX
EXCITEMENT BUZZES BENEATHmy skin as we ride to the parking garage the label uses to store the buses and trailers they use for band tours. My mom and Pops are in the front seats, having offered to drive us over so our car isn’t sitting here unattended while we are away.
Omen fidgets across from me in the back, tugging at the sleeves of her jacket as she watches the city flow by. Little does my bestie know, we have a big surprise for her! Well, it’s for me too, but I was told about it ahead of time.
To help ease Omen’s concerns about keeping her identity hidden during the tour, my parents dropped a chunk of their savings to buy us our own bus! It’s an extravagant gift, one my best friend would have tried to fight tooth and nail to avoid if they had told her ahead of time.
