Page 38 of Stolen Omega

She deserves a chance to live the life she wants, just as much as I do.

Thinking about her fiery spirit helps bring a real smile out on my lips. As soon as my makeup is done, I feel ready for the fast procession of interviews and photoshoots.

The day goes by in a blur. All the questions are the same. I try to keep my answers interesting, flipping around some word choices and making little jokes. No one gets too personal, and I’m grateful that they don’t. I’m not sure how convincing I could be at giving my usual answer if an interviewer pulled out the boyfriend question right now.

Telling someone I don’t have time for guys is easy when it’s basically true.

I’m pretty sure saying that same thing would feel very different now.

Russ is more than a boyfriend. He’s one step away from a fiancé.

One little mark and our bond is forever.

That’s already what we both want.

I can’t help smiling as I follow Saturday guy into the staff elevator.

“Do you have to do all that shit every week?” he asks, as he gets the doors to close.

“Most weeks. Sometimes, I film a music video.”

“Christ,” he mutters. “That was full on.”

I can’t help laughing. “You want to see full on? Try doing all that shit while my mother’s around bossing everyone about and making it take twice as long.”

“No thanks,” he says, giving me a bemused smile.

Huh. I think I might have made a friend today.

We stick with the staff elevator to get to the floor below my suite, and then we catch the main elevator to my floor. Late afternoon on a Saturday, the reception area of the hotel is probably pretty busy, but we managed to avoid running into other people, thanks to our pre-planned route that avoids the busier parts of the hotel.

It’s not until the doors open on the hallway that leads to my suite that we get a surprise.

The sound of a ringing phone isn’t an overly familiar experience.

I automatically assume the sound is coming from Saturday guy’s pocket.

He’s stopped walking to look at me expectantly when I glance at him.

“What?” I ask. “It’s not me.”

“It’s coming from your purse.”

It is? Oh, wait. It is.

Oops.

“Probably a nuisance call,” I tell him, as I remove the phone from my lightly vibrating purse.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Looks like it.”

I follow his gaze to the screen.

Unfortunately for me, it’s not a nuisance call.

At least, not in the typical sense.

It’s way worse than one of those.

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