The Arrangement (Omegas of Hunter's Point Book 1)

Chapter 3

Damian sat in his vehicle a block from the restaurant. There was time to call this off. He could pretend he was sick. Or dead.

No. No, he couldn't. His mother would see through that in an instant and just reschedule. He'd be right back here some other night.

Damian paused, taking a moment to steel himself, to prepare for the scrutinizing eyes of his peers. They'd be looking for any cracks in his façade, anything that could be held up and used against him or his family at some future date. What he wouldn't give to be at home on the couch watching a movie, instead, but nope. Here he was, as his mother had bidden: meticulously dressed in a way that implied wealth but didn't shout it from the rooftops. You can do this, Ambrose. Make polite conversation. Show interest, but not too much. Be flattering, but not too flattering. The minute dessert is served, escape.

Might as well tear off the bandage and get it over with.

The valet attendant met him at the curb as he pulled up in front of Sauvage. He hated these kinds of places: pretentious networking spots for the well-heeled usually owned by a trendy celebrity chef with a fake name and an overly showy sense of style.

Mr. and Mrs. Fang, his mother, and a dark-haired woman who must be Hillary were already seated at the most conspicuous table in the main dining room. A quick glance at his watch showed 7:05pm. He was late and likely about to get an earful for it. No doubt his mother had planned to have him escort Hillary to their table, the presence of her on his arm all that would be needed to get the rumor mill running. There were probably several photographers hidden among the patrons, no doubt tipped off by his mother. Which meant he'd need to take additional care not to position himself in a way that could even be interpreted innocently as an interest in the Fang girl, unless he wanted to spend the next six months both quashing rumors about their supposed relationship and fending off his mother's insistence that he pursue Hillary since the world at large already thought them to be together.

Damian affected a nonchalant gate as he made his way to the table, giving his mother's body guard a nod. "Sorry I'm a little late." Playing the dutiful alpha son, he went to his mother first and planted a kiss on her cheek.

"I was getting worried," she responded, sweetly.

Worried he wasn't coming. Damian gave the Fangs a disarming smile.

"Damian, it's so good to see you," Mr. Fang said, standing to greet him. "You remember Hillary, don't you?"

Hillary - beautiful, delicate, and willowy - rose from her seat and offered Damian her hand. Her scent overwhelmed the more subtle scents of the two older, claimed omegas at the table. It touched the back of his throat just where he could taste it - caramelized sugar.

His alpha rumbled in approval.

"I do," Damian confirmed with a polite bow to Hillary. "My kid sister used to babysit you."

Mr. Fang's face fell at that.

Damian moved to take his seat...his seat beside Hillary's. Trying not to draw too much attention, Damian casually shifted his chair to the foot of the table opposite his mother, who was glaring at him. He met her gaze. What? You thought I'd make this easy?

"Hillary has come a long way since then," Mrs. Fang said, proudly. "She recently won a regional commendation for classical dance."

Damian sipped from his water glass. "Oh, you do classical dance?" Like literally every other Omega Princess on earth?

Hillary gave him a cultivated smile, perfect teeth-to-lips ratio, and nodded. He waited for her to elaborate, but she only returned his stare. Just in time to save him from further awkwardness, the waiter arrived to take their orders. He had an excuse to hide behind his menu for a moment.