Lola & the Millionaires: Part One (Sweet Omegaverse #2)(20)
Quit overthinking it, idiot. Be professional.
Wendy Thurman was every bit as polished and perfect as anyone might imagine a fashion and beauty editor to be. She was tall, statuesque, with deep honey-colored skin and pin straight salt and pepper hair down to her waist. She was wearing high waisted pants, her hands plunged into the deep pockets, and a romantically tailored rose-colored blouse. If she wore makeup, it was imperceptible, but she was flawless so I suspected she just had an extremely precise routine. No one had perfect pores without a little extra help.
She wasted no time, and I’d barely made it into the room before she addressed us. “This is good,” she said, pointing to a projection on the barren white wall of her palatial office.
It was a polished version of our product feature layout. And my ink drawings were still there.
“If this doesn’t get drowsy over the next few issues, and you keep focusing on product versatility, it’ll be your new format,” Wendy continued. Her tone was abrupt and her voice a bit naturally raspy. She pressed a button on her remote and a new projection was up—the images from the photoshoot on Friday. “This, however, was deeply uninspired. Try a little harder, Cy.”
“Got it,” Cyrus said with a simple nod.
It wasn’t until I saw Corey’s shoulders drawing in, that I realized my own were raised high. Wendy Thurman was a beta, and she was talking down to Cyrus like he was…
Like he wasn’t an alpha.
It made me edgy, but I was surprised to find that Cyrus seemed calm. His bubbly scent was muted, but it wasn’t souring either.
“And this,” Wendy said, pointing to the photo of Rakim. “Which of you lent your helping hand on this one?”
Now Cyrus stiffened, but I didn’t see his hand spreading behind his back in warning to me before it was too late, and my own hand lifted in the air.
“New girl,” Wendy said, narrowing her eyes at me.
“Lola,” I said.
“Lola gave us the idea for the new product feature layout,” Cyrus said quickly.
He was sticking up for me. I braced myself as Wendy rolled her eyes. “I’m not looking at the product feature. Lola, are you a makeup artist or an assistant beauty editor?”
“Assistant beauty editor,” I said, lifting my chin, ready for whatever this powerful woman wanted to throw at me. But I winced when she turned back to Cyrus.
“Cyrus, do your assistant beauty editors do our models’ makeup?”
“Rakim insisted—“
“Is Rakim your boss?”
Finally, Cyrus’ impenetrable cool calm cracked, just the softest scoff at the back of his throat before the sound was cleared away. “No, Wendy, he is not.”
He’s his omega, I realized. This wasn’t really about me doing Rakim’s makeup, it was about Rakim’s influence over Cyrus?
“I let him bring his personal makeup artist onto my shoot, I expected him to actually use her, and not start rearranging everyone’s job description,” Wendy said.
I pinned my lips shut and so did the rest of the beauty department, Cyrus shifting in finite twitches.
Wendy sighed and turned away from us all, clicking her remote again and bringing up another fashion shoot, one edgier than before that must’ve been done before my arrival.
“This isn’t awful, but it doesn’t change anything. Doesn’t add anything. I’m not impressed,” Wendy said with a shrug.
And just like that, whatever battle had just taken place between Cyrus and Wendy over me, or maybe over Rakim, passed. Wendy picked apart a few more projects from the team, praised the cover feature, and I wondered that everyone seemed so relaxed after she’d finished telling us that she was disappointed in all but two of our efforts for the issue.
“Cy, Lola, give me a minute,” Wendy said, just as everyone made a move to head for the door.
“Brainstorm,” Cyrus told the others, turning and offering me a quick and tight smile in support.
Wendy slid behind a vast glass top desk that looked as if it might be there for the sole purpose of making her appear more imposing. Cyrus pulled out a chair for me, stepping away and offering me space as he took his own. Wendy sighed as the glass doors to her office swung shut with a whisper.
“I apologize for overstepping my role,” I said, deciding I’d rather draw the first bullet than be left watching Wendy pepper Cyrus with them.
Wendy waved her hand. “You’re not really the one who overstepped though, are you?” she asked, but she was staring at Cyrus instead of me.
“Wendy, come on. Are you really mad that Rakim fired his own makeup artist?” Cyrus asked, relaxing back into his chair and filling the space with languid limbs. The pose feigned relaxation, there was an edgy tension in the air around him, as if he were trying to restrain his own alpha presence.
“After going to the trouble of making me hire her for the time? Yes, Cy, I’m pissed,” Wendy bit out. She collapsed back into her own chair with a huff and glared at Cyrus. “I’m going to be even more pissed if he poaches the new assistant beauty editor you wheedled me into hiring. No offense, Lola, you did good work. You were the neck down on his shoot, yeah?”
I nodded, and her lips pursed.
Cyrus turned his head to smile warmly at me, and I was so distracted by the discomfort of the conversation that I forgot to be startled by him. “It was flawless, didn’t take a single spot of touch up in post.”