Chapter Text
“Let’s order bottle service, okay phi?”
The half-question, half-announcement is all but shouted into Lingling’s left ear; a necessity due to the level of noise in the club, but no less jarring (or annoying). Lingling flinches away, and makes a point of shooting her younger sister a dirty look.
“You don’t have to run it by me,” Lingling shouts back, reluctantly. “I’m not your keeper.”
“But I knew you were going to complain if I did,” Namtan says, and she squeezes Lingling’s arm in silent thanks before she pops up to chase down the pretty server.
Lingling exhales through her nose and refocuses on her phone. Even though she is stuck babysitting her little sister, she still has to find time to finish some work. So that is why she is here, now, squinting at her screen in their darkened booth and typing passive-aggressive emails painstakingly slowly.
The chaos of the nightclub is inconsequential background noise by now. Namtan’s friends fade in and out of their booth—the server brings by the first bottle, paired with sparklers and a flashy sign—and Lingling is able to ignore it all, well-versed in keeping the commotion from interfering with work.
“You, put that away!” Namtan leans in to yell. “We're getting drunk tonight. Ooh, should we invite a few girls to our booth?”
“No,” Lingling says, and doesn't look up from her phone at all. “I'm here because Dad asked me to, not because I want to join your night of…debauchery.”
“Don't be such a buzzkill. It's—oh hey, Ciize is here!” Namtan thankfully leaves Lingling alone in order to hug her ex (who happens to be the only ex that miraculously does not hate Namtan’s guts).
“Hi P’Ling,” Ciize greets Lingling next. “Are you making sure this one doesn't get into any trouble?”
“Ey, what trouble am I getting into?” Namtan says. “I'm a saint.”
Lingling ignores her. “Hi. Yes, I’m her babysitter tonight.”
“You’re barely older than me, pretending you’re a babysitter,” Namtan scoffs. To Ciize she says: “Let’s get some champagne. Is Kapook meeting us?”
“No, she's working late. But I can ask her to come after and drive us home,” Ciize says. “P’Ling, if you don’t want to stay, you should go! I’ll make sure this troublemaker gets home in one piece. And Kapook won’t mind if she comes home with us.”
Kapook, Ciize’s new girlfriend, is level-headed enough that Lingling is almost tempted to agree. But Namtan is Lingling’s responsibility tonight, so she resolutely shakes her head.
“It’s fine, I can stay. I have the apartment nearby, so I can bring her there.”
“Both of you know I’m still here,” Namtan says, “right? I’m not a kid.”
“No, you’re just a terror,” Ciize says unapologetically, and she pinches Namtan’s cheek. “Go on, order your champagne. I need a drink.”
Namtan takes her time to grab another server, a pretty omega that bats her eyelashes every time Namtan leans in to whisper her next order. Lingling resists the urge to roll her eyes; it’s a wonder this club still serves them, with how often Namtan takes these girls home just to never call them afterwards.
Lingling’s phone buzzes with a text.
ENGFA: Namtan said she was going out to Neon City, can you check the lost and found for me? I think I left my phone there.
Lingling sighs. “I’ll be back,” she tells Ciize, and pulls aside a different server to ask about the lost and found. Unfortunately, she is directed to head downstairs to the bar, and she has to abandon the VIP floor to face the crowd.
Everyone is packed in tight tonight. When Lingling finally manages to snag an opening at the bar, someone aims for the same seat—and ends up half in Lingling’s lap.
Lingling reflexively wraps her arms around the stranger's waist to keep her from falling, and with a squeak, the woman grips onto Lingling's upper arms to hold herself up.
“I'm sorry,” the stranger apologizes, the faint scent of an omega in distress all-too-noticeable once she is so close. “It's so crowded in here. I didn't expect it to be so crowded.”
“It's fine,” Lingling says, fingers flexing against the small waist of the woman before she quickly lets go. The sudden touch leaves her briefly, inexplicably, flustered.
The bartender recognizes Lingling instantly, and he makes a beeline for her. “Khun Lingling,” he says, “is there something wrong?”
Lingling turns his way, immediately all business. “No, I was just looking for the lost and found,” she says. “They told me it's here?”
“Of course.” He looks very briefly to the right. “Anything for your friend?”
“Huh?” Lingling follows his gaze to the stranger from earlier, still hovering right behind Lingling.
“Oh, do you mind if I order? I've been trying for a while,” the stranger says meekly.
“Sure, no, go ahead.” Lingling lets the woman edge in closer, shoulders knocking as she leans out and the stranger leans in. The proximity throws Lingling for a loop. Suddenly everything makes her feel like a newly-awakened alpha all over again, tuned in to body heat and sweet perfume.
“Thank you,” the woman says, once the bartender has taken down her order and disappeared for the lost and found box. “You would not believe how long I've been waiting for him to notice me. You're officially my savior now. Twice, if you think about it.” She pauses to smile, then adds, “I'm Orm, by the way.”
“I'm Lingling.” Lingling looks at Orm finally, face-to-face, and realizes that Orm is…gorgeous. She has the build of a model, and her smile is so bright, her whole face lights up with it. Lingling's heart may or may not fully skip a beat.
“So what did you lose?” Orm asks.
“Nothing, my—my sister lost her phone.” Lingling's phone buzzes again, and she reluctantly looks down to check it.
CIIZE: Kapook got off work early, I'm kidnapping your sister to go drink at our place instead 😘 I promise to take good care of her!!!
The bartender returns with the box, as well as a bright red drink for Orm. “Here you go, vodka cranberry. Should I add it to your tab, Khun Lingling?”
“Yes. Thank you,” Lingling says. A quick, cursory glance into the lost and found later, she notifies Engfa that her phone is not here. Now that she has nothing else to do tonight, she checks her watch and debates driving back to the office instead of heading home. She certainly can't show up at the family house without Namtan…
“You didn't have to do that.”
Lingling looks up. Right, Orm is still here, a beautiful distraction on very long legs. “Oh, sorry. Your drink. Here, take my spot.”
“I mean, you didn't have to buy my drink,” Orm says.
“It's no problem,” Lingling says, now distracted by the idea of leaving. “Um, if you want anything else, just tell the bartender to put it on my tab.” Lingling pulls back enough to let Orm slide onto the stool, but Orm doesn't budge.
“You don't have to leave, I can also wait for another chair,” Orm says. “Besides, I came here with one goal, and I've accomplished it: to get a drink.” She takes a sip from her vodka cranberry, and immediately makes a face. “A very strong drink.” She gives an involuntary full-body shiver, and Lingling has to clear her throat to keep from laughing.
“No, I insist. I was already on my way out.” Lingling waits until Orm finally sits down before stepping back, suddenly reluctant to abandon the warmth of her scent. “Have a nice night.”
“You too,” Orm says, adding a playful wai afterwards as she smiles wider. “And thank you for the drink.”
Lingling nods, then forces herself to walk away. She heads back to the booth to grab her jacket, then briefly pauses at the balcony railing to gaze out into the crowd below; this is a world she will never fit into, and it feels like staring at a mirage. The bustle, the noise, the clashing scents from every which way—unruliness disguised as fun.
But for some reason, all Lingling can think about is losing herself back in that crowd. Well, that's not quite right—all she can think about is losing herself in Orm.
Lingling shakes her head to herself and breaks away. How pathetic is she, touch starved and desperate, thinking of a pretty stranger she knows nothing about. Maybe she will skip the office, and head home to get drunk alone. Anything to try to get the feeling out of her system.
Another buzz from her phone. Engfa, again:
ENGFA: Are you staying with Namtan at yours tonight?
LINGLING: Yes, don't wait up.
Lingling shrugs her jacket on, then slips back into the throngs of people downstairs. It feels hotter, somehow; more bodies, more dancing, more pheromones floating around the room. Lingling’s eyes flick, unbidden, back to the bar. Her instincts push her forward before she even realizes what’s happening, and then she is standing before Orm again.
She doesn’t do this, ever. She doesn’t pursue people, doesn’t make the first move, doesn’t even get into relationships as a general rule. But something about this beautiful stranger is drawing her in, and Lingling knows she’ll regret it if she doesn’t try.
“Excuse me,” Lingling says, heart in her throat.
Orm turns around, expression blank until she recognizes Lingling, and a smile immediately forms. “Hey. You're back. Lose another phone?”
“No, I…I was wondering if I could buy you another drink,” Lingling says. There’s nowhere to sit, so she adds, “I have a booth upstairs, if you want to go somewhere less crowded.”
Orm tilts her head, considering, then smiles a little wider. “Okay,” she says. “You’re on.”
Without Namtan's friends and the constant bottles being delivered to their VIP booth, it is blessedly quieter. It’s even a tad intimate. Lingling orders a bottle of expensive wine, pours Orm a glass first, and tries very hard not to show her nerves.
“So how do you, a VIP, lose your phone downstairs?” Orm teases after accepting the drink, and Lingling’s face flushes red.
“I’m not a VIP, I just…know people,” Lingling says. She doesn’t want to bring up her family, so she does not elaborate, and opts to change the subject. “Can I ask, why you’re here alone tonight?”
“I just moved here. I don’t know anyone,” Orm confesses shyly. “But I start my dream job pretty soon, and I had the crazy idea to celebrate, even if it’s by myself.”
“That doesn't sound crazy at all,” Lingling says, offering the rim of her glass to cheers. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” Orm clinks their drinks together, and her eyes are sparkling when she holds Lingling's gaze. “So why are you alone?”
“I'm not. You’re here with me,” Lingling corrects smoothly. “Aren't you?”
Orm points a finger at her. “Ah ah ah, are you avoiding the question?”
“No,” Lingling says, and smiles without meaning to when Orm playfully jabs her shoulder. “I came with my sister, but she left already.”
“The same sister who lost her phone?”
“Different sister,” Lingling says. “But I don't want to talk about her.”
“Then what do you want to talk about?” Orm shifts closer; they are thigh-to-thigh now, and though taller than Lingling, she seems to shrink into herself in order to look up at Lingling through batting eyelashes.
“Anything,” Lingling says. “Everything. I want to know all about you.”
Orm coyly bites her lip. “Are you flirting with me?”
“Maybe,” Lingling says, and slides a hand carefully onto Orm’s leg.
Orm places her own hand right over Lingling’s, pushes their intertwined fingertips tight against the bare skin of her thigh. “I don’t really…do this sort of thing,” she whispers.
“Flirt?” Lingling leans in, nose brushing against Orm’s cheek. “Or just flirt with strangers?”
“Both,” Orm breathes against Lingling’s mouth, and then they’re kissing, sudden and open-mouthed and warm and wet.
Lingling’s hands slide to Orm’s waist, and Orm gives a breathy sigh as their tongues slide together. Lingling’s whole body feels flushed, hot, like the signs of an upcoming rut even if not physically possible (suppressants have been her best friend, as of late). She wants to throw caution to the wind and give in to this desire—wants to pull Orm into her lap, wants to grind her against her cock, wants to dip her hands between those inviting thighs and lose herself there.
But Lingling exercises restraint, and pulls back reluctantly. “Can I,” she says, and doesn’t even know where her mind is going until it comes up with, “have your number?”
“Okay,” Orm says breathlessly. “But does it have to be…now?”
Lingling shakes her head. “No, I just,” she pauses. “Maybe we should slow down. I have a car—I can take you home.”
“What if…I don’t want to slow down?” Orm rests her finger against Lingling’s mouth, tracing the corner of her lips, and she doesn't wait for a response before she leans in for another kiss.
Lingling surrenders for a minute more, a willing prisoner when Orm has Lingling’s face in her hands and her tongue in her mouth. When she tries to break away, Orm doesn’t let her go; she fists her hands in Lingling’s jacket collar, keeps her pressed up tight. Lingling’s pheromones are going haywire, and she knows she can’t keep making out with Orm or else she’s going to advertise her personal desperation to the whole club.
“We should stop,” Lingling manages, once they separate to breathe in some much-needed air.
“Do you want to?” Orm asks, and her lips are so swollen and pouty that Lingling's eyes drop there and stay a beat too long.
“No,” Lingling admits, and feels Orm tug at her collar again. “But I don't want to take advantage of you.”
“I could be the one taking advantage of you,” Orm teases, fingertips trailing over Lingling's neck, making her whole body tense. “If you take me home…what would it take for me to make you stay?”
Lingling swallows hard. “I don't live far,” she finds herself saying, and Orm licks her lips.
“Then take me to your place instead,” Orm says. And, softer: “Please?”
Lingling hesitates one moment longer. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. My whole life is about to change,” Orm says. “And I want to be selfish. Just this once.” Her hand comes up to caress Lingling's cheek. “It doesn't have to be more than tonight.”
Lingling isn't stupid; she doesn't hesitate twice. She calls for her car, and they end up in the backseat kissing like there's no tomorrow. The family driver, Somsak, has been with Lingling and her sisters for a long time—he is unfazed, used to this behavior from Namtan (and Engfa, in her younger days).
For nights when Lingling can't make it to the family home, she keeps an apartment not far from the office. Coincidentally, it's not far from the clubs that Namtan frequents, which is why she is often stuck babysitting.
But she isn't thinking about that now. Right now, Lingling is thanking every deity in existence that she has an empty space just to take Orm’s dress off.
Once they bid Somsak goodbye (and Lingling pays him handsomely for his troubles), there is still the tortuous wait of the elevator ride, and then Lingling struggles to open the front door because Orm is kissing behind her ear and it's so hard to focus. Eventually, though, they fall through the doors and back into each other—and it's like nothing ever managed to keep them apart.
Lingling presses Orm to the wall, immediately preoccupied with the task of wiggling the zipper of Orm’s dress down. When the fabric slips away, Lingling replaces it with her hands, greedily mapping every bared inch of skin. “Fuck, you're gorgeous.”
Orm arches into her touch, her own hands tugging at Lingling's jacket until she shrugs it off. “Where's your bedroom?” she demands, pushing, and Lingling gets so hard she can barely think straight.
“Over here.” Lingling leads the way inside the master bedroom nervously. She has never brought anyone here before, and suddenly worries that it's too much—this large space with a king-size bed, expensive sheets, furnishings which are elegant but definitely scream money.
Orm stops in the doorway, taking in the sight of the room slowly. Just as Lingling worries she is going to find it too pretentious and leave, Orm turns to look at Lingling questioningly. “Your room is so serious. Do you not own a single poster?”
A huff of laughter escapes Lingling before she can quell it. “No, I don't think that's my style.”
“Hmm. I'm learning a lot about you,” Orm muses. “But not enough. First of all…I'm going to need you to lose those clothes. It's only fair.” She gestures down to her own body, where she remains clad only in a lacy white bra and panties.
“Right. Yeah.” Lingling tries not to swallow her own tongue as she hurriedly undresses.
Orm watches her do it, gaze dark and heavy, and only when Lingling is down to her underwear does she move—she unclasps her own bra, then saunters forward to bring Lingling chest-to-chest. “You're so hot,” she says breathily, hand snaking down to palm at the bulge of her dick through her boxers.
Lingling kisses her again, hungrily, grinding against that wandering hand without meaning to. It has been so long that she’s been touched like this, and she feels it like electricity underneath her skin. “I have to be inside you,” she says, pushing Orm to her bed without another thought.
Orm welcomes it eagerly. She helps Lingling slide off her panties, shamelessly pushes up against her hands when Lingling peels her legs apart. “Do you have a condom?”
“Yeah,” Lingling says hoarsely. “Just…give me a minute.” She doesn’t want to rush, not yet, not before she touches Orm first. Orm is burning for it; when Lingling’s fingertips trace the folds of her cunt, she finds her so wet, slick and warm and inviting.
She builds up Orm’s eagerness slowly—traces her folds, circles her clit fleetingly, waits until Orm’s hips jerk upwards in search of friction before she gives in. One finger first, then two, walls of Orm’s pussy sucking her in while Orm gasps.
“Oh,” Orm exhales. “That feels…”
“Is it okay?” Lingling asks, body thrumming with the effort of holding herself back—stopping herself from fucking Orm hard and fast right away.
“Uh-huh,” Orm says. “Keep going.” Her hands tug at Lingling’s shoulders, bringing them face-to-face.
Lingling watches Orm’s expression as she thrusts, memorizing the way Orm’s lips part and her eyes go glassy. She’s so sensitive, squirming away from Lingling’s fingers one moment and then drawing her back in before Lingling can pull out. Lingling uses her thumb to gently roll over her clit while fucking into her, and Orm’s whole body seems to go stiff.
“Sorry,” Lingling says, just as Orm frantically shakes her head.
“No, that felt—good,” she says. “Do it again.”
Lingling, fascinated, brings her to orgasm just like that. Gentle thrusts, slow flicks against her clit, lips tracing a path from Orm’s mouth, to her neck, to her chest. She laves Orm’s nipples with her tongue, pushes up onto her knees just to better position herself to fuck into her deeper.
Orm comes with a choked moan, as if trying to stifle the sound. Her legs tense, then relax, and she shyly covers her face with her hands. Lingling feels a smile form before she can help it.
“Are you shy?”
“No.” Orm peeks at her between her fingers. “Maybe.”
“Don’t be.” Lingling kisses her collarbone, then her cheek. “Let me take care of you, okay?”
Orm slowly drops her hands to her sides, then gives a nervous nod of her head. Her whole face is flushed pink with the intensity of her blush, and Lingling finds it so cute, she can’t help but smile wider. Something about that innocence makes Lingling feel like a caged animal being held back—the urge to take Orm slow all night juxtaposed with the need to make her lose that innocence. She wants to make Orm suck the slick off her fingers—wants to put her on her hands and knees to present—wants to make her choke and cry and beg for it.
But this is one night, and Lingling doesn’t want to scare Orm away. She wipes her hand on the sheets, then quickly tugs her boxers off, rolls over to dig into her bedside drawer for a condom before going any further.
Orm watches her do it; when Lingling rolls the condom on and looks back up, she meets Orm’s gaze, wanting and nervous at the same time.
Lingling rises to give Orm a chaste kiss on her mouth. “I’ll be gentle,” she promises. “And if you want to stop—”
“No,” says Orm quickly. “I want this. I want—” She draws Lingling in for another kiss, desperate and needy. “I want you.”
Carefully, Lingling slots herself between Orm’s thighs, searches Orm’s eyes for any hesitation and finds none. When she presses inside, Orm’s breath hitches sharper than before.
“Okay?”
“Yeah,” Orm says, nails digging into Lingling's shoulders. “Um, just…can you…” She can't seem to finish her sentence, voice stammering and soft, but Lingling fills in the blanks.
“I’ll go slow,” Lingling says, and does just that—pushes into Orm with a controlled, careful roll of her hips.
Orm whimpers, eyes squeezing shut as her head falls back against the pillow. Lingling keeps the pace languid, lazy, lets Orm get used to the feeling until eventually Orm’s hips start rising to meet Lingling’s thrusts.
“There,” Orm gasps aloud, eyes flying open when Lingling grinds in deeper. “Right there.” One of her hands buries into Lingling’s hair, the other still resting firmly on her shoulder.
Lingling gives into the unspoken permission to go harder, pumps her hips faster, feels Orm clench with what seems like her whole body: the walls of her cunt, the legs around Lingling’s lips, the fingers clenched tight in Lingling’s hair. It feels incredible. It is incredible. What really gets Lingling off is making Orm feel good—and clearly, she does, welcoming each harder thrust with a sharp tug at Lingling's hair.
Orm is so wet the sound seems to echo through the room, and Lingling becomes addicted to it. She bottoms out sharply, and Orm exhales a shuddery moan.
“Ah,” Orm whines with each ensuing thrust, and Lingling drops her forehead against Orm’s shoulder, overcome.
“Fuck,” Lingling pants. “You feel so tight.”
Another whine. “You're so big,” Orm says, and when Lingling tries to pause, Orm just pulls her back tighter. “K-keep moving.”
Lingling certainly isn't about to deny a beautiful girl. She pounds into Orm, one hand sliding up Orm’s side to ground herself, until they're so folded into each other each thrust pushes both of their bodies higher and higher.
“The things I want to do to you,” Lingling groans, mouthing along the side of Orm’s neck. “Shit.” Her hips piston faster and faster, whole body going taut with the urge to come. She almost wishes she was in rut, for the ability to knot Orm right then and there—fuck her again and again, with no recovery needed in between—brand her and scent her and keep her in bed for days on end.
It's dangerous, to feel like that. Lingling should probably go see a doctor about her suppressants again; there has to be a reasonable explanation for why she is so unfathomably obsessed with this literal stranger.
Just one night, Lingling reminds herself, and she lifts her head and watches Orm’s face contort into the most entrancing expressions—pain, then bliss, her mouth falling slack when Lingling hits the perfect spot.
“I'm going to,” Orm starts, then makes the most obscene sound in the back of her throat, nails raking over Lingling's skin. “Mmhm.” Her legs flex tighter, pussy practically clamping down on Lingling's dick when she suddenly comes.
Lingling goes nearly feral off the knowledge she has made this insanely sexy woman come all over her cock. “Just like that,” she murmurs, presses in impossibly deep, feels Orm shudder beneath her. Her own orgasm isn’t far behind, and after a few more jogs of her hips, she bursts.
It feels like she's never come so hard in her life, and she stays inside Orm longer than necessary, until her cock softens and she has to regrettably withdraw. Orm makes a small, pained sound as Lingling pulls out, and she doesn't move a muscle—she seems undoubtedly well-fucked, head thrown back over the pillow and body limp against the bedsheets.
Lingling hasn't had a one night stand before. She knows, logically, she should be trying to usher Orm out and offer her a ride home; Lingling has work tomorrow, and she doesn't know Orm, really, not enough to let her stay the night. But after so repressing her true nature for so long, her alpha stops her from making any such suggestion.
It occurs to her suddenly as she's discarding the used condom, then gently getting back into bed. She doesn't just want the sex, she wants it all. She wants the warm body beside her, the soothing scent of a gorgeous omega, the reprieve from her loneliness that she has only just now realized is suffocating her slowly.
“Are you okay?” Lingling asks, voice rough as she looks worriedly over at Orm’s still body, and Orm’s eyes flicker open.
“Yes, sorry, I…” Orm gives an embarrassed little laugh, hand resting against her forehead. “It’s been, um, a while for me. I'm still getting used to—you know.”
“Me too,” Lingling admits, and Orm smiles, like the idea pleases her very much. “Are you…tired?”
“A little.” Orm give Lingling a quick once-over. “You look like you're thinking too hard.”
“Well…I was hoping I could make you come on my face, next,” Lingling suggests shyly, and Orm’s eyes go wide.
“I-I don't know if I can. Like, physically. I've never—not more than twice in one—ah,” her words fade into nothing as Lingling slides down between her legs, and that's the last coherent sentence that Orm manages all night.
In the morning, Lingling wakes up late.
She never wakes up late, and as a result spends far too long blinking up at the ceiling while trying to remember what she has to do this morning. Check on Namtan, definitely. Call Engfa and make sure their father isn’t in a mood. Call a car to take Orm home, and—
Lingling turns her head and only then realizes, disappointedly, that Orm is gone. All that is left is the lingering scent of sex and sweat and the cold, crumpled bedsheets on the right side of the bed.
It's just as well, Lingling tries to convince herself. She is going to be spectacularly late to work, and if Orm had stayed, it’s likely Lingling would have given up on going into the office altogether.
After the world’s quickest shower, Lingling checks the items off her mental to-do list as she completes them. Namtan is fine, albeit obviously hungover, and Ciize takes over the phone call to assure Lingling that Namtan will be on her way to work soon. Engfa doesn’t pick up, so Lingling sends her a text to gauge their father’s mood.
Halfway to the office, Lingling’s work phone rings, and Prigkhing— her personal assistant—audibly sighs in relief when Lingling answers.
“Oh, P’Lingling,” Prigkhing says rapidly. “Your father needs a favor. He stopped by your office and everything! I had to pretend you were in the bathroom. I also told him you have food poisoning.”
“Thanks,” Lingling says, “I think.”
“He said if you get any sicker to tell him, and then he can find someone else. Do you want me to tell him you’re sicker?! I slept with a doctor once, I’m sure I can get her to fake a doctor’s note for you if you want.”
“No, it’s—it’s fine.” Lingling rubs her brow, then lowers the volume of the call before she can lose her hearing. “What does he need?”
Prigkhing dives right in, talking a mile a minute. The instructions are simple: prepare the paperwork for a new artist recently signed to the company, shake hands for the cameras, don't scare away the up-and-rising superstar. Lingling is not known to be particularly charming nor social, but she is reliable. So while her father is not jumping at the chance to make Lingling the face of the studio’s welcoming committee, he trusts she will not let him down.
Lingling knows the routine by now, though she knows usually her father will go to Engfa first for something like this. She wonders if anything has happened, but doesn’t have time to dwell; as soon as she arrives, she has to make a mad dash for her office. Her father, thankfully, is nowhere in sight.
Prigkhing is waiting outside her door with a file in hand, her expression pinched and panicked. “P’Lingling,” she whisper-hisses. “The new client is inside. I told her you stepped out for a second, but do you need me to stall more? I can also tell her about the food poisoning.”
“No, thank you,” Lingling says, resisting the urge to sigh. She accepts the file but does not move to open it. “Can you bring us some champagne? And coffee, for me. The strongest coffee you can find.” She pauses. “Maybe at least three cups of coffee.”
“You got it, boss!” Prigkhing gives an entirely serious salute, then because she has absolutely no filter, she leans in to add, “By the way, your shirt’s wrinkled.”
Lingling gives her shirt a halfhearted pat, then just buttons up the bottom half of her blazer to hide it. She pushes her way inside, belatedly cracking open the file just to make sure she has a name on hand. Kornnaphat Sethratanapong, she silently mouths, then looks up from the page with a smooth, practiced smile, prepared to welcome the newest artist of Sangravee Entertainment.
The words instantly die in her throat when she sees the silhouette of the tall omega waiting by her desk, and Lingling croaks, “Orm?”