“First, if I may, let me take your pulse. I just need a wrist,” Dr. Egbe said in calm tones, holding out a hand expectantly. Halston Hollis extended an arm obediently, pulling back his sleeve as he did so. Marisol, who was a grown-up, did not roll her eyes. She did, however, think, Oh look at you being all sweet and nice for the beautiful Alpha. Singing a different tune now, eh, Halston? 

“I really don’t think—” the actor started to say as Dr. Egbe pivoted her free hand to look at her watch. 

“Shhhh,” she said, although not unkindly. “I need to count. As soon as I’m done, you can tell me more about what’s happening.” 

Even Halston Hollis wasn’t proof against the combination of charm and authority that radiated from Dr. Egbe. Marisol was impressed. Hollis and his team had been pains in Marisol’s ass so far. She’d spent years perfecting her professional façade, but every once in a while, she came across a guest or client who got under her skin. Maybe Marisol was starting to lose her grip on herself, because there were actually two such guests sitting in front of her at present, although they’d rattled her in very different ways. 

“Well, your pulse is elevated, but not alarmingly so.” Dr. Egbe released Hollis’s arm and he set it back in his lap, wiping his palms on the trousers he was wearing, as if he was nervous. He’d paired his designer suit with a shirt that was unbuttoned almost to the waist to expose a very smooth and sculpted chest. Marisol had thought he looked chic earlier. Now that she looked closer, though he was serving something closer to… desperate Instagram thirst trap. Dr. Egbe was looking at his face rather than his chest, however. “Your breathing seems to be slowing down as well. Are you feeling any better?”

“Yes. Much. Listen, if someone could just find my assistant, Braxton, he'll expl—” said Hollis, and Marisol, despite herself, was all ears even though her face was as passive and blank as if her brain had been replaced with Cream of Wheat. Warm, mushy, bland Cream of Wheat was what Mari thought about when she was trying to quell an overly strong emotion. Or when she was eavesdropping and she didn't want to look like she was. 

Before the great Halston Hollis could pour out the tea, however, a frantic man burst into the room and raced to Hollis’s side. He was not a very memorable looking man, in or around his early thirties, with hip glasses that did not suit him, sandy hair, a pink complexion, and a nondescript suit that reminded Marisol of her own. He was a human backdrop, albeit one who clearly took a sincere interest in the well-being of his center-stage employer. Urgently, the man announced to the room at large, “He has a diagnosed anxiety disorder! He has a prescription! He is in the care of a physician!” 

Dr. Egbe turned to the newcomer, blinking in surprise, and then said, calmly, “Hello. Mr. Hollis was just about to tell me what’s going on, I think.” 

“Braxton. Relax. It’s fine. I’m fine. It’s passing,” said Halston Hollis with a wave of his hand, as if he hadn’t been the eye of a dramatic shitstorm for the past fifteen minutes.

Braxton did not appear to be reassured. “Halston, I’m so sorry! I was… the auction… I wasn’t getting any reception inside so I stepped outside to see if I could bid… something’s going on with my phone…I’ll get a new one tomorrow. I’m so sorry!” Then Braxton, with the agonized expression of a dog who’d been caught digging in the trash, turned to Bisi Egbe again. “Everything is confidential, right? I have his medication here…” he reached into his pocket and pushed a pill bottle into Dr. Egbe’s hand. “He’s tapering down on Xanax! They started him on them when he was still just a kid on the Disney Channel! I got him to a new doctor, and of course they wanted him off of them, but the withdrawals keep causing these panic attacks. It’s been so hard on him. Halston, I really am so sorry I wasn’t here! But I got the piece you wanted. I’m so sorry, Halston.”

“Ah,” said Dr. Egbe. 

Ah, thought Marisol.

“It’s not his fault, we’ve already got his dosage down by more than half. I can call his physician, you can talk to him, he’ll tell you that it’s a process,” insisted Braxton, as if Dr. Egbe had Page Six on standby, ready to tell the world the shocking news that the entertainment industry was no place for children.

Dr. Egbe extended a hand to Braxton and gave him a handshake. “You are Braxton, obviously. Well, thank you for the information, but I don’t need to speak with anyone. This is between the patient and his regular physician. Ms. Ortiz simply asked me to make sure that Mr. Hollis was not in any immediate danger, and he does not seem to be. His color is returning, his breathing is slowed, his pulse is not unduly elevated… Mr. Hollis, are you having any difficulty breathing anymore?”

“No, I’m fine now.”

“Are you having any chest pain or pressure? Or pain in your arm or shoulder?” asked Dr. Egbe, looking at her patient intently.

“No. That’s all fine.”

“Pain in your jaw?”

“No.”

“Are you dizzy or lightheaded at all?”

“No.”

“No head pain?”

“No.”

“Do you feel unusually fatigued or nauseated?”

“No. It was just another panic attack, I promise,” said Halston Hollis utterly inhabiting the role of earnest patient. Mari thought she'd seen an eyelash flutter in there. Had he thrown one in for good measure? Don't gild the lily, Halston. Why am I only now noticing that you're not a very good actor?

“Well, you know your body best, and benzodiazepine withdrawal is notorious for causing panic attacks. You don’t seem to be having any serious cardiac symptoms, so I think you are probably correct. I would recommend that you contact your physician tomorrow and let her or him know that you’re having breakthrough symptoms, because panic attacks are obviously very unpleasant and disruptive. But, as I’m sure you’ve already been told, sometimes that is the nature of the beast with withdrawals, it is indeed a process. There is a reason that benzos have a reputation for being difficult to discontinue, especially after prolonged use. I wish you success in your process. I know you said that you have other events to attend this evening, but I’d recommend that instead you head back to your hotel and take some time to rest and recuperate. If your symptoms return tonight, I would seek a proper evaluation immediately.”

“Right, got it, thank you so much,” said Halston Hollis, turning an IMAX-ready smile on Bisi Egbe as he brushed his hair away from his face fetchingly. “Thank you so much.” He held out his hand for a second shake and Dr. Egbe took it in hers.

Marisol felt a ripple of annoyance and summoned a fresh bowl of Cream of Wheat between her ears. 

“It’s no trouble. I’m glad you are feeling more yourself,” Dr. Egbe said, and withdrew her hand promptly, which added a welcome pat of butter to Mari’s Cream of Wheat. Dr. Egbe looked back and forth between Braxton, who looked on the verge of a panic attack himself, and Hollis who was working his angles—which… he was gorgeous from every angle. There was no need to try that hard. Then Marisol got a whiff of a sweet smell… very sweet. Like… cream soda poured over jelly beans sweet. Like maple syrup dipped in honey and sprinkled with brown sugar sweet. Blech. Was Halston Hollis releasing scent? Wow, ok, well… that’s super obvious and honestly kind of embarrassing and desperate, but whatever. Mari looked at the door longingly, wondering how to extricate herself from the room. She did not want to see whatever came next. And she was never watching another movie with this Omega in it! Not even as a voice actor.

What came next, however, was Bisi Egbe saying, briskly and cheerfully, “If there is nothing else anyone needs, I’ll leave you, then. I must take my guide with me, though, or I will wander the halls of this place forever like a ghost. Enjoy the rest of your evening!” She then turned and gave Marisol an expectant look. 

Marisol looked at Braxton and asked, “Is there anything else I can do for you? When you’re ready, the security guards outside can escort you back to the party or to your car, of if you would like any food or drinks brought to you here, we could—”

Braxton gave her a dismissive “No, thanks,” and turned his back on her to focus on the center of his universe, and, just like that, it was over, and Mari was free until the next crisis. She pivoted and headed for the door with Dr. Egbe close behind her. When she got there, Marisol reached for the doorknob, but Dr. Egbe moved past her and got there first, holding the door open for her. 

“Oh! Well, thank you,” Mari said, feeling like a bad provider of hospitality as she stepped into the hallway and waited for Dr. Egbe to close the door behind them. “It’s this way,” Mari gestured to the left, walking slowly and moving to one side of the hall so there was room for Dr. Egbe to walk beside her if she wanted to. As she walked, Marisol tried to think whether there was any little perk or gift she could extend to Dr. Egbe as a thank you for her time. Drinks were free, she was already going to get a swag bag along with the other guests… Mari would have to send her a gift certificate for a nice dinner or something. “I wish I knew how to thank you,” she said, looking up at Dr. Egbe. “I’m slow to panic, but the thought of having America’s Sweetheart keel over at my event was enough to scare even me. I’m so grateful you came to help.”

“All I did was take his pulse and ask a few questions. There was no heroism involved. I was happy to help you.” Dr. Egbe favored her with a wide smile that did much more for Mari than Hollis’s Wilshire Boulevard White veneers had.

Mari felt her face getting a little warm. “Well… thank you. Heroism or not, I appreciated it very much. I’m sorry that your evening was interrupted. I hope you’ll be able to enjoy the rest of it in peace.”

“I’d rather enjoy the rest of it with you.”