Page 16 of Knot Their Starlet

“People are eating it up,” Camille, my mother’s stylist, pipes up from the corner of the room. She can’t hide the way her lip curls when she looks at me.

She’s the type of beta who desperately wishes she were an omega and hates any she thinks aren’t worthy of their status. Like me, for example. She’s made plenty of snide comments while helping me get ready for events about how bland my chamomile scent is for an omega.

“Which I can’t believe!” Gina says. “I mean, seriously, look at her! And then look at him!”

“Gee, thanks, Mom,” I bite out, taking a sip from my styrofoam cup.

She ignores me, instead turning to Stuart and clapping her hands together.

“What if we take advantage of this?” Gina says, all signs of her previous emotional freak-out gone, replaced by the fame-hungry manager I’ve known since I was a kid. “Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought that male omegas would be such a big deal⁠—”

No one knows why male omegas started popping up within the last decade or so, but more and more boys are presenting with an omega designation after they turn eighteen, and society doesn’t quite know what to do with them yet.

But I know the tone my mother is using. It’s the tone of someone who feels threatened.

Since her unbonding, she’s been incredibly sensitive to any criticism around her status as an omega. She’s dealt with a lot of negative press claiming she was less of an omega because of the choice she made.

The media are fucking beasts.

But Beckham Knight was nothing but kind to me, and I don’t like the thought of her sneering at his designation like a slur.

“But if the media already thinks he has something with Andromeda, why don’t we see if we can get into contact with his team?” She’s fully turned towards Stuart now.

I guess my earlier snarkiness means she’s not even entertaining a conversation with me when the entire situation has to do with me.

“So, what... you want us to do some campaigns together or something?”

“You’re thinking too small,” Gina huffs, rolling her eyes like she thinks I’m stupid.

“Your mother is implying that we try to market you two as an official couple,” Stuart interjects, nodding eagerly, his expression growing soft when he looks at my mother.

Stuart’s had a hard-on for her for years.

Unfortunately for him, she doesn’t touch betas with a ten-foot pole.

“But we’re not a couple,” I say, tugging my legs up to my chest to ease the dread that’s starting to pool low in my belly. That headache that’s been plaguing me since I woke up only gets worse.

“So you pretend,” Stuart huffs. “If those pictures are anything to go by, then you two won’t have any issues.”

I have no idea how they think we’re going to convince Hollywood’s biggest heartthrob to pretend-date me, of all people. I don’t even know if Beckham Knight swings my way, considering the fact I stumbled onto him nearly giving another man a blow job in that alleyway.

“Can I have that tablet back?” I ask, an anxious buzz starting to settle in my fingertips.

Stuart hands it to me, and I immediately start Googling Beckham Knight.

I scroll through pages and pages of articles, scanning headlines and photos, seeing far too much of his beautiful face. There’s no mention of him with the mystery man—Eli—from last night.

Good. At least there was one positive from last night.

Gina and Stuart are already strategizing about the different brands we should work with. The sound of their excitement grates on my nerves.

“How are we supposed to make this happen?” I ask, my voice betraying how exhausted I feel.

Gina’s expression turns stone-cold. The sudden shift has fear skating down my spine. I don’t like that look.

“You make it happen, dear,” she says, her lips quirking up into a smile that doesn’t meet her eyes. “Because if you don’t, then we’ll have to go back to the original plan with the Fletchers.”

If I had anything in my system, I’d probably throw up at the thought.