Page 162 of Knot Their Starlet

“You’re a very gracious person.”

“Actually, I’m a bitch.”

“I haven’t seen that side of you at all.”

The earnestness in his statement has me frowning.

But I am.

My mom has called me a bitch since I started puberty and growing the hint of a mind of my own. The media have certainly called me a bitch, or some sort of equivalent over the years. And I get called a bitch on the internet all the time, especially in those edits of Beck the internet seems so fond of these days.

Hell, I get called a bitch in my own comment section. I’ve had to filter out the word, especially since this whole fake-dating thing with Beck has started.

That reminds me, I should definitely get some shots for my next “day in the life” video. It’ll be a good promo for the docuseries.

“Hey guys, we’re thirty minutes out!” Cameron calls from the front of the van.

He’s seated with Aspen, his camera person. They’re tall with a septum nose ring and an edgy undercut that I know I’d never be able to pull off. I haven’t had a chance to talk to them much since we just met today, but I’m excited.

The thought of being able to actually talk about cameras, filming, and logging footage without my mom breathing down my neck?

I’m excited.

But it’s really obvious that there’s one person here who’s absolutely not.

“I’ve been meaning to ask someone, do you know what’s up with Eli?” I whisper to Everett.

Everett glances at the other stiff alpha, pursing his lips.

“I think that’s something you should ask him, Honey. His story to tell.”

“Okay.” I nod.

Well, that answer certainly means it has something to do with his childhood or something.

I offer Everett a parting smile, but I think he knew the moment I asked that I’d be going to Eli eventually.

“You’re a sweetheart,” he says quietly, offering me a small nod.

The only response I can come up with to that compliment is a shrug.

Because seriously, what else am I supposed to say? I’m not used to all these... compliments. I get them from all the guys in some form or another.

Eli’s normally come wrapped in snarky teasing, which is a fun contrast to Beckham’s playfulness or Leo’s sincerity.

Even Cameron has been giving me compliments, the more we’ve been talking about the project.

Which is crazy because the guy thought I was a stupid bitch when we first met.

“Hey,” I say, sliding into the seat beside Eli.

He’s so massive he takes up about a third of it.

“How the hell does a guy like you fit in economy?” I say absentmindedly.

He peers down at me from the corner of his eye, his brows drawing down in confusion.

Well, that’s better than him being pissed.