Page 25 of Now Their Starlet

Like stripping out of that restrictive dress in the fucking living room and getting my entire body waxed by a scowling beta woman who didn’t even bother to talk to me. It was awkward, being butt-ass naked with barely a thin sheet to cover myself and the parts she wasn’t working on with, in a room bustling full of people. I felt like a piece of meat, like a rotisserie chicken, rotating when instructed, my only purpose being to lie there and take it.

Then came the spray tan. Then the dress fitting. All of which sucked spectacularly.

Now that I think about it, maybe dissociating a little is good. Better than being made to feel like shit about myself or the situation.

I’m sandwiched between Stuart and Ezra at our table once we are seated for the gala. Ezra’s done a good job of making sure I’m never alone with the beta, but that also means that he’s been hovering around me all night.

The Fletcher’s publicist, Carter, is sitting next to Stuart, drawing his attention away from Ezra and I.

Stuart and Carter, the dynamic duo of dour beta men who work for terrible people and aren’t afraid to do their dirty work. Stuart and Carter would make a good law firm name—probably the name of a firm that defends slimeballs that totally did the crime, but are rich enough to try to get away with it.

I stab my next bite of salad a bit more aggressively than I need to, irritating myself with the thought of the injustice that exists in this world. Lettuce, this time. Not kale, thank God. I’ve had enough kale for the rest of my life.

You’d think it’d get easier to swallow after having it so frequently, but the bitter, almost sour aftertaste of raw kale leaves and the overwhelmingly thick, waxy mouthfeel just isn’t something I think I can get used to.

There’s also actual sauce, and a small filet of fish, too. No cheese, like I’d normally have on my salads, but beggars can’t be choosers.

Ezra cuts a glance towards me before his gaze darts to Stuart and Carter who are engaged in their own conversation.

His fork appears over my plate, there one second and gone the next, leaving behind a bite-sized piece of his steak.

My eyes go wide as my mouth waters. He just responds to my wide-eyed look of gratitude with a jerk of his chin. I’m quick to shove the bite into my mouth while Stuart is distracted, biting back a quiet moan.

Man, how do vegans do it? Utmost respect to them, but the only way I’m giving up animal products is if I’m locked away.

Case in point: my current captivity.

“Good?” Ezra murmurs, his voice pitched low so only I can hear him.

“Fuck yeah,” I nod eagerly.

“Good,” he repeats, his tone soft and relieved.

He continues to sneak me bites throughout the speeches whenever Stuart and Carter are distracted. It almost becomes a little entertaining game between the two of us.

It reminds me of the days we used to sit in our boring earth sciences class back in freshman year and pass notes back and forth to each other.

Maybe trying this friends thing won’t be too bad?

After each bite of steak, I wash it down with some of the bubbly prosecco from the champagne bottle we have at the table. I’m a few glasses deep by the time I’m all done with dinner, and I feel delightfully buzzy and wonderfully full.

Ezra hasn’t touched a sip of alcohol, sticking to the same Diet Coke that I’m sure must be lukewarm at this point. It’s surprising. He’s always been the type to indulge whenever it’s available. Overindulge, to be honest.

It makes something warm settle in my chest, mixing with the flush from the alcohol—something really close to pride.

I’m never, ever going to feel anything romantic toward him again. That ship has long sailed, especially after getting to know my guys. If I hadn’t met them, maybe I would be tempted to get back with Ezra, especially if Gina keeps on shoving us together like this and he keeps on being nice.

But I know I deserve better than someone who’s raised a hand to me at all. And I have better.

Well... I had better. There’s no telling whether the guys will even wait for me with this legal shitshow going on. If Gina had her way, she’d keep me trapped like this for years. Maybe even decades.

How much will the legal system allow her to steal from me? Even if I’m granted my freedom one day, how much of the real me will be left?

I already feel like an empty shell of myself, grateful for scraps of steak snuck to me at a charity gala where I’ve been paraded around like a pariah.

How pathetic is that? How pathetic am I?

“You’re thinking a lot,” Ezra murmurs as the auction starts up.