Page 38 of Knot Their Starlet

Because of the family he comes from and the PR company his father can afford, and because of his status as an alpha, the only real consequences Ezra will face will come at the hands of me and his father.

I can’t be there for him anymore. That’s a natural consequence of him cracking my head open.

I also can’t be there to help act as a buffer between him and his father.

I hate my fucking designation. Maybe it’s an omega thing to constantly feel like my heart is bleeding for the people I can’t help.

“Are you listening to me, Andromeda?” Gina says.

“Yes, Mom.”

No, I wasn’t.

And now that I think about it, maybe it’s not an omega thing, considering Gina Sterling only thinks of herself.

“Don’t you dare lie to me,” she hisses.

“Sorry, I think it’s the lingering effects of the concussion,” I say, trying to fight the urge to bite my lips, considering the makeup artist working on me would probably chew me out for messing things up. “Could you repeat what you said?”

“Fine,” she huffs. “I was saying that you’d better not fuck things up. This male omega is the biggest fucking diva I’ve ever met! The demands they included in the contract were insane.”

“Insane? Insane how?” That doesn’t sound like the Beck I know.

The Beck I know has been sending me cute puppy videos, seemingly in an attempt to cheer me up. I’m more of a cat person, but I haven’t found the heart to tell him that yet.

“They’re handling the entire schedule! The only thing I was able to get on the books is this campaign for American Eagle because I could get you both in earlier than their connections could. They’re stonewalling me! I had to fight to make sure that Stuart was there to watch over you.”

My eyes dart to Stuart, whose version of “watching over me” includes his gaze lingering a little too long on my body, only covered in a thin black silk robe. I know the man is into my mom, but that doesn’t take away the creep-factor he exudes at these shoots.

I really wish he weren’t here.

“Wow, that’s pretty crazy,” I say, giving Gina the response she needs to move on.

“Isn’t it? Okay, dear, it’s time for confessionals. I’m going to hang up, and you’re going to call me back and ask me to cancel our Sunday night dinner.”

I have to bite back the groan that’s fighting its way up my throat.

I know the drill with this sort of thing. I grew up with cameras in my face and boom mics hovering above me since I was a child. If anyone thinks most reality shows aren’t scripted to the Gods, then they need their own reality check.

“Okay, why exactly am I asking to cancel our weekly Sunday night dinner?” Our weekly Sunday night dinner that we don’t actually have. We have them maybe a couple of times a year, normally before the release of a new season of her show, and they are set up very publicly

“Because that’s the night of your first date with the male omega, of course! Hasn’t someone sent you the schedule?”

“No, Mom, no one’s sent me the schedule.”

“Hmm, well, I’m sure someone will give it to you today. Now then, are you ready?”

“Yeah, I’m ready⁠—”

She hangs up before I even finish.

My eyes fall shut, and I take a deep breath to collect myself. The makeup artist applying foundation to my face pauses.

“Sorry,” I mumble, shooting her an apologetic glance. She just shrugs, returning to her work.

I tap on my mom’s contact, shooting her another call. She lets it ring a few times—probably to explain to the camera that it’s her daughter calling—before picking up.

“Hello, my dear!” Gina says.