I also slide into the back hallway, pulling out my phone properly to check messages. I have several from my Alphas, asking how I’m doing, if I’m safe, if I need anything.
And there’s a photo that makes my heart literally ache. All four of them crowded around a table at some pancake place, stacks of pancakes in front of them, all of them leaning in fora selfie. My men. God, I want to be there with them right now instead of here.
“Ash!” a male voice calls out.
I almost drop my phone, frantically switching it off and shoving it in my pocket as I whip around.
It’s just one of the staff helpers, a young guy with a headset. “Social media team wants to chat with you. They’re in room ten-oh-two, down that hallway.”
“Yep, for sure. Thanks.”
I head that way, slightly nervous but figuring they just want more photos of Reed specifically. The back hallway is quieter now. Most people are in a room where I can see them all sitting around a table, chatting and eating. The catering table has been picked clean.
I head in the opposite direction toward room 1002.
But on the way, I hear Reed’s voice coming from his dressing room, and I glance over to where his door is slightly ajar.
He sounds pissed. I pause, sliding into a shadowy corner not far from his door. My heart is pounding as I stare carefully, finding that the crack in the door is enough for me to see his side in his stupid white suit sitting down. I pull out my phone and start recording, zooming in through the gap, just in case.
His body language is all stiff and agitated, hands gesturing wildly. And Rex, the guy from the charter boat, is with him.
“You need to calm the hell down,” Reed snaps.
“I can’t!” Rex shoots back. “The conversations onThe Heat Linelast night have people asking questions they don’t normally ask at these events. Questions we can’t answer.”
My breath catches. They’re talking about my show.
“The questions I’m getting from this audience are unlike any we’ve received from previous shows we’ve done,” Rex continues, pacing. “Most of them are asking aboutThe Heat Line. Abouthow those Alphas said Omegas don’t want to be suppressed and how real Alphas don’t need to dominate to be respected. And?—”
“Fuck off with that,” Reed cuts him off harshly. “Those losers out there in the auditorium will never get an Omega or any woman anyway. They’re pathetic. Drop-dead idiots who’ll believe anything we tell them.”
My eyes widen.
“My advice doesn’t even work for the two of us,” Reed says with a bitter laugh. “But get your head straight and remember why we’re doing this.” He clears his throat. “To become fucking rich. That’s why. So fuck everyone else and what they say. As long as we have morons who are desperate enough to believe us, we’re set. Once we have their money, we can get any woman we want. Understand?”
Rex makes a frustrated sound. “But what aboutThe Heat Line?—”
“No matter what, there will always be someone we can trick into believing us,” Reed interrupts. “And fuck that Sunny chick onThe Heat Line. She’s a nobody. Big deal, she got some Alphas on her live show. She’ll fade into obscurity like everyone else.”
“Well, it’s having an impact,” Rex argues. “Omegas are being very vocal online. Even on our pages, in our comments?—”
“Don’t worry so much!” Reed’s voice rises. “As long as those idiots exist, even with us being Betas in disguise, we can keep getting paid for telling them what they want to hear.”
I freeze.
Betas in disguise.
Reed isn’t an Alpha.
He’s been lying this entire time. Oh my God! The self-proclaimed Alpha god is a fraud.
“Now stop working me up during my show,” Reed continues. “Goddammit, Rex, you need to calm down before you give yourself a heart attack?—”
He suddenly notices that the door is open and storms over, slamming it shut.
I pull back quickly, my pulse on fire, my hands shaking.
I stop recording and immediately start sending the video to the guys. It’s large, so it’s going to take time to upload.
