Page 127 of Knot Their Starlet

I take a step back, creating distance between us.

The publicist makes his way to her side, purposely positioning himself between her and I. Now that he’s closer, I can tell he’s a beta.

“You were gone a while,” he says quietly to her. His hand flexes at his side. Is he fighting the urge to pull her closer?

“I got held up,” she says, crossing her arms defensively over her chest.

“I can see that,” the publicist says, eyeing me up and down.

“Cameron Foster,” I say, extending my hand to shake his.

His jaw works as he stares down at it before he lifts a brow in surprise.

Okay, maybe that was the wrong move.

“What business do you have with her?” he asks, his scowl deepening.

“He’s press,” Andi sighs.

“Journalist,” I correct, the distinction mattering to me.

“What kind of piece?” he asks, turning to Andi.

It grates against my nerves that the question is directed at her, and not me, but I understand why. If anything, it’s creating a grudging sort of respect for this beta.

“Male omegas,” she says, her eyes cutting to me. “Apparently, Beck is relevant to the story.”

Something shifts in his expression, as if he’s digesting her words. Maybe this is the in I’ve been looking for. Maybe Beckham Knight’s publicist would understand this is an opportunity that could benefit them.

“Who do you write for?” he asks me the question directly this time.

“Northline.”

Unlike Andromeda, it’s obvious that he’s heard of it.

“What exactly were you hoping to get here tonight?” he asks, his tone professionally neutral in a way that I find admirable. “Cornering omegas in a club isn’t exactly Northline’s style.”

“Blackmailing us,” Andromeda snorts, leaning against the wall behind her. It’s almost like she’s gotten drunker the longer this conversation has gone on. How much did she have to drink?

“What?” he asks, his head whipping towards her.

“He saw us,” she slurs. “In the stairway.”

“Look,” I say, meeting the beta’s hostile glare with a sympathetic wince. “All I’m looking for is an interview. With Beckham. Or a chance to pitch why he should agree to one.”

“You’re an idiot,” Andromeda giggles.

She’s not wrong.

“I know,” I grunt.

There’s a beat of silence, as if the two of them didn’t expect me to agree with them.

“Leo Park,” the beta says, extending his hand out to me. “Give me your card.”

The wave of relief that washes over me is immediate. I try not to show it, but I’m sure it leaks out.

I pull out my wallet and retrieve a spare business card.