Page 78 of Knot Their Starlet

Bingo.

“Am I wrong?” I ask, cataloging all of his reactions.

He just winces.

“Is it because of the public’s perception of things?” he finally says, seemingly in an attempt to change the subject. “Aren’t those going well so far?”

“They are going well. But there are still people who have doubts, likely because of Gina Sterling’s reputation.”

“Andi’s not her mom, she’s—she’s⁠—”

I hold my hands up in surrender in the face of Beckham’s quick defense.

“Never said she was. I just said that I need to meet her, especially considering... how influential she’s been on this level of creativity.”

He swallows hard before offering me a jerky nod. “Okay. Andi’s not like her mom, though. She’s—she’s special.”

All the more reason I need to meet her.

“Invite her to the studio sometime. We can show her the demo.”

He tucks his hands into his back pockets before offering me another nod.

“Good work today, Beckham. Have more confidence in yourself.”

CHAPTER 17

Andromeda

adoor, checking the number to make sure it matches the one on my phone.

This is it.

Nancy Clemmins, LMFT. The office of my new therapist.

The waiting room is small but quiet, with abstract art on the walls. I try to find meaning in them, like those inkblot tests I learned about in my AP Psychology class senior year, but I think I’m just staring at random shapes.

My heart practically leaps into my throat when the door adjacent to the waiting room opens.

“Andromeda?” A middle-aged woman with a blonde bob says, appearing in the open doorway.

I know that hairstyle must take a lot of maintenance to upkeep, considering how my mom’s own haircare schedule is. But for whatever reason, I can’t imagine that this woman would complain about how the bleach burns her scalp off in the same way my mom does on the regular.

“Please, call me Andi,” I say, standing from my seat and hefting my purse over my shoulder.

“Andi then, it’s nice to meet you. My name is Nancy, why don’t you come on back with me and we can get to know each other a bit more.”

“Okay,” I nod, following her in. I give the air a subtle sniff, but she must be wearing some de-scenter because I can only catch the faint whiff of something floral, even though I can tell she’s an omega. Makes sense. Given her job, she probably wouldn’t want her perfume to interrupt a session with a patient.

Her office has a similar feeling to that of the waiting room. Small, cozy, and quiet. When I sit on the couch across from her, I practically sink into the soft cushions.

I’m appreciating the research I did to find an omega therapist who specializes in omegas, because this attention to detail is seriously helping with my nerves.

She’s wearing a blouse in the off-the-shoulder style that’s common with omegas. It showcases the three bond marks she has.

“You’re bonded,” I blurt out as she settles into her own armchair.

“Why yes,” she says, offering me a warm smile, unbothered by my inability to string together a proper sentence. “I have three mates. We’re going on thirty years soon.”