Page 131 of Now Their Starlet

“What is someone doing in this wing?” Leo asks Everett, his brows drawn down in concern. “The VIP experience should be in the other section.”

I guess this girl must’ve flirted her way in, if the blushing beta stagehand hovering behind her is any indication. Guess he must have a thing for coconut.

“I asked you a question!” she yells again, taking a few steps towards me and pointing an accusing finger. “How dare you!”

She really didn’t ask a question, but for whatever reason, I’m frozen in place. My mouth won’t work to yell back a snippy comeback.

Am I shaking?

Shit, I am shaking.

“Hey! Whoa there,” Cameron says, immediately stepping in front of me.

Eli’s chest vibrates with a menacing growl. I can’t see his face, but I’m sure his lips are peeling back in a snarl. The arms he has wrapped around me tug even tighter.

“Who the hell are you?” Eli growls.

The omega girl flinches back at first, but then she finds some strange source of power and straightens her spine.

“I’m Beckham’s real biggest fan, and I’m not afraid of you!” She directs her accusing finger back at me. “How could you cheat on Beckham?”

I’d find the absurdity of her question more funny if I weren’t currently teetering on the edge of a panic attack already.

“Wh—Huh?” I sputter, shaking my head. “I’m not cheating on Beck!”

But despite my words, Eli’s arms still remained locked around me. They’re the only things keeping me together right now in the face of this omega’s righteous anger. I guess it makes sense she’d draw that conclusion. This isn’t exactly a platonic hold.

“I don’t believe a single word coming out of your mouth, you crazy bitch!”

Her words hit me like a smack to the face.

She sounded just like Gina.

That same furious, fanatic intensity. I know that she’s made up her mind about me, and that nothing I say or do in this moment will change that. She’s still waving her finger around like it’s some hammer of justice.

“That’s enough,” Everett snaps, his alpha aura exploding out from him with pure dominance. He turns his glare to the stagehand, who looks far more mortified than he is blushing at this point. “Take her away.”

“Wh—what? And who are you to turn me away! Do you know who I am?” she gasps.

If I were less panicked, I’d be curious to know who she thinks she is.

Maybe she’s as fan who runs one of Beck’s fan pages. That would explain the entitlement and why she described herself as Beck’s real biggest fan.

“No, we don’t know who you are,” Leo says, his jaw working. “But you’re speaking to the person in charge of whether your precious Beckham gives his fans opportunities like this.” He gestures down at her VIP lanyard.

“But—but only his label gets to decide that!”

“You’re speaking to Everett Vaughn. His label executive.”

Even in the dim light of the wings, I can see how pale she gets at Leo’s words. But she seems to lack the situational awareness required to stop her accusatory rants.

“So you’re all in on letting her pull one over on Beckham? He deserves better!”

The fervor of her ignorant rage is gob-smacking. I wish I had a fraction of the amount of confidence she has. I’d be unstoppable if that were the case. Why hasn’t it occurred to her that maybe we’re a pack? That would make all the guys’ defensiveness over me click into place rather nicely, wouldn’t it?

She seems to take our shocked silence as an admission of guilt.

“When I see Beckham, I’ll explain everything to him!”