Page 71 of Knot Just A Fan

She turns to me, and plants a soft kiss on my lips. Then takes Gray’s hand with hers. “You’ve taken care of me, kept me safe. Taken care of my heat. But if he won’t agree to accept me as Omega, I will not push where I’m not wanted.”

CHAPTER 28

Briella

Being backat the flat feels like waking up after a dream.

Saying goodbye at the airport hotel in Nice was hard, but it’s not like they won’t be back living twenty minutes from me once the tour ends. And they’ll be home for stints in-between shows here and then. He and Enzo both said they could not stay away, now that I was theirs, and they were mine.

My heat seems to be over for now but it’s so hard to tell. I want to go to a doctor. I’ve got questions about my body. But my heart aches like a hole’s been dug in it, the insides purged and thrown into the sea. I feel like a dug-up tomb, being apart from them now.

Before anything else can be certain, or be planned, I need to have these interviews.

“First one’s in ten. You ready?”

Cami, in the role of my new agent, since she’s postponed any new bookings for portrait sittings indefinitely, is calling me from the kitchen. I’m still in bed. I did get up, brush my teeth, wash my face, sort my hair. Dab on some concealer, lipstick, and mascara for the video calls. But I got back in, pulled the duvet to my chin, and closed my eyes for ten glorious minutes to relive all that happened on the train, and in the hotel, and on the beach.

“I’m ready!” I call. I peel the cover off and drag myself to the pot of coffee waiting for me. Smells like cinnamon.

Smells like Grayson, but—of course—about a thousand times weaker. Still, I savor it as I pour some milk in and sit down at the table beside Cami.

We spend three hours in meetings, then take a break. A quick walk outside to the canal and back. It’s grey and chilly, typical January weather for England. Far cry from the unseasonably hot Barcelona beach.

“You don’t have to do this all, you know,” I say as we walk side by side. She’s got her arm linked around mine. Even though I’m not in heat, she’s taken to holding protectively on to me as though I might float away.

And then it occurs to me—maybe that’s what’s got her worried.

As if on cue, she looks at me then returns her gaze right ahead. Two cyclists in Lycra whizz past us, barely missing us.

“Dickheads,” she sniffs. “And as for you, Phillips, you should know by now I do fuck-all that I don’t want to do.” But her voice sounds chained to her throat.

“Cami, I couldn’t do this without you. You know I hate social media, I hate arranging things like this. I don’t even like booking my teeth cleaning.” One more thing I can’t do right now, without insurance or income of any kind.

I have some savings but I’m directing it straight to Cami’s bank for groceries, rent, and utilities. She squabbled but I wouldn’t back down. I will not be a freeloader. I may soon be broke, but I won’t be irresponsible, too.

I hold out a hand and verify that I’m feeling raindrops. “We better turn back.”

She stays silent until she closes the door behind us in the flat. Then she turns to me, hands on her hips, leaving her jacket and slouchy knit hat on. “I want this for you. I want a chanceat work that you love again, but work that’vealwaysloved. You love music, and gigs, and Arcadia Echo. But I know your true passion is in natural and landscape work. If you get that, and get money and security doing it, I will be the happiest bugger on the planet.”

We sit down, pull the laptop back toward us, and I open my notebook where I’ve scrawled names, phone numbers, and dates. Some of which I’ve circled.

“I know you’ll get where you deserve to be. I just hope I’m there, too.”

I whip my head toward her as she sips her three-hour-old coffee. “Camilla Kayleigh Douglas. What did you just say? Did I hear a note of doubt that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I’d sooner cut my own fringe with a dull kitchen knife then leave you?”

I pull her into a fierce hug. “I haven’t thanked you properly,” I say softly. “For keeping me in line, and facilitating my—” I pause and then pull back.

“Fucks?” she offers, grinning as she now gulps the last of her coffee then stands to grab us some more.

“That.”

“Well, girl, you needed it. Not just because of the heat. You needed to be reminded you’re worth a million. And I hope to God they made you feel that.”

I bob my head as the timer goes off on Cami’s phone, reminding us the next interview starts in five minutes. “I did.”

“Grayson is fuckingstacked.”

“And how is Mr. Knightley?” I ask. She’s told menothingother than she had a very lovely time, and she’s looking forward to more. Mostly we’ve talked about Ronan, suggesting wilder and wilder scenarios as to why he tried to sabotage me—everything from he’s a serial killer and doesn’t want me getting too close to solving the case, to he was replaced by arobot in America that’s come to Britain to root out sexy, smart, talented Omegas who could steal the hearts and minds of poor unsuspecting musicians.

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