Page 48 of Billionaire Grump
“Well, since you’re paying me a lot of money to be your friend for the weekend, I’m going to call you Alex. Whether you like it or not.”
His amusement is layered with something darker and I regret mentioning that he’s paying me to be here. It puts up an invisible barrier between us.
“So how do you sell your music if you don’t have a recording deal?” he asks.
“Through streaming platforms, mainly.”
“Show me.”
“Show you what?”
“Show me one of your platforms.”
I look out at the reflection of the moon on the water. “I don’t think it’ll be all that interesting for you.”
Little crinkles lightly frame the edges of his eyes as he watches me. “Well, I think it’ll be very interesting for me. Let me see your Instagram.”
I’d say no, but it’s not like he won’t search for it the minute he’s out of my sight anyway. And I’d rather see his reaction first-hand.
I pull my phone out of the clutch that’s looped over my shoulder on a delicate leather and chain strap. Pulling up my Instagram, I hand him my phone.
He takes it, riveted as he scrolls. “Ten million followers,” he drawls. It feels strange to watch him analyze my posts as though he’s studying them under a microscope. “You really thought you could fly under the radar this weekend?”
“It’s getting harder to do,” I admit.
He’s frowning now, turning slightly to shield the screen from me as he zooms in on something. “Some of these are…”
“Are what?” I reach for my phone but he turns further, keeping it out of reach.
“…very revealing.” There’s mild shock in his statement.
“What are you looking at?” I grab his arm and manage to see the photo he’s looking at. It’s the recent one of me doing yoga on the balcony, taken by Josh. “Oh. That’s just a campaign I was doing for a company that sells yoga wear. I’ve been working with them for a few years. I love their products.”
He keeps scrolling. “Yoga, huh?”
“I do yoga every day.”
He stops scrolling to glance at me, my legs, my body, my arms, letting his gaze clock that information almost dreamily, before returning to my phone, where he zooms in again. This time it’s a photo of me at a party that was thrown by one of my clients to showcase their swimwear. I’m on a boat out on the East River and my back is to the camera but I’m looking over my shoulder so my face is still visible. Manhattan is in the background behind me. “You have to get practically naked to make money off this stuff?” He seems pissed off by this.
I grab my phone, sliding it back into my bag. “I’m not naked. I’m selling swimwear.”
Okay, I’ll admit that one was one of the more risqué photos I’ve ever posted. It’s a minuscule thong bikini with very little coverage. But they paid me a lot for that shoot. “They’re marketing to women,” I point out.
“My guess is that most of the people who spend time staring at that photo are men. Let me see the comments.”
“No.” I’m annoyed now. It’s easy for him to judge. He doesn’t have to put his little brother through Columbia.
“I’m going to look later anyway.”
I roll my eyes. “Go right ahead. It’s a free country.” Damn it. I sound like I’m arguing with a seventeen-year-old. Which, to be fair, I spend a lot of my time doing. “I don’t read the comments anyway.”
“Because they’re all lewd and suggestive come-ons from men?”
I glare at him. Of course I look at the comments every now and then. And he happens to be partly right. There are plenty of kind comments from fans and followers. But I also get a lot of propositions, more X-rated offers than I can bear to read, and at least a few marriage proposals every time I post. “The comments are irrelevant. The income, however, is very relevant. And that’s what I’m focused on.”
His expression is hard to read. It’s…protective, if I’m reading him correctly. Concerned. Maybe even empathetic. And very determined. Which is the detail I like the least.
The band has finished playing and someone else steps up to the microphone on stage, tapping it three times. Margot. I’m almost grateful for her interruption. “Ladies and gentlemen, please make your way to your seats. The band will resume for another short set after dinner. You’ll find your name on a place card at your allocated table. Dinner will be served in five minutes. Again, please make your way to your tables now.”