Page 4 of The Influencer

“Yeah, I do. You’re not going without me, but you might have to help me take this off.”

“Jax would fucking murder me if I touch you in that.”

“Jax doesn’t have to know…”

Gideon frowns as he examines the bodysuit while I continue to pose for him. “Is there not a zipper?” he asks.

“No,” I lament.

“I’ll give you ten minutes then.”

“Gideon, come on.”

“No way.” He snorts a laugh. “Meet me at the car.”

With that, he leaves me to struggle out of the latex on my own. I sigh and bitch at him as he walks back to the main house.

Also—why doesn’t this suit have a zipper? I may have to post a review of this one, but I’d never tell the fan who sent it to me. The bottom line is—I look fabulous in it. It clings to every well-earned muscle like a stripper on a pole. I give myself one more admiring look before I bear the complete grunting indignity of taking myself out of it. You may think this may not be recording worthy, but of course it is. Hashtag the struggle is real.

Gideon is no more pleased by what I’m wearing when I slide into the back of his Bentley to head over to WeHo, but with one look, I dare him to say anything about my exposed Calvin jockstrap and my belly-bearing Game Changer tank. He should consider himself lucky I have my nipples covered. “Adorable,” he mumbles.

I grin at him. “Thank you.”

Technically, Gideon is my employer but has recently become my temporary landlord while my condo is being renovated. I first met him three years or so ago on his last US tour. I was a dancer for his stadium shows. This was pre-Jax. Back when Gideon York was still single and fun.

“Where did you even find that shirt?” he asks, scrutinizing my tight child-size top. It’s vintage merch from his past life as a member of a world-famous boy band.

“A fan sent it to me.” I chew my thumbnail as the driver pulls out of the driveway. “Are we sure this is going to look good?”

“Why wouldn’t it?” he asks.

“I mean, it’s one thing trying it on in a TikTok filter, but what if it looks like shit?”

“Then you take it out,” he says. “It’s just a piercing.”

“Right.”

Of course he’s right. I can just take it out if I hate it. My ear piercings all went fine. They all look hot. But a septum piercing—right in the middle of my face? “I have a good nose for it, don’t I?”

A long-suffering sigh. “Yes, Jade.”

“It’s just that I don’t take mutilating my body lightly.”

Gideon snorts. I make a face, mortified. “Was that tacky? That was tacky.”

He laughs again. “It’s fine. You’ll look great. You always look great.”

“Mmm… Careful. What would Jax say?”

He turns to face me, kohl-lined blue eyes lit with wicked amusement. “You really want to know what Jax says about you?”

My own eyes widen. “I guess not.”

I mean, like what? That I’m ridiculous? Stupid? Self-absorbed? Vain? A joke? “He doesn’t like me?”

“He likes you fine.”

“But I’m wearing out my welcome?”

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