Page 8 of The Influencer

“Besides the fact that my brother getting married has given my girlfriend all the ammunition she needs to bring up an engagement every day?” I don’t mind talking about my relationship with people. Only with Adam, who has way too much to ay on the matter.

“Ugh,” Jax groans, familiar enough with the situation.

“Every. Day.”

“She still a born-again virgin?”

“Yep.”

Jax leans down, elbows on the counter. “Be honest, Ash. You love her or not?”

I wave a hand to dismiss what’s coming. Jax and I are friendly, but we’re not close. “I’m not going there. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Gideon breezes through the back door in a tank top and sweats looking like he just rolled out of bed. His hair is messier than I’ve ever seen it. “You have to go talk to him before you go,” he tells me, in lieu of a greeting. “He’s terrified his piercing is going to get infected, and his nose will rot.”

“He can just take it out.”

“I told him that, mate. He’s on a ledge. You’ll have to try and talk some sense into him. He liked you.”

I grin, pleased to have been noticed. Jade seemed more into himself the day I put the septum ring in than anything else. Although Gideon could just be trying to flatter me to get his temporary tenant out of his hair. “Did he say that?”

Gideon frowns like I’m weird for asking. “Yeah. He even asked if you were single, so watch out with that one when you go over.”

A not unpleasant flutter of excitement hits, and it’s been so long since I felt anything like it, I can’t help wanting to overanalyze it, but before I can, Jax smoothes Gideon’s hair as he makes to leave the kitchen. “I vote for strippers,” he says.

“Over my dead body,” Gideon calls after him as he takes the stool next to me. “What I’m thinking is my yacht.”

I twist the ring around my forefinger and nod along to Gideon’s party plans. With each word out of his mouth, I grow more uncomfortable, more restless.

I guess I’m triggered, which is why I’m not able to be much help. It’s the wedding talk for one thing, but there’s also the sickeningly familiar jealousy bubbling up inside me that I try to ignore most days.

Adam has always been so fucking special. It’s like he got all the good genes, and I’m the dud. He was even a cuter baby, per my mom. Who’s gonna throw me a bachelor party on a fucking yacht? No one. That’s who. I’d consider Gideon a friend, but we’re not besties. Shit, I’d be glad if there were even enough guys who gave enough of a crap about me to qualify as a “party” if my time ever comes. Olivia has two brothers. I guess they’d probably come. Adam and Sawyer—if Adam’s even around. My dad?

Jesus. How did I wind up with no damn life? Am I depressed? I’m not so sure I can deal with another bout of that again.

While in my head I’m considering taking another online depression symptom inventory quiz, I nod along with Gideon and agree. Caviar. Yes! Champagne. Of course! A full mocktail bar—great idea. An entire baseball team—for sure. Why the fuck not? Only the best for my brother who already has everything.

After about forty-five minutes of this, I make a show of checking my watch and telling Gideon I have a client coming in.

“Will you check on Jade before you go, though?”

I totally forgot about that, and the idea of seeing Jade again—who asked about me—gives my mood a small shot of serotonin. “Oh, yeah. Sure. Where’s the guest house?”

Gideon points at the back door he came through. “Just across the way. You can’t miss it. Anyway, I’ll have my assistant email you later, and you can add anything you like. Sky’s the limit!”

“Sounds great.” I slide off the stool, accept his quick goodbye hug, and head outside.

The “guest house” looks like a cottage in the English countryside, complete with a flower garden in full bloom and a cobblestone walkway. The only thing missing is smoke coming out of the chimney, but then again, it is July. I tap on the door a few times.

After a few moments, it swings open, and nothing could have prepared me.

Nothing.

Jade is dressed only in the tightest, whitest boxer briefs ever made. His hair is frizzy, out of control. He’s wearing gold-rimmed glasses, and stuffed into each nostril are wadded up tissues. He recognizes me immediately and covers his face, turning his back on me and screaming, “Fuck you, Gideon!”

“Sorry, I uh… would have texted.” It’s taking all my willpower not to laugh. I have a very strong feeling that wouldn’t go over well.

“Stay away from me. I’m toxic.” He rushes to the nearby couch, tosses himself dramatically onto it, and immediately covers himself with a quilt. The tissues are gone from his nose and he’s holding a fresh tissue up to cover the lower half of his face.

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