Page 89 of The Influencer

I shrug a shoulder. “Of course.”

“What do you need?” he asks, while I linger.

“Nothing.”

He gives me a knowing look. “A compliment?”

“I do like compliments,” I say, my cheeks heating.

“You look hot in that.”

“Oh, this?” I finger the tie on the robe like I forgot I was wearing it. “Thank you.” I stare at him, wanting a bigger clue as to his preferences, but he doesn’t give me one. He just smiles and nods at the door to excuse me.

Fine. He’s not wrong to get rid of me. I feel like a leech. I step away from the bed gracefully and give him a nod in return. “Good night, Ash.”

I set my alarm for six a.m., not wanting to miss Asher before he leaves for work. Joke’s on me though because he doesn’t wake up until nine. By nine, I’ve had four espressos, a smoothie, a full workout, and a shower.

“Good morning,” I say when he emerges from the hallway in the same clothes he was wearing last night.

He gestures for me to twirl, and I do, showing off my ass in my wide-legged white pants and then striking a pose so he gets the whole look—a black illusion halter top with my nipples easily visible, and a belly chain. “What are you all dressed up for?” he asks.

“Content.”

“That should do the trick,” he says, proceeding to the kitchen.

“What trick?” I ask.

“Whatever you’re looking for. Likes, follows, special requests—whatever the point of ‘influencing’ is.”

“Surely you’re not immune to influence,” I say, leaning on the counter while he looks through my refrigerator.

“Guess I never really thought about it,” he says gruffly.

Mmm. He’s a grumpy bear in the morning… why is that so hot? He finds my orange juice, and I swear, the only thing that would be more wholesome is if he were pouring himself a tall glass of milk.

“Easy, big guy. I need that for my screwdrivers,” I say.

He glances at me and stops pouring. “Sorry. Should have asked.”

“Oh, please, I was kidding. Did you not sleep well?”

His eyes seem to fixate on mine. “I slept fine,” he answers quickly.

Too quickly. I cock my head and give him a be honest look.

“I’ve got a lot on my mind,” he says.

“Want my opinion?” I ask.

“About…?”

“I think you need to go back to your apartment, get all your shit, and move out for real.”

“Ah.”

“Is there a reason why you can’t?”

He gulps his juice, and I get momentarily hypnotized by his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. He sets down the empty glass and takes a breath. “She can’t afford the place by herself.”

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