Page 58 of Camera Shy

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Finn, this is the only nice dress I own.”

I stay silent, too worried I’m going to say something wrong again.

“I mean, I make well into the six figures. I can actually afford to live in a decent part of L.A., which a lot of people can’t say…and this is the only nice piece of clothing I have. It’s the only dress I have that makes me feel pretty.”

I run my hand through my hair and grumble. “Is this whole arrangement just so I’ll call you pretty, because I already—”

“Stop.” Avery locks her eyes on mine, startling me with the fire blazing in them. “Please do not misunderstand me. This is not a shallow validation thing. It’s not about you calling me pretty. What good is it if you and every other man on this planet calls me pretty if I don’t believe it? Even more terrifying, what good is it if my entire worth is wrapped up in a man’s opinion of me? Look, Finn, my mom gave me the sex talk at age sixteen. You know what she told me?”

“What?”

“Don’t do it. Don’t get pregnant.”

“Oh boy…” Although my dad’s rendition wasn’t much better. His advice? Fuck early. Fuck often. Don’t settle down. Advice he gave me right in front of my mother.

“So I went from awkward sex to boring sex, eventually to no sex. I don’t know if Mason was the problem, or I was, but I just know I don’t want to have that problem ever again. I want to find someone who is a good match, who brings out the best in me. But I don’t know how to match myself because I don’t know what I like. I haven’t tried much of anything. Sex is behind closed doors, lights off, obligatory, and awkward. Would you be okay with that kind of sex life with your wife?”

Truthfully? No. “In a good marriage, if you’re unhappy, aren’t you supposed to talk about it and work on it together?”

Avery points square between my eyes. “Exactly. That’s what we’re doing.” She flits her hand in the air dismissively. “Without the marriage part, of course. This is research. A trade. It’s the perfect way to safely test the waters. I don’t know anyone else who has your confidence in the bedroom who needs my help with something too. Or at least I thought you did until I realized you’re secretly rich.”

My chest tightens as my jaw twitches. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, please,” Avery says, then vibrates her tongue against her bottom lip. “I was confused for a minute, but it’s all making sense now. Your Rolex has diamonds on it,” she says, nodding to my wrist. “You pulled out a hundred-dollar bill from your wallet without flinching, so I’m assuming there’s more where that came from, and everyone who hears your last name is quaking in their boots. Plus, I lied to you earlier. I wasn’t looking up hippopotamus. I have an uncanny knack for spelling. I was looking up Harvey Griffin Senior who owns two hotels, a dozen restaurants, and several parking garages all on the Strip. Net worth roughly in the ballpark of a quarter billion. Is that true? Those online estimates online are never accurate.” She pumps her eyebrows at me. “They’re usually a lowball. How am I doing here?”

I match her stare. “Are you interrogating me?”

Her smile spreads. “Your wealth is not my business, Finn. But I do wonder why you’re mooching off Dex’s nice steaks and borrowing his hot tub. I get the feeling you could certainly afford your own.”

I could lie about this so easily. I do it all the time. It’s a secret I managed to keep from Nora. To this day, she thinks my grandpa is actually broke because of tax evasion and my inheritance won’t be enough to cover a Happy Meal. It couldn’t be further from the truth.

But this is Avery. Without a doubt, I know my money doesn’t interest her. She’s not exactly a woman after the finer things in life. Yet another reason why we get along so well.

“My inheritance will come in stages. Twenty percent when I turn thirty. Another twenty percent when I turn thirty-five. So on and so forth.”

“What?” Avery asks in a shrill voice. She clears her throat, her prior tone accidental from surprise.

“My grandpa is a level-headed man. He’s established trusts for all of his children and grandchildren, but he set up the disbursements to make sure we still had to work our way through adulthood. I was raised never to count on his money. Plus, there are all sorts of stipulations to get the full disbursements. We have to be married by a certain age, have children, or prove we medically can’t. We have to live in a certain radius. It’s controlling of Gramps, actually.”

It’s the only reason my dad married my mom. She married for love. He married for a payout. My grandpa thought he was doing his son a favor by trying to rein in his dickish behavior, but all he did was make my mom an easy target.

Before I can say more, Angelo, dressed in a full suit, tie and all, arrives at our table with a plate of steamed dumplings and spicy duck sauce. He looks like a walking contradiction. His jet-black hair is slicked back, pulled into a tiny knot on the nape of his neck, yet his three-piece suit is pristine. I can see part of a tattoo wrapping around his thumb. Angelo and I use the same tattoo artist. His big-boy job as Rue 52’s manager was only because of my insistent recommendation to Gramps. I stand by it. He’s a hard worker and a good guy.

“I am so sorry, man,” Angelo says as he slides the platter onto the table. Avery’s eyes follow the heavenly-smelling dish and she’s practically drooling. Poor thing was lying. She’s starving. It’s been nearly two hours since I picked her up and I bet she was saving her appetite.

“What’s going on? The bar is a mess.”

Angelo rolls his eyes. “I had two waiters call out on me ten minutes before their shift due to legitimate medical emergencies. My best busboy burnt the shit out of his hand, and my sous chef sliced his hand open on a bottle of merlot. It’s the house of fucking horrors in here tonight. I was actually back there washing dishes myself. I threw on this monkey suit to come apologize to you. Why didn’t you call me and tell me you were coming tonight?”

He holds out his hand and clasps mine in a brotherly handshake.

“I didn’t want to make a fuss, Lo. I’m simply taking my friend to dinner.”

Angelo gives me an impish smile as he turns his gaze to Avery like a hunter eyeing his prey. I’m not sure what his intentions are with that look on his face, but I’m either about to laugh or knock that stupid smirk right off his face.

His move.

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