Page 27 of Charming Deception

“That’s understandable. Plenty of celebrities use pseudonyms. It’s not just a marketing tool. It can be a layer of separation for your private self.”

“Yeah. I like my privacy. People back home don’t even know about my books. Cole knows and our mom knows, but they’re sworn to secrecy. And… Troy knew. My ex-boyfriend.”

I hesitate there, not really wanting to talk about him at all. But I do want to be honest with Jameson.

Maybe because I think he deserves to know why I’m here invading his life. And why, like he pointed out, I have no money.

“The thing is, I’ve made a small amount of money off the books. Very small. I send them out to book reviewers and social media influencers and I’ve steadily grown a little following. The first few months after I published the first book, I made like five hundred dollars, and I told myself if I could make a thousand dollars a month off my books, then I could grow it from there to two thousand a month and so on.” I hesitate. “Well, when I finally reached the one-thousand-a-month mark, on top of what I was making at the store, I was able to really start saving. Troy and I were going to buy a house. We were renting.”

I hesitate again, wondering if I should really keep talking or just keep drinking, as Jameson waits for me to go on.

“Troy saved more money than I did because he made more, but I saved all the book money, besides what I put back into promoting the books. We had this joint account for our house fund.”

I stop there, because it’s really hard to say the rest.

But maybe I want the billionaire sitting in front of me to know that I have dreams, and I am trying to better my life. So I take a fortifying sip of champagne and forge on.

“Anyway… My portion was only fifteen thousand dollars. That was all I’d saved up so far. I know it’s such a tiny amount to someone like you. But it would’ve been enough to cover my rent and expenses for a while here, until I got on my feet.”

“Would’ve?” Jameson’s tone is cool and lethal, and it startles me.

I realize I’ve been staring into my hands when I meet the jagged look in his blue eyes.

Well, fuck. You got this far.

Might as well hit bottom.

“Troy took it all. Right before I left. We had a big fight and I told him I thought we should break up, that things weren’t working. And the next day, all the money was gone from the joint account. He’d used it to buy a new truck, so I couldn’t do anything about it. And two nights later, I left town.”

The line of Jameson’s jaw hardens. “Cole knows about this?”

“He knows. And yes, he insisted on murdering Troy for me, but I won’t let him. Even if Troy deserves it.” I try to laugh, but fail.

Jameson appears entirely unamused.

“Look, if you want to revoke your offer, I totally understand. You didn’t know your new gardener came with all this baggage. I just wanted you to know that I haven’t always been penniless, and I do have aspirations?—”

“I’m not revoking anything.” He cuts me off in a low voice that welcomes no negotiating. “You can be a gardener if that’s what you want, but for what it’s worth, I think you should tell more people about your books. Passions should be celebrated, not kept secret. Be proud of yourself for what you’ve accomplished.”

I take that in with a deep, inaudible breath like it’s the freshest air, floored by this strange, euphoric feeling that’s expanding in my chest.

His words seem so genuine.

I told him about my books, and he said I should be proud. Him, the billionaire marketing genius.

Cole told me, while we were in the greenhouse, what Jameson does for his family’s business. VP of Brand Marketing. I don’t know exactly what that entails, but now that I know his “family business” is that of the illustrious Vance family, it’s definitely a bigger deal than sort of author or gardener by pity vote.

I glance around for any sign of my brother. Where the hell is he?

“He might not be back for a while,” Jameson says.

Shit. Is that his way of hinting that he doesn’t want to be stuck sitting out here with me all night?

“That’s okay. I should get some sleep anyway.” I push to my feet, pick up my dessert plate, and reach for his.

But his hand lands on my wrist, warm and gentle. “You can leave that.”

Oh god. He’s touching me.

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