Page 7 of Where Happiness Begins
Resting two wine glasses on the countertop, I pull out my phone from my jeans’ back pocket.
Greg: Hey! Long time no speak. Was wondering if you still had that contact over at Optique, that glasses company? I’d be down for a collab with them.
The balls on that guy. I refrain myself from eye rolling, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of even having a reaction. Instead, I delete the text and put my phone back where it was, resolute to forget I even saw Greg’s name today.
When we met at an influencer’s event four years ago, I thought he was the most magnetic, larger-than-life person I’d ever met. It didn’t matter that I eventually realized his smiles were fake and his interest in people was only so he could climb the ranks and become the next big thing. I couldn’t get enough of him, and even when we got together, I still felt like that twenty-year-old who would do anything to impress that man. It didn’t matter that when he realized how sick I was, he decided he wanted out and only stayed out of pity. I couldn’t see it.
I know better now.
I return to my unnecessary work, but the second I grab the glasses I’d just put down, I’m interrupted again, this time by a voice coming from behind that sends shivers down my spine with a single word.
“Fireball.”
I freeze, giving myself a second to react internally before turning around. I wish I didn’t recognize the man who just spoke, but after having lived through a thorough humiliation in front of him a week ago, I don’t think I could even if I tried.
When the shock has worn off and I’m convinced I can look normal, save for the heat in my face at hearing the stupid nickname he’s given me, I spin on my heels and smile brightly, the perfect actress.
“Hi. What can I get you?”
“Nothing,” he says, no hint of a smile on his face.
I tilt my head as I take him in. He’s once again wearing a tight-fitting, long-sleeved black T-shirt, showcasing sculpted shoulders and arms. Dark tattoos peek out from his sleeves, stopping at his wrists, his long fingers untouched by ink. His hair is ruffled as if he got out of bed this morning and only dragged his fingers through it, but somehow, it only makes him look hotter instead of messy like it would look on me.
“Oh-kayyy…” I say, taking a slow step backward.
“I need to talk to you,” he explains, his face giving nothing away.
“Me?” I ask, looking behind me as if someone else suddenly appeared there.
His brows twitch inwardly. “Yeah. You.”
I repeat a slow, “Okay,” probably sounding a little slow, but I honestly don’t understand.
Not wasting a second, he jumps right in. “You spoke with Ethan last week about a possible deal?” He says it as a question, but really, he’s telling this to me.
“A deal?”
“Yeah. Doing some promo for them?”
I chuckle, knotting my hands in front of me. Somehow, he has a way of making me feel like I’m the one intruding on his space instead of the opposite. “That wasn’t serious.”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” he asks as if he genuinely has no idea why anyone would ever joke around.
“I don’t know, maybe because I only met them once?”
“So?” He leans forward, arms crossing over the bar. “We’ve seen your impact on our—their—streaming numbers from one post. Having you on our team would be game-changing.”
As flattering as this is, he’s also wrong. I’m not a music influencer. I post about my often-boring life and make videos testing makeup and giving reading updates. One story doesn’t mean anything. We could just have been lucky.
“What’s it to you anyway?” I ask, trying to give myself time to put my thoughts in order. Who even is he? He wasn’t up there on the stage from what I know. “Are you their manager?”
“I’m their producer.”
“Why would a producer be involved in a band’s promo?”
“Let me worry about my reasons.”
I don’t know what’s gotten into all these men today, but I’ve had more than enough. His answer doesn’t change anything to me—I’m not even considering his offer—and yet the way he just spoke to me like Ihaveto listen to him rubbed me the wrong way. I give him an overly-cheery smile and say, “Then allow me to walk away.”
