Million Dollar Devil (Million Dollar #1)(32)

I realize I’m making a fool of myself and lower my hand. “You gently help me to my feet, offer me your elbow, and escort me home,” I say, rolling my eyes and laughing as I stand.

He shoots me a curious glance as if wondering where the hell I left my uptight persona. “Just checking how drunk you are.”

“You can’t get drunk on Diet Coke.”

“Ah, but what do I know of what they give the special people in their drinks here?”

He sets his hand on the small of my back and leads me out to the parking lot.

I’m keenly aware of that hand and the fact that his thumb is moving very slightly on my back as we approach my car when voices halt us.

“Hey, JIMMY. Jimmy Rowan? Shit, I hardly recognized you! Remember me?” One of the blond twentysomethings peels away from his group and walks over to shake his hand. “Man, it is you. You did a dare to help get a wheelchair for my sister. Remember how we emailed you?”

“Damn, Bert! Of course I remember you and your sis.” James whistles as if amazed they’re face to face again. Then his eyes shift to me, and they widen as he realizes his blunder.

“Man, you remember my name! You’re so cool!” Bert gushes as he shakes his hand. “Hey, when’s the next video?”

James’s voice is suddenly stiff. “I’m sorry. I need to go.”

The guy leans closer, staring at him. “Are you kidding me?”

He shakes his head. “No. Sorry. Have a good night.”

Then he jogs in front of me, away from the guy, who’s staring after him. A wheelchair?

I glance at him as we board the car, surprised that he swings the door open for me.

Guilt creeps in when I think of me being the reason he had to shut down his fan’s enthusiasm.

“Fan of your channel?” I ask as I climb in.

“For a long time.” There’s a bite in his voice. I can tell he hates having to turn a fan away.

He shuts the door and walks around the front of the car toward the passenger side.

He’s learning.

He’s doing everything I’ve asked for.

But for the first time, I wonder if I’m teaching him the right things.

I try to reassure myself that I’m not doing this to be mean. My future position as CEO rides on the success of this project. I found James in a filthy bar, brawling like some uncivilized beast come from the Middle Ages! For the people of my crowd, someone like James is not worth their time—it’s true that they would look down on him. How can I get them to purchase what he’s selling if they believe he’s beneath them? Nobody can know where I found him.

For his efforts, he’s getting a million dollars out of this deal, a new wardrobe, a new life for his kid brother, and a lesson in how to act like a civil human being. He’s going to be thanking me one of these days, just like Bert just thanked him.

I repeat that to myself over and over, trying to feel good about my project once again as he gives me directions to his house.

His place is a small crumbling little piece of crap in a bad neighborhood, with an overgrown postage-stamp lawn and a few garbage cans strewn all over the driveway. People sit out on their stoops, watching with interest as I pull up in my Audi. Besides Tim’s Bar, I don’t think I’ve ever been in such a bad neighborhood, ever.

I can’t help thinking, though, about that fan he had to turn away. The knot in my stomach that appeared when James turned him away doesn’t ease. “James, I—”

“I’d invite you in. But my brother’s there.”

I nod.

He looks at me briefly, then gives me a grin and says, “See you tomorrow, boss.”

And then he slams the door.

As I watch him jog up the steps to his front door, I realize it’s the first time he didn’t try anything.

And it may have been the first time that I would have let him.

Strange that even though I told myself I didn’t want to go anywhere with him, when I pull into his driveway to turn around, I sort of don’t want to leave.

Jimmy

As I climb the steps to my house, I’m thinking of that guy I met in the parking lot of Shake Shack.

If there’s one thing I hate about this arrangement, it’s dismissing my fans. Denying where I come from. Pretending like I’m above it all. Because these people? They’re the reason I still exist. This neighborhood might not be flashy, but I like it. People look out for one another. I like Tim’s; I like doing stunts. Just because I’m playing her damn fantasy man for a few months, I don’t want to turn my back on the things that make me who I really am.

But Lizzy doesn’t go for any of that shit. And something tells me her ideal guy wouldn’t either.

Inside, I hear Charlie run up to the door to see if it’s me. “You’re home!”

“Hey, tiger.”

“Where were you? You hungry?” he asks.

I slam my palm to my forehead. “Goddammit. I was out for burgers. I should’ve brought you some.” I eye him. “What’ll you have?”

“I’ve had dinner already. Maria made me.”

“She still here?”

He shakes his head. “Just left. Told me to tell you to text her when you got in.”

I shoot her a text saying, I’m home. Thx. I owe u.