Million Dollar Devil (Million Dollar #1)(66)

“You’re famous,” I say to him, mind blown, too, by James’s effortless charisma—noticeable in his YouTube channel and even more so now after getting the kind of exposure we’re giving him. “But if you think this is wild, wait until New Yo—”

I can’t finish because he’s suddenly swept away from me, and I’m pushed aside. More and more bodies crowd between us, all people eager for a piece of him. It’s exciting how enthusiastic people are. He’s looking back for me, but eventually he just gives in and starts to answer a question a reporter is asking as a microphone is thrust under his nose.

I know I need to get to him. He’s my property, after all. I need to make sure he’s giving the Banks-approved answer.

But maybe he can do this all on his own. He’s already proven he can handle himself. Maybe he doesn’t need me.

“Are you with that hottie?” one of the reporters, a redheaded woman, asks me. “James Rowan?”

I nod. At least I’m not invisible. “Yes, he’s the face of the new—”

“He’s a dream, is what he is. Sexy, smooth, complete sophistication. He could sell me anything. Whatever it is, I’m buying.”

I smile at her, a little knot of worry growing in my stomach. I’m wondering if this is a bad thing. Maybe he’s too good. Maybe he’s so beautiful he’ll outclass and outshine the very thing we’re trying to sell?

Or maybe he’ll outshine and outclass me?

No, that’s ridiculous. He’s Jimmy Rowan. He’s real. He’s not like all those other stuffed shirts walking around in designer suits.

I break through the crowd and hear the redheaded reporter say, “James, the entire female population of Atlanta wants to know, Are you single?”

I wait with bated breath for the answer and go completely cold when he hitches a shoulder.

“And looking,” he says smoothly, giving her that million dollar smile.

We rehearsed that answer. He’s supposed to be a bachelor. So he’s not supposed to give any allusion to having a serious girlfriend.

So why does it bother me so much to hear him say it?

The flight might have been excruciatingly long, but suddenly, I wish I’d never left the plane. Because maybe if we hadn’t, I could’ve kept whatever we had in LA.

It’s stupid, because I knew life would go on. We couldn’t stay in that little bubble together. And I was the one who changed him.

But right then, I wish that I hadn’t.

I wish to god that he were still Jimmy.

James

A week after Atlanta, I finally get a breath of air from the whirlwind of press and appearances I’ve been making, so I go down to Tim’s to see Luke.

“So when were you going to tell us that you were a supermodel?” Luke says, frowning as he slides a glass in front of me. “When’s the swimsuit competition?”

“Funny.” I look around. I figured Luke would find it out eventually. He’s a smart guy. “Keep that down. I’m trying to keep it under wraps as much as possible.”

He starts to pour my tequila and then stops. “Or would you prefer a martini? Shaken, not stirred?”

I shoot him eye daggers. “Pour the fucking drink.”

He does, then opens up the latest copy of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution to the second page, where there is a massive full-page ad of me. Throws it down on the bar. I can’t look at it. “Is this what you and Miss Hoity-Toity have been working on together?”

“Yeah.” I lift the glass to my mouth and toss it back. Not as subtle as the shit I’ve been getting used to, it burns my throat. “Another.”

“And what does Charlie say about it?”

“Charlie’s cool about it.”

“But what about the YouTube channel? Everyone was wondering when you’re going to post a new video.”

I shake my head. “Can’t. Not until my contract is over.” I shrug. “And maybe not ever, after that. You know, I’m all Charlie has. I have to think about his future.”

He studies me. “I’m sorry. Who the fuck are you? You look a little like a guy I knew named Jimmy. But you can’t be.”

I hitch my shoulder and spin on the bar. There are people I know there, people who used to root for me, watching me. Now they’re all looking at me like I’m a stranger. I’m wearing slacks and a white shirt, which is all I’ve been wearing these days. But I’m still the same guy. Do they even recognize me?

“Hey, Luke?” I say, not looking back at him. “Set up a round for everyone in the bar. On me.”

“Mr. Big Bucks, huh?”

As I’m spinning back, I catch sight of Denny. Oh, shit.

Just what I need.

“What’s wrong, little princess? Did they run out of dresses for you to wear for your photo shoots?” he says, sauntering over to me. Behind him, three of his brothers are there.

I glare at Luke. So, does everyone know?

Of course they do. How could I keep it a secret? I knew it was a mistake to come back here.

I throw a couple of hundreds on the bar and say, “I’ll see you later, Luke.”

Then I go outside.

I’m halfway down the block when Denny calls after me, “Charlie told my brother that you’re going to be sending him to private school. So that’s how you settle your fights these days? Running away? Pussy.”