“Kid, this is bad. Really bad. Astrid is destroying you in the clickbait game. You’ve lost over two million followers. At this rate, we’ll have to shut down the shoe line before it launches.”
My stomach drops. “We can’t lay off people.”
“I’ve got a solution. And before you say anything, you’re not gonna like it.”
I groan. “Just tell me.”
“Is camera girl there?”
I hit him with a glare that could melt his ring light.
“Sorry, sorry—isCamthere?”
“Yeah.” I glance over—she’s perched on the edge of a decorative boulder by the shower, eyes locked on her camera screen. Her thick chestnut waves, loose and unruly, cling to her damp skin—it’s a gorgeous, tangled mess that I suddenly want to run my fingers through.
“Cam!” he yells. “Come have a seat. Let’s talk strategy.”
I look at our options: spinning sex mattress or the Pleasure Perch that almost murdered me. “We’ll stand.”
“First, Cam, legally I need to tell you that you are in no way obligated to do what I’m about to propose, and I want to remind you of your signed NDA. But… if you agree, it could literally save hundreds of jobs.”
“For fuck’s sake, Gordon, skip the guilt trip and get to the point.”
“You have to beat Astrid at her own game.” He hesitates for effect. “To do that, the two of you needto pretend to be a couple.”
“No.”
Beside me, her mouth falls open. She glances at me then back at Gordon, as if she’s waiting for the punchline to land.
“Hear me out! Instead of the heartbreak angle, we flip the script. Surprise romance! True love was right under my nose this whole time, blah, blah, blah. Paradise brought you two together or some shit. You’ve got the perfect backdrop, the perfect chemistry—”
“What chemistry?” I cut in, glowering at him.
Cam’s face is still locked in pure disbelief. “That’s… insane.”
He smirks. “Insane? Sure. Profitable? Absolutely. And Camila, I can sweeten the deal. A $25,000 bonus for your two weeks of… let’s call it romantic improv.”
The mood shifts.
Her breath hitches, those gorgeous eyes lighting up like someone offered her the keys to her dreams. As a boss, it’s an expression I’ve witnessed on countless faces.
She is definitely weighing her options.
“Why is your solutionanotherfake-dating scheme? Look where the last one got us.”
The words are a live grenade hanging in the air, and I realize too late what I’ve admitted. Cam’s sharp inhale tells me she caught it—the truth about Astrid that only a handful of people knew. That the entire epic influencer love story was another algorithm-driven business decision.
Shit.
“Besides,” I barrel on, trying to recover, “it would never work with Cam. She’s not Astrid.”
“Wow.” She crosses her arms. “Sorry we can’t all be AI-generated fantasy women. Some of us real, breathing humans prefer looking natural. You know, for the decent guys who don’t need their women plastic-wrapped and filtered.”
Ah, fuck.
“No! That’s not—” I drag my hands down my face. “I meant because earlier, when I was filming you, I could tell you’re shy in front of the camera.” The words tumble out before my brain can stop them. “It’s fine! Not everyone is meant to be on camera. Some people belong behind the scenes.”
Her expression morphs from annoyed to lethal in zero point five seconds.
