Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79932 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79932 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
“You have to be several versions of yourself,” I said. “Because you want to make sure everyone is getting the version of you they need. The big brother for your sister. The cocky comedic relief for your friends. And the playboy billionaire with a heart of gold for the public.” I gave him a soft smile. “And for me, the employer and guide to all things famous and wealthy.” I stepped a little closer, making sure I looked up at him and caught his eyes as I said the last part. “Who are you at home, Crossland?”
Crossland visibly swallowed, his lips opening and closing a few times.
He looked like I'd punched him in the chest as opposed to asking a simple question, and I realized I didn't exactly like that look on his face. It made emotion clog my throat. Made an instinct creep up inside me to continue to push him, to pull more pieces of himself out in order to understand him better, in order to help him understand himself better.
The crowd ushered us forward, and Crossland blinked out of his stare. We continued into the main event hall without him answering.
And that was fair. He didn’t owe me anything personal because this wasn't an actual relationship where that sort of give-and-take was expected. But it didn't stop me from wondering, and it didn't stop the pang of empathy for him not even being able to answer it.
I may be a broke barista from Brooklyn, but I was the same person slinging espresso drinks as I was standing here among the rich and famous. I didn't know how to be anyone else because I’d spent my entire childhood trying to be someone worthy of my parents’ attention until I got older and learned that person didn't exist. So, I gave up trying to be anyone other than who I was, and it’d worked out so far.
“Where are we sitting?” Jesse asked when Crossland paused, his eyes scanning the sparse open seats on either side of the catwalk that had been placed in the center of the grand room.
The lighting was muted, just enough for us to find our seats and see the other faces filling the crowd.
Crossland took a step toward the left, where he spotted three empty seats, but then he halted.
“We can't go there,” he grumbled, and I followed his trail of sight to see a gorgeous model glaring daggers at him.
“Why can't we go there?” I asked, even though I had a good guess.
“I wasn't open to her proposed adjustment to our arrangement,” Crossland reluctantly answered. He stepped to the right, then stopped again. “Can’t go there,” he said, and I laughed.
“Let me guess,” I said, glancing at the other equally gorgeous woman glaring at him. Actually, there were two this time on the right side. “They wanted to be the ones to change your mind, too?”
“Yep,” Crossland said, shifting gears back to the left.
Jesse chuckled, then pointed to an unreserved single seat that was in the front row. “Can I just take that one?” he asked politely.
“Be my guest,” Crossland answered, waving Jesse forward. “I never take front row seating at my sister's shows. I never want to take any of the spotlight off of her.”
“That's considerate of you,” I said, then winked at Jesse as he rushed off to snag the prime seat.
“I can’t tell if the surprise in your tone is a good or bad thing,” he said.
“Good,” I hurried to explain. “I’m realizing I had poor expectations of how billionaires behaved. Every time you surprise me is a good thing.”
“I’m happy to change your perspective,” he said. “There's nothing I wouldn't do for Bristol. Speaking of,” he continued, furrowing his brow as he scanned the crowd again. “I figured she'd be out here by now, but she must still be backstage. I'll introduce you to her after the show, okay?”
“I can't wait to meet her,” I said, and I really meant that. Crossland wasn't shy about anything, but he especially loved talking about his sister and how proud he was of her. It was endearing, if not this side of charming, and it was something I could absolutely relate to.
“Crossland,” someone called near the back row on the left side, the crowd shifting just enough to show Gareth, one of Crossland's friends that I'd had the pleasure of talking to at Weston's wedding last weekend.
He was an intimidating-looking guy, but fairly easy to talk to after you got over the whole terrifying thing. He lifted his chin once Crossland spotted him, and we both headed that direction.
“Thanks for saving us seats,” Crossland said as we made our way to Gareth. Asher and his fiancée, Daisy—who I'd also met at the wedding—sat on the other side of Gareth. All three of them looked at me a little skeptically as Crossland held my hand to guide our way past them.