Page 4 of Handsome Devil
Mainly because I had no idea how much of the world’s population had recently seen me—all of me—in that fucking video.
Yeah. That kind of video.
Maybe I was hoping to avoid everyone I knew for the next decade, and by then it would all blow over?
What were the chances Shane didn’t know about it yet?
“I’m not in town long,” I told him. “My schedule’s pretty tight.”
It was. Mainly because my mother/boss, who was coming to Vancouver this weekend to attend a “women in media” gala event where our company was a major corporate sponsor and she was a guest speaker, had sent me a few days early on “gala business.” Which meant doing inane things like meeting with the gala organizers, viewing the event space, and kissing ass. Because kissing ass had suddenly become top priority in my life.
For someone who’d never had to kiss ass before, this was a tough pill to swallow. Like a crushed glass enema.
“Now, what could possibly be keeping you so busy that you’d miss out on beers with your good ol’ bestie?” Shane inquired. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone pro on the porn circuit.”
And there it was.
I poked my fingers into my eyeballs until I saw stars. “For the love of God, please don’t tell me you watched it.”
“Oh, dude. Of course I watched it. I mean, part of it. Too much side dick for my liking. Especially when I know the guy it’s attached to—”
I hung up on him.
He called back.
“So, what else have you been up to?” he inquired when I picked up. “And by the way, congrats on the girth. I’ve never actually seen your dick before. At least, not hard—”
I hung up on him again.
He called back. I let it go to voicemail.
He texted me.
Shane:What are you really doing?
Me:Working.
Shane:What else is new?
I decided to answer that honestly.
Me:I’m about to become the country’s youngest 10xbillionaire and I bought another modeling agency because I can.
Shane:And I already hated you enough.
The phone buzzed.
Pure Fuckery
This time, I answered. “Call me next time you’re in Toronto.”
“Come on,” he said. “Meet me for a beer. I haven’t seen your ass this side of the Rockies since—”
“High school,” I finished for him. “And there’s a reason.” Actually, there were a few reasons. But I checked the time on my watch. “This cannot turn into strippers and a road trip.”
“Local draft and a charcuterie plate, and a blunt on the side, max. I promise.”
Another call buzzed through. It was my mother’s office, from Toronto, and I instantly felt the stress headache coming on. Best case scenario, she was calling to give me more shit. Her manicurist had seen the video? The ladies at the golf club? Worst case scenario, she wanted me to extend my stay on the west coast. Perhaps permanently.
