Page 10 of Anti-Player

“No, not at all,” I say. I slump a bit in my chair, recalling the scene with fresh surprise. “He was apologizing. He felt bad that his invention was so terrible. Actually, he wants to re-tool it and make it better.”

She scrunches her nose up doubtfully. “Okay? And?”

“And so he asked me to help.”

“But you told him no, right?”

The acid in her voice makes me pause. “I agreed to help him out.”

Juliet's look is pure disgust. “You can't be serious.”

“What do you mean?” I ask cautiously.

“Think about it, Paige.” She taps herself on the temple. “You just tore this guy's product to shreds on your channel. Now you're working with him one on one so you can give him another shot? Anyone gets a word of this, a mere whisper, and you have to see how it will look.”

A wave of terror blossoms in me because yes, I do see how it will look. “But it's not like he's paying me to do it. He's just consulting with me to make his device better. How can anyone find that shady?”

She crinkles her eyebrows like I'm speaking in tongues. “Oh, come on. You're not stupid, Paige. You and I have seen people canceled for less. And no one will believe he's not paying you. I don't believe he isn't.”

I sputter, hands smacking the tabletop. “But he isn't! I swear he isn't!”

“Then, what?” she muses, studying me with fresh curiosity in her green eyes. “Are you doing this because you like him? Are you guys... well, are you having sex?”

“Juliet!” I hiss. “Come on! I met him an hour ago!”

She throws her hands up in defense. “Hey, I'm just trying to understand. You don't know this guy from a hole in the wall, Paige. Here, let's at least Google him.”

I don't tell her I already did. I cringe as she types into her phone, her eyes widening at the results. “Well?” I ask numbly.

“He looks like someone who'd perform in Magic Mike.”

“Juliet...”

“No social media?” she asks with a snort, lifting her eyebrows at me. “He's hiding something.”

“Or he's just shy.”

“Shy?” she laughs rudely. Focusing on her phone she clicks her tongue. “Nope nope nope. He's CEO of his daddy's company. God, how disgustingly rich he must be. I bet he pulls girls by just saying hello. Paige, I know a player when I see one.”

Shrinking in my chair, I mumble, “You really think he's a player?”

“All the signs are here! You ask me, the guy spends his weekends jetting off to Vegas or wherever so he can fuck strangers. Not that he has to bother with that, they'd never find any Facebook or instagram to see proof of other women. Bet he buys bulk boxes of condoms... if he even uses protection, hah.”

The hostess returns, ending the conversation, giving us an excuse to change topics. We take the opportunity; I think Juliet senses she has to back off, while I'm eager to let it go because I feel humiliated. But even as we chat about surface topics like movies, tweets we'd seen, or how things were going with our streams, my brain is secretly focused on what she's said about Mikel and me.

She's brutal. She's also right.

If I value my career, I have to make certain of one thing and one thing only.

No one can find out I'm working with Mikel Hause.

---