Page 13 of No Strings Attached
He shrugs. “You learn to live with it. Or at least, I’m trying to. But that’s one of the reasons I rarely appear in any tabloids or columns… Worth, my brother, is much better at handling all of that.”
I take another bite of the perfectly roasted chicken, while my thoughts linger on what Henson just shared. There’s something so disarming about his honesty, a stark contrast to the composed, confident man he projects.
Not sure what to say, I settle for a quiet, “I’m really glad you told me.”
His smile is almost uncertain as he gives a faint nod. “Sometimes, I feel guilty.”
My fork pauses midair. “Guilty?”
“For feeling weak and letting it get to me. I mean, I have so much to be thankful for. Success, money, a career most people would kill for, and yet—” He shakes his head. “I get caught up in my brain. I feel like I should be stronger, that I don’t have the right to struggle when others have it much worse.”
His words tug at something deep inside me. Setting my fork down, I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. “Henson, having success doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to feel overwhelmed or struggle. You’re human, not a machine. You don’t have to justify your feelings to anyone.”
His light eyes search mine. “It’s hard to see it that way sometimes.”
I smile softly. “You seem pretty grounded to me. If I hadn’t seen your name, I wouldn’t necessarily have put the pieces together. And I mean that as a compliment.”
Henson arches a brow. “Oh. How so?”
I shrug, trying to articulate what I mean. “You’re not some spoiled rich guy who flaunts his success or expects the world to bow at his feet. You seem genuine. Like you actually care about things and people other than yourself.”
“Go on.” He smirks.
I chuckle. “Well, ever since the airport, all you’ve done is help me—offering a plane ticket, sharing your car, making sure I was okay. You could’ve easily ignored me, but you didn’t. That says more than a polished public image ever could.”
His expression softens for a beat, but then his usual confidence slides back into place. “Careful, Amira. I might start to think you actually like me.”
I roll my eyes, picking up my fork again and stabbing a piece of roasted potato. “Don’t let it get to your head, Heartbreaker.”
That catches him off guard, his smirk faltering just a little. “Heartbreaker,huh?”
I meet his gaze with a raised brow. “I call it like I see it.”
“Can’t say I hate the nickname. Though I think you’re making some bold assumptions.”
I let the silence stretch. “Am I?”
He leans forward slightly, voice dipping lower. “You think I make a habit of breaking hearts?”
“No. I think you don’t even realize when you’re doing it.”
That stops him. For just a second, the playfulness in his expression is replaced by something thoughtful.
“I see. So I’m the villain in your story?”
It’s my turn to smirk. “I didn’t say that. But I’d definitely keep an eye on you if this were a fairy tale.”
He laughs at that, rich and warm—and damn it, it does something to me. It makes me feel lighter and more off-balance all at once.
“Guess I’ll have to work on being more prince, less villain,” he says, raising his glass.
I clink mine against his. “Good luck with that.”
He watches me with an intensity that makes my stomach do a little flip. “So, does knowing who I am now change anything for you?”
I pause. “What do you mean?”
“I mean… Now that you know I’m not just some random guy, that I have money, a reputation... Does it change how you see me? How you feel about being here?”
