I almost laugh at that. She’s just the tiniest bit unsteady on her feet, as if those three margaritas were much more powerful than the spritz drinks she consumed the night prior.
“I’m not an asshole,” I protest.
“Could’ve fooled me.” Her tongue peeks out to wet her lips, and it does something to me, to my cock.
“You’re just like all the others. It’s disappointing, that’s all.”
“How?” she challenges.
“Let me ask you this instead. Did you know who I was when you sat down across from me?”
She presses her lips together. “No.”
“You’re lying.” I narrow my eyes at her.
She shakes her head adamantly, and I wish it wasn’t as endearing as it is. “I’m not. I heard you give your name at the hostess stand, and you said Bradley. I thought that was your name. When I sat with you and you said your name was Archer, I put it together. Of course I’ve heard of your name. You’re a famous baseball player, and the announcers always mention you when your brothers are on the field. Doesn’t mean I’d be able to pick you out of a lineup, the same way I know the names David Ortiz andShohei Ohtani but wouldn’t know them if they sat across the table from me until they introduced themselves.”
“But you’d know Madden,” I say flatly.
“Well, yeah. Of course I’d recognize Madden Motherfucking Bradley.”
“Because you watch football,” I presume.
“Damn right I do.” She flashes a fake smile.
“Another football fan. Wonderful.”
“Yes, it is. Your brothers are very talented, and I’m sure you’re doing just fine for yourself. Now listen, if you’re just going to continue to be mean to me and make assumptions about my character, you can mosey on your merry way and leave me the hell alone,” she says.
I’m not sure why I feel insulted by that, but I do. “What assumptions did I make about your character?”
“That I’m fake. My content is fake.”
“Well?” I ask, holding a hand up for her to prove me wrong. “You’re staying here free of charge to promote the hotel. How is thatnotfake?”
“I’m sharing tips and strategies for how to stay at a place like this on a budget. What I do is important, and you don’t know the first goddamn thing about who I really am,” she says, slurring a little.
“You’re right. I thought I did, but I was wrong.” I press my lips together, and I study her. She’s just tipsy. She’ll be fine. “Have a good night.” I turn and walk away from her.
I suppose I could just let all that go and give in to the rather obvious fire that burns between us. Last night was…well, I definitely want a repeat performance. But not with someone who’s alwayson.
Not with someone who’s chasing everything I’m desperately running away from.
CHAPTER 13: Millie Monroe
Sunrise Energy with a Partner
I heeded Diedrick’s advice and had the hotel set up a wake-up call—not that it would’ve helped much since I wasn’t actually in my room yesterday morning, but today I am.
I was awake anyway when the phone started to ring.
I didn’t sleep well. I’m telling myself it was because of the three margaritas, but the truth is that it was because I couldn’t stop thinking about his words. What did he mean about not knowing who I am?
He thinks all I care about is my phone. Engagement, going viral, all of that. And yes, those things are vital in my industry.
But sometimes it feels like my blog is my entire identity. Every like, every comment, every save and share—they’re all validating proof that I’m doing something right. I want my work, and therefore mylife, myveryexistence, to matter as I create something purposeful and lasting.
I control my content, and the numbers are the measure of whether I’m doing things right. They’re proof that what I’m doing matters.
