“I’m paraphrasing the comments. They used more emojis.” I open my camera app. “Come on. Ten minutes. Then you can go back to brooding over your tablet.”
“I don’t brood.”
“You brood like it’s an Olympic sport and you’re going for gold.”
He sets down the tablet. Stands. The movement is fluid, like he’s aware of how much space he occupies and how to minimize it.
“Where do you want me?” he asks.
The question should be simple. Professional. Instead, my brain supplies twenty inappropriate answers.
“Table,” I manage. “We’ll start with breakfast. Natural. Candid.”
“Nothing about this is candid.”
“That’s the point. Candid is a performance. The best influencer content looks effortless, but requires planning.” I arrange the fruit plate I ordered earlier. Adjust the angle of his coffee cup. “Okay. Sit there. Look at me like I’m saying something fascinating.”
He sits. Looks at me. His expression doesn’t change.
“More fascinated,” I say. “Less ‘tolerating a tedious meeting.’”
“This is my fascinated face.”
“Your fascinated face looks like you’re calculating compound interest.”
“I am. The resort’s pricing structure is inefficient.”
I lower my phone. “Julian. I need you to pretend you’re not thinking about pricing structures. Pretend you’re thinking about how much you adore your girlfriend who’s trying to get good lighting on this papaya.”
He pauses. Then his hand finds my wrist where I’m bracing against the table, and traces my skin near my pulse.
If he could only feel my pulse, he’d know how much my heart began to race.
Remember he’s acting, I told myself.
“The way you arrange things is interesting,” he says.
“Interesting how?”
“Precise. You’ve repositioned the fruit three times, each time by millimeters. You’re creating an aesthetic that appears effortless, but is rigid.”
I stare at him. “That’s... actually kind of romantic? In a weird, observant way?”
“I notice things about you.”
His hand is still on my wrist. His fingers are cool—cooler than they should be after sitting in the tropical sun in the Bahamas. He must have some poor circulation.
“Yeah. I’m getting that.” I raise my phone again. My hands are steadier now. “Okay. Say something that would make me laugh.”
He thinks about it for a second. “Oh, I have it. Your sister’s fiancé is a managing director at a firm that’s about to be investigated for securities fraud.”
I almost drop my phone. “What?”
“You said to say something that was funny. Make you laugh, correct?”
“How is someone being investigated for securities fraud funny?”
“Hum—I mean, the comedians I have seen always point out something bad about someone else to get people to laugh.”
