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“How did it turn out?” I sign, hurrying over to him to check the camera screen.
“I think you could show off the bag more.”
“But I’m not advertising the bag. I’m advertising the pants.” I tug at the exaggerated trouser leg that a fashion brand sent us. Sponsorship deals are how Henry and I make a living until we can start our own brand.
Henry screws his lips in a thoughtful expression. “Let’s try again. How about those stairs?”
I trot over to the steps leading up to a charming brick townhome. A car honks and a grizzly man winds down the window. Whatever catcall he makes is lost to the wind.
One of the perks of being deaf—I don’t have to listen to stupidity.
Henry snaps a few more shots and I make sure to incorporate the bag this time. It’s strange that he’s insisting on spotlighting different pieces, but I let it pass. He’s the creative director.
“These are good,” Henry signs and then gives me a thumbs-up gesture.
I swing my hair over my shoulder. “It’s me. Of course they look fly.”
He smiles.
I’m glad to see his mood improving. Everything with the car, his ex, and Sullivan seemed to be dragging him down into an emotional hell. If not for his grandmother, Henry would probably live the rest of his life in an alcohol stupor.
Thankfully, things are getting back to normal.
And for me, normal means not hearing from my modeling agency for days at a time until they decide to throw me a bone.
But I’m not the type who waits around for a fashion show or catalogue shoot to drop at my feet. Social media is my own personal runway, at least until I can get Chanel to accept my lookbook.
Movement at the corner of my eye catches my attention.
Henry is waving. He turns his phone over and signs, “You got another like.”
Stunned, I open the app and notice my follower count has blown up by another couple thousand.
Insane.
“Do you think he’s doing that on purpose?” Henry signs.
I blink rapidly, not sure how to respond to that. Why does Sullivan keep liking my pictures when he doesn’t even talk to me?
It’s been a week since I signed the fake girlfriend contract. I thought my evil overlord would be hounding me every day, sending me on errands as his ‘significant other’.
Instead, it’s been radio-silent.
You’d think I’d be happy to get away from him.
It’s the opposite.
I was so uncomfortable that I couldn’t sleep. It felt like I was waiting for the other boot to drop. Got so bad, I considered contacting Sullivan first, asking if he needed me to do something.
It took a while for the unease to settle down, but it eventually did. If Richard Sullivan was willing to write off my debt for one meeting with his sister in rehab well, I wasn’t going to complain.
Then, four days ago, Sullivan made an account and entered my world. Just like that, with one push of a button, he wasthere. Breathing over me without being physically near.
“You’re the only account he follows,” Henry signs. His face scrunches in annoyance. “What do you think he’s trying to do?”
“I have no idea.”
“You think it’s a threat?”
