Bad Influencer by Kenzie Reed
Chapter Ten
Jillian
Bronwyn is insanely perky first thing in the morning. It’s a serious character flaw and I think she should seek help to address it.
“If you don’t tell me all the details, it means you don’t love me,” Bronwyn informs me during a 7 a.m. phone video chat Sunday morning. “Length, girth, stamina, ratings on a scale of one to five stars… In other words, did he make you see stars?” she snickers.
“I don’t know if it’s appropriate for me to hear this or not,” Ari says to me from over Bronwyn’s shoulder. “Since I look at you like a sister.”
“That doesn’t stop you from doing it with your girlfriend on the living room couch when I’m in the room,” I point out. “You freaky exhibitionists.”
“But that’s just because we can’t help ourselves. We get carried away by passion. Also, you always leave the room before we actually get naked. I think? Don’t you?” His face puckers in concern.
“Hellz yeah, I do. And Elliott and I are not dating, and therefore we have not progressed to star-making. I will tell you everything when I come home.”
I take a sip of black coffee. I haven’t told her about the late-night kiss yet. I’m still processing it in my mind. Running it like a video reel, replaying it again and again, feeling his hand cupping my chin. He and I haven’t discussed it at all. I guess we’re going to pretend it didn’t happen, which is probably for the best. It didn’t mean anything; he was just trying to stop me from having a full-blown panic attack.
Bronwyn glares. “I won’t get details until next weekend? Boo, hiss!”
“Don’t you have more important things to worry about than fake news about my nonexistent love life? Finals to study for?”
“I have my last final tomorrow. But this is much more important.”
“I weep for your future pet patients.”
She flaps her hand in dismissal of my words. “Oh, you know I already have everything memorized. The tests are just institutional formalities imposed on us by the man.”
“As I recall, your college chancellor is a woman.”
“Details, details. Give me gossip!” she pleads. “Or I’ll sneak in and plant bugs everywhere and find out for myself. I know a store where I can buy them, too. Or I might already have them. Or not. Depending on which federal agency is illegally recording our conversation right now.”
“Yeah, bugging our suite is technically a felony. No, actually, it’s not technically, it just straight up is a felony. Cool your jets. I promise I’ll get you tickets to opening weekend, how’s that? You’ll even be done with school by then.”
“That may be an acceptable compromise.” She’s still pouting. “I will confer with my significant other. We have a factory farming protest coming up this week, but we should be able to make it on the weekend.”
“You sure you won’t get in trouble with your school?”
She shakes her head. “Standing on public property and holding a sign and wearing a costume won’t get me in trouble. And anyway, factory farming is evil and gross and for some things, you have to take a stand. You know that better than anyone.”
“True, true. I wish I was there for the costumes,” I say wistfully. Bronwyn makes adorable costumes. They’re a large part of the reason I got attention as an influencer in the first place, even before the whole testing lab thing. I am the world’s cutest baby seal, and I’m not ashamed to say so.
“Ahem.”
Oh snap. Elliott’s in the living room, freshly showered and looking lickably good. The smirk on his face says he overheard at least some of our conversation.
“Uh, gotta go.” I hang up. His eyes shine with amusement and his mouth is quivering like he’s trying not to laugh, and failing. It’s a good look on him.
“Nothing,” I say. “Oh, hello. What? Where am I? Who are you? I just suffered a blow to the head.”
He shakes his head and gives me a mocking grin. “Nope.”
“Okay, how much did you hear?”
“Length? Girth? Rating from one to five stars?” He actually bursts out laughing, and it’s such a glorious sight I grin instead of getting mad that he eavesdropped. “I’d heard that girls are worse than guys when it comes to locker room talk, but I never believed it.”
“Oh, believe it,” I smirk. “Are we ready?”
“Yes, but we need to continue exploring this topic. Tell me more. What was this about costumes? Just so you know, that’s not really my thing.”
“Jeez, is your mind in the gutter or what? She makes animal costumes for us to wear to protests. Perv.”
“Hey, I wasn’t the one discussing length, girth, and duration.” He shakes his head, chuckling. “You’re right… I should act more mature,” he grins.
“Are you kidding? I’m finally getting a look at Elliott Bradford’s inner child, and it’s fascinating. Your inner child is a twelve year old boy.” I wink, and his answering smile has my stomach flopping. I clear my throat, trying to get myself in check. “We better go.”
We head out of the suite.
“Walk fast,” he says, glancing at the suite next door. “We need to get out of their sight line before they spot us.”
“Elliott Bradford scared of a little kid?”
“Elliott Bradford not scared of little kid. Elliott Bradford scared of three little kids. That’s just too many. It’s positively unnatural.”
“Unnatural?” I scoff. “Remind me to tell you about how babies are made.” Oh, no. Bad. That leads me to picture things that I shouldn’t, such as baby-making with Elliott.
We fall silent as we walk. We’re going to the Grubstake restaurant to get breakfast together, and then unfortunately he’s going to have to spend most of the day checking up on the ride systems before anyone can be allowed back on them. All the guests will be steered towards the celebrity entertainment, restaurants, shops, and play areas for the next few days. He’s lucky this happened during the soft opening, because I can’t imagine worse publicity than malfunctioning rides on their first official day.
“After you’ve gotten a better handle on what’s happening, can I have your word you’ll pose for some photos?”
“Ugh,” he groans. “Do I have to?”
“Yes, Elliott. It’s important.”
He eyes me curiously. “Why? Why do you care?”
Because it’s my job. Because by God we are going to get some fun pictures if it kills me, and him, and everyone I’ve ever known and loved. I am going to fulfill my contract, and I am not going to make my family think even worse of me by going to jail. And, I have to admit, I kind of want to help save the park for Elliott because I think he and his family deserve it. I only admit the last part.
“I want to help you save this company, Elliott.”
“You hate my family. Why would you want to help us now?”
I blow out a breath. “I was wrong.” I shrug. “It’s clear you care passionately about the park’s employees and their wellbeing. That matters to me.”
You matter to me.
“Thank you,” he says, falling into step beside me as we continue to stroll through the park.
Just like every time before, he greets every employee by name. He asks about their grandmother’s bunions and their great-uncle’s hernia operation, and he waits for the answer and looks genuinely interested the whole time.
Bradford Family Amusement Parks won’t be the same if they’re bought out by a corporate chain. I know this now and I’ll do whatever I can to stop it from happening. Money and bribe be damned.
When we get to the Grubstake, we sit at an outside table on the front patio facing Prospector Parkway, which is the main street through the mining town area, and we place our orders.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see a few people sneaking pictures of us. It’s not the end of the world that people think we’re dating, but they’re going to post these pictures on social media, so I wish at least he’d smile. I stifle a sigh.
“A farthing for your thoughts.”
“A farthing?” I laugh. I didn’t realize I’d been so obviously wool-gathering.
“Sounded more interesting than a penny. Also, I’m allowing for inflation.”
“A farthing was worth about a quarter of a cent. It’s less than a cent.”
“You’re a fascinating repository of weird trivia. So, what had you so pensive?”
What I’m actually thinking is that I am barely restraining myself from yelling at him, “You’d be so much prettier if you smiled!” Ugh. Every woman I’ve ever known has been heckled with that. And never, since Eve was made from Adam’s rib, has it made a woman smile.
I blink my eyes innocently. “Actually, I was wondering how you decide what rides to create.”
“Good question.” He gestures at the Ghost Town sign. “Every ride needs to tell a story, and it needs to fit in with the overall theme of our park. We’re taking our guests on a mini adventure. Within a compressed amount of time, generally three to six minutes, we need to have a beginning, middle and end to our story. Our parks represent local culture and history. That’s how, for Colorado, we came up with the ghost town, along with the ghostly miners, panning for gold, desperadoes, sheriffs and frontier schoolteachers.”
The waitress sets down our coffees, along with the soy milk I requested. “Thanks, you’re the best,” I tell her, but she only has eyes for Elliott. He thanks her too, which earns him a huge smile, and she lingers a little too long before she leaves.
Move along, lady.
I pour the soy milk into my coffee and stir. “You left out the painted ladies with the hearts of gold.”
“Well, this is a family park.” He grins. “Although I’d love to imagine what that ride would be like.” Then his cheeks redden a little bit.
“You’re picturing it in your head right now.” I jab my spoon at him. “Aren’t you?”
“Am not,” he insists. Liar. “So, have I ever told you about the history of amusement parks?”
I grin at him. “Well, that was a smooth transition.”
He shrugs and forges ahead, seeming eager to complete his next piece of trivia. “The first amusement park rides are generally accepted to have been built in Russia, in the seventeeth century. They were called ice mountains. In the U.S., one of the first amusement park rides was a gravity train used by a mining company, for mining coal. During quiet times, they’d charge people a fee for riding. My great-great-grandfather was a carpenter, and he built what was known as an ice toboggan on his property and charged the locals a penny a ride. That’s how our family legacy started.”
And he’s off. His eyes light up with genuine passion, and he’s really, truly smiling. He manages to make it interesting. I’m listening raptly to each and every morsel he throws my way. This Elliott right here—confident and easygoing—would be easy to fall for.
He spends the rest of the meal regaling me with amusement park trivia, but he’s so engaged, so enthralled by it, that I continue to be swept up by his enthusiasm.
“Thanks for obliging me,” he says. “I know it was a lot.”
I shake my head. “It was awesome. You’re really good for this company, Elliott. They need someone with your passion.” His cheeks redden and his hands slide into his pockets.
As we leave the restaurant, he’s still smiling, and I’m about to pull out my phone to capture the magic when a flashbulb flares in our faces; a photographer and reporter scuttle up to us, quickly snapping a few pictures. Their press passes identify them as working for a Boulder newspaper. And Elliott’s smile vanishes like mist burned away by the sun.
“How’s the soft opening going?” the reporter asks.
“Couldn’t be better,” Elliott says politely. I inwardly cringe for him. He’s saying what he should, but he’s fallen back on that stiff, unapproachable guy we’re trying to get away from. He’s reciting his words in the wooden tones of a student delivering a science report.
“Is it, though? We hear one of your rides got stuck last night,” the reporter says.
Oh, hell.A look of surprise and anger flashes across Elliott’s face.
“No, it wasn’t stuck, I asked him to stop it for me!” I blurt out. “We had it all pre-arranged.”
The reporter’s eyebrows climb. “So, you two are dating, then? Because I believe you posted on your social media account that you’re just friends.”
Elliott recovers quickly. “No, we’re not dating. It was a private moment between friends.” He’s still too scowly, given that I’m trying to revamp his image and make him look fun, but at least it just looks like he’s annoyed that our privacy was violated—not that the press has found out that one of the park’s rides might be glitching.
“Friends?” The reporter cocks his head skeptically.
“Yes.” I bob my head in agreement. “We’re just good friends. Just getting to know each other.” I’m dropping enough hints that I might as well be screaming “We’re totally bonking like bunnies!”
“At the top of a roller coaster in the middle of the night?” Now the reporter is smirking. But that’s okay, at least I’ve steered him away from the “rides are dangerous” direction he was headed in before.
I grab Elliott by the arm. “Excuse me, we’ve both got places to be!” I say brightly. “Remember to spay and neuter!”
“Remember to…what?” The reporter stares at us in bafflement. Cool. That’s one of my favorite escape tactics—confuse them and then run for it.
We power-walk away.
“Yikes,” I say once we’ve gotten out of the reporter’s hearing range.
“I know,” Elliott says. “I don’t like that they found out about the ride being stuck. My employees have signed non-disclosure agreements and obviously someone violated them.”
“I was more yikes-ing that now everyone’s going to be sure that we’re dating. I mean, I guess I don’t care what people think... I’m just trying to keep public attention focused on the park rather than you and I.” I purse my lips. “As for who found out about us, we were sitting a hundred feet up in the air, and we were pretty visible. Anyone could have seen us.” I frown in thought. “But it was the middle of the night. I don’t know. Do you think someone on your team leaked the details?”
“What details?” Elliott’s friend Cameron appears behind us, a scowl creasing his brow. He’s a handsome guy, if you like that whole smug pretty-boy prep school thing, which I do not.
Elliott quickly fills him in.
Cameron looks at me coolly. “So. You really went all in with this fake girlfriend story.”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, I might even figure out how to trap him into marrying me,” I say dryly. “Fake pregnancy works well, or so I hear. Or do you have any ideas for me?”
“I’ve got a few.” His lift lips up in a snarl. “How about—”
“Cameron.” Elliott snaps the word sharply.
Cameron holds his hands up. “None of my business. It’s just… Never mind.”
“I know you think you’re helping, but sometimes you go too far.”
“You’re right. I will now go far away from here. Please, carry on.” Cameron strides off, hands shoved in his pockets.
“Sorry about that,” Elliott says to me. “He warned me about my ex… well exes, and I ignored him both times, and it turned out he was right.”
Exes? More than one? How many women out there were stupid enough to let Elliott escape, after getting to really know him?
“What happened with Lauren, anyway?” I say, and then shake my head. We’re getting too personal. I need to be careful. This can’t go anywhere. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”
“I found her with a former best friend.” He grimaces. “I’d appreciate it if that never was repeated.”
That little word that rhymes with ditch. How could she?“Of course not! And I’m sorry that happened, Elliott. You deserve better.”
He shrugs, smiling wryly. “Maybe not. Maybe I brought it on myself.”
I want to ask him how he could possibly think that, but he and I have reached the street that leads to the operations center.
“Good luck with the rides,” I say. “And for the record, I still think that hooker with a heart of gold ride idea is a real winner.”
That earns me half a smile before he hurries away. I stare after him, marveling at how the faint sadness in his eyes makes him more human than I’d ever dreamed, and even more impossibly handsome. What put that sadness there? Does he still miss Lauren, or is it the weight of the entire company’s future crushing him underneath?
Anyway. Impossible, that’s the operative word here.
This is Elliott Bradford. Whatever mild flirtation we have going on here means nothing. He’s already made it clear what he thinks of me—frivolous, a short-term annoyance foisted on him by friends and family, not to be taken seriously—and he’s not wrong.
We’ll go back to the real world in a few days, a world where I’m not sleeping alone in a big bed and restlessly tossing and turning because he’s one room and a million miles away from me.