Bad Influencer by Kenzie Reed

Chapter Six

Jillian

I’m up and packed bright and early Friday morning, preparing for my vacation to Dullsville. I’ve said my goodbyes to Blinky, apologizing for leaving him for a week and promising tons of treats and toys when I get back. I’d like to think he’ll be at least a little devastated, but I’d be lying to myself. The truth is, Blinky is a ho. He’ll roll over and happily present his belly to anyone. Feed him snacks and give him love, and he doesn’t even notice where it’s coming from.

I’ve given away my shifts at Nowhere Special. I’ve called Death Row Doggies, where I normally volunteer two days a week, to let them know I won’t be in. It’s fine—I actually finished my community service ages ago, and now I just volunteer there because it feels right.

At least the weather reports are good for this upcoming week. It’s going to be hard enough to get Grumpelstiltskin to contort his face into the shape of a smile if it’s sunny; trying to get him to grin in a downpour might be beyond me. I mean, I myself prefer a nice cloud cover any day, because my pale skin burns to a crisp in the sun’s rays, but for the purposes of a park opening, clear days are what we need.

I’m in the foyer with a suitcase by my side, looking for the limo that Elliott’s sending for me, when my cell phone rings. It’s my brother, Theo.

I answer it with a sharp stab of my finger. “Congratulations on making partner.” I struggle to keep the hurt from my voice.

He brushes right past that. “Pansy’s really upset, you know.”

“Pansy’s upset? About what?”

“Well, she doesn’t like to complain, so I had to drag it out of her,” my brother huffs. “She went to all this trouble to arrange this party for you, and now you’re not going to come. One of the dads from her yoga class just finalized his divorce, and Pansy went out of her way to really talk you up to him, and he was very excited about meeting you. When she told him you couldn’t make it, he took it pretty hard.”

A familiar frustration swells up inside me, burning in my chest. “Theo, look, I appreciate what she’s trying to do but—”

“Mom and Dad were pretty disappointed about you canceling, too.” I want to scream. I didn’t cancel. “They were going to be there, and they’ve got very busy schedules, and they had to rearrange a lot of meetings at a time when mom’s right in the middle of selling her business and dad is getting everyone on board with his nomination.”

“Oh, has he been nominated for something?” Now I’m aggravating him on purpose. Our conversations always devolve like this.

“Ha ha. That’s hilarious.”

“I live to please.”

“The next available weekend that we can all get together is Sunday, May thirtieth. My place, two p.m. Dress appropriately, please.”

“You dress appropriately!” I glare at my phone.

He doesn’t dignify that with an answer. He always dresses appropriately. In freaking grade school, he dressed appropriately. And tattled on me to Mom and Dad when I went to school with socks that didn’t match.

I mean, he’d also beat up other kids when they made fun of my weird outfits, but privately, I know I made him tear his hair out. I swear he was born wearing a tie—and knowing how to tie a half Windsor.

“I told Pansy already, I have an actual job! And if you say ‘since when’, I’m hanging up.”

I glance down the street again and breathe a sigh of relief. The limo has just rounded a corner and is headed towards my house now.

“So? They can’t make you work every weekend.”

I turn around and yell, “Bye, Blinky! Be good, or at least don’t get caught!” because I know it will annoy my brother. Then I grab my suitcase, hurry out the door, and slam it behind me. “I work whenever I’m needed, Theo.”

“So you’re telling me you’re scheduled through every single weekend?” I can hear the skepticism in his voice. “I assume you’ve negotiated appropriate salary compensation, including overtime. Please send your contract to my office so I can have someone in the HR department look over it and ensure they aren’t violating any labor laws.”

“Yeah, no.”

“Jillian! I don’t like you being taken advantage of. Can you please let me help you for once? Assuming you really are working every weekend?”

I hurry down the walkway and set my suitcase down. The limo door swings open, and Elliott climbs out. He’s wearing a crisp navy wool suit with red pinstripes, and like everything he wears, it drapes perfectly over his broad shoulders and looks like it was made just for him.

He grabs my suitcase and puts it in the back seat, then gestures for me to climb in, holding the door for me. Well, at least he’s a gentleman.

A dour, cranky gentleman.

“Like I just said, I work when I’m needed,” I say to my brother. I don’t know if I’ll be working on June thirtieth or not, but if Theo thinks I am, then I won’t have to endure the backyard barbecue from Hades. “I’m really sorry. I’ll have to let you go. Duty calls.” I hang up quickly.

“I hope I wasn’t interrupting your busy social life,” Elliott says dryly.

“I am eternally grateful to you for interrupting my busy social life,” I say, sliding into the back seat. He slides in next to me, slamming the door shut, and we pull away from the curb. ”That was my brother, whose wife is trying to lure me to a family barbecue because she wants to fix me up with someone.”

He arches an eyebrow. “And that’s bad because...?”

I lean back in my seat with a sigh as I fasten my seatbelt. “Based on past history, her idea of the perfect man is someone who will bore me into a narcoleptic coma. It never ends well. For me or for them.”

His full mouth twitches slightly, and he almost smiles. “I see. My sympathies.” I stare at him for just a little too long and hope he doesn’t notice. That bone structure is unreal. If he ever did smile, he’d be dangerous. People would melt under the heat of his gaze.

We go over a pothole, and he throws his arm out as if to protect me. It briefly brushes against my chest, leaving a trail of pleasurable warmth where he touched me.

“Sorry,” he murmurs.

Don’t be. I choke on the words, then clear my throat, which earns me a look of concern.

“Are you okay?”

I clear my throat again. “Never better.” Okay, pull yourself together, Jillian.

“All right, we’ve got a lot to go over.” I pull open my notebook. “First thing I’m going to do when we get to the park is scope it out for good photo ops.” As I speak, he’s putting on his earphones. Is he kidding me with this?

I tap him on the arm. “What are you doing?” I demand.

He makes a big show of pulling the earplugs out and frowns at me. ”What does it look like I’m doing?” he says with exaggerated patience.

I scowl at him. “It looks like you’re planning on spending our entire trip ignoring my suggestions and tuning me out with earphones.”

“You’re not wrong.”

I fold my arms across my chest and scowl at him.

“Now what?” he sighs.

“I’m just trying to decide what would be worse, going to a barbecue and being fixed up on a doomed blind date, or spending the next week sipping a Surly Temple.”

That earns me what is almost a full-on genuine Elliott smile, and a sound that’s suspiciously like a laugh. “And I’m trying to open a new park here. There’s only a hundred million dollars in investments, and the future of our company, riding on it. Okay, listen. My mother and Edith and Trevor have ganged up on me and strong-armed me into this, and I don’t have the mental bandwidth to spare on fighting them when I’m being pulled in a thousand different directions. So I’m going to make the best of it and go along with whatever you have planned as long as it’s not too ridiculous.”

I arch an eyebrow. “So the nude swim through the shark-filled lagoon is a no-go?”

“If you can find a shark-filled lagoon in our Colorado Gold Rush themed park, we’ll talk.”

And he puts his earbuds back in and pulls open his laptop, and whatever he sees on the screen makes him sigh heavily. Surprise, surprise.

I expected us to head towards the Seattle-Tacoma international airport, but we end up at a small private executive airport instead.

“Family plane. More efficient this way,” he says with an apologetic shrug.

“Hey, I’m not knocking it. My first private flight! I’m a jet setter now!” I hold up my hand for a high five. He stares at my hand for a moment, then shrugs and raises his hand to high-five me back. When his palm strikes mine, I feel that same pleasurable little jolt that I felt earlier when he threw his arm out in front of me and brushed against my chest. His stern expression softens and his eyes twinkle, and I wonder if he feels it too.

Danger, Jill Robinson. I imagine the words in the Lost In Space robot voice, which makes me laugh and earns me a questioning half-smile.

“Do you just go off on little side adventures in your head?” he asks.

“Sure do. If you get lucky, I’ll invite you along on one.”

And that’s it. He actually laughs. I, Jillian Fletcher, have earned a genuine laugh from Elliott Bradford.

We both settle back in our seats, getting comfortable for the ride. Ever the businessman, the first thing he does is grab for his bag. I watch as he meticulously sets up a makeshift workspace and gets busy. Just another day in the life of billionaire Elliott Bradford.

As he scans his laptop, his whole body is tense. He doesn’t relax during the entire flight. I don’t know what’s got him so intense and serious, but I start to feel kind of bad for him.

I pull out my own laptop and start tapping away. Up until now, I haven’t done any research on him specifically, because my weird sort-of attraction to him made it feel inappropriate and stalkerish. I’ve only researched the business and the family.

I know that his father was enormously popular, always seen in the news and on social media with celebrities. Up until his father’s heart attack, Elliott was practically invisible. I find him in a few company photos, and I can tell they airbrushed his smile on. That’s not even a joke. They photoshopped a smile onto his grimly gorgeous face.

After Elliott’s father had his coronary six months ago, Elliott started appearing in more company literature and on the company website, and at various functions at his parks and around town. The media pictures of him, honestly, are a disaster. He always looks like he’s just stepped on a Lego brick barefoot.

It’s not long before we’re making our descent. I stuff my things back into my bag and look out the window, watching as the plane lands on a runway at the amusement park. A driver is waiting for us in a golf cart.

A man takes my bag and helps me down the remaining stair.

“Hello, Ma’am. Mr. Bradford,” he says with a large smile.

“Please, Bill, call me Elliott.”

“Right this way. I’ll give you the grand tour to your suite.”

On our drive over, Bill shares some park statistics as well as information on the surrounding area. He seems relaxed, happy. This is a man who clearly loves his job and this company. The rapport between him and Elliott gives me pause. He seems to truly care about this place and these people. It’s at odds with the man I’ve pictured in my head.

I push Elliott out of my mind and focus on what’s in front of me. The park has similar branding to the six other Bradford Family Amusement Parks. It’s got a retro look to it, with rich reds and yellows and blues. Rides are adorned with elaborate hand-painted friezes. Their carousels are legendarily ornate and gorgeous. I think part of the reason why the parks have survived and thrived in this social-media-centric age is that they make perfect photo backdrops.

To walk into a Bradford park is to step into another world, a nostalgia-tinted land where you move through all the best parts of the past. Family, fun, simpler times… a vacation from reality is what they’re selling.

I can’t help but smile as we wind our way through the near-empty park and wave at the employees in their old-timey carny outfits. Suspenders and bow ties abound. Cheerful music drifts from hidden speakers. It’s magical.

I sneak a glance at Elliott, and he’s watching me as I stare unabashedly, like a kid suddenly awakened in Fairyland.

“What do you think?” He sounds nervous to hear my response, and I wonder why he cares. I want to ask, but instead I give him the truth.

“It’s incredible,” I admit. “I have so many ideas for some perfect photo ops.”

He doesn’t respond, but it doesn’t matter. I’m so caught up in the magic of the place. I’m like a kid again as I take in all the attractions.

We glide past a candy store, and instantly I’m salivating. Nostalgic and delicious, Bradford-branded candies are sold throughout the country in adorable little tins, or delightfully wrapped in crinkly printed paper.

I grin. “It’s pretty amazing.”

“It is.” He gives a grave half nod. “It’s a very special place.”

“When was the last time you came to one of the parks for fun?”

“For fun?” He looks puzzled. “Well, I mean… I visit the parks pretty regularly.” Then he wrinkles his forehead in a grimace. “But that doesn’t answer your question. It’s been too long since I’ve come to one of the parks just to have a good time. Years.”

“We’re going to go on all the rides!” I say with enthusiasm. “Except maybe the really scary roller coasters.”

His mouth quirks up wryly. “You could probably have found a more entertaining companion.”

“True,” I quip, and he frowns. “Oh, come on… you and I are going to have an amazing time here this week. Like it or not.”

We round a corner, passing the gorgeous carousel. Horses rear high, nostrils flaring, flanks gleaming.

“It’ll have to be ‘not’,” Elliott says. “We’re opening next week, and I’d really rather focus on that.”

“You’re killing me here. How can you not see this for the amazing, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity it is? This is a brand-new amusement park. We get to christen the rides. You will have fun, and you will smile, or I’ll nag you incessantly.” I’m not even saying that because Trevor wants me to. I’m doing it because this is an amazing and rare experience, and everyone who comes to this park deserves to enjoy it. Even Elliott.

He shakes his head wryly. “Are you a new brand of fun-bot that my family’s testing out? And if so, is there a danger you’ll short-circuit and run amok among the guests?”

“I shall neither confirm nor deny. And you’re not going to spend all your time here with your head buried in your laptop. I’ll make sure of it.”

He shrugs, and his face turns serious again. He glances at his watch, then pulls out his phone and quickly checks something on the screen. I can sense him pulling away again, retreating into his own head. I feel dismissed. “I don’t want you to waste your time on me. There’s countless photo ops here—you don’t need me for them.”

Oh, here we go again.“Well, since you’re the face of Bradford Family Amusements, yes, in fact, I do.” My tone turns a little sharper than I meant it to.

He flashes me an annoyed look. “You can’t actually force me to have fun, you know.”

He must know that if I fail at my job, I’m going to jail. And apparently he doesn’t care. “Watch me!” I say heatedly.

“Watch you?” He shrugs. “In between meetings and inspections, sure.”

I’m so steamed that I don’t say another word as we pull up to the group of suites where we’ll be staying.

The front part of the park looks like a carnival, and the back section is the themed area that looks like an old gold rush town. The suites are done in a frontier wilderness style. They’re designed to look like log cabins with rough stone foundations. Steel-banded barrels of flowers are clustered on either side of the steps.

As we carry our suitcases up the steps, we spot a family piling out of a van onto the sidewalk in front of the suite next to ours. They’ve got triplets, two girls and a boy, adorable little moppets with wild mops of blonde hair. They look like they’re around five or six.

Elliott casts a look of mild alarm at them. “That’s a lot of children,” he says.

“I know, right? Aren’t they so freaking cute?” I grin at them and wave back. Then I cup my hands around my mouth. “Welcome to Bradford Family Resorts!” I shout over to them. “You’ll have to come over and visit us!” They wave back with wild enthusiasm.

“Will they, though?” Elliott whispers. “Will they have to?”

I nudge Elliott with my elbow, and he smiles gamely and waves.

Then he opens the door, and I follow him into a spacious living room with an overstuffed sofa and flagstone fireplace.

“What’s got your goat?” I ask as we walk into the suite.

“Oh, I’ve just got a lot of work to do, and I’m hoping the kids aren’t too distracting. It’s okay, the suites are all pretty soundproof.”

“A photo op with a big family, say with some kids hanging off you and climbing all over you, wouldn’t actually kill you. More’s the pity.”

He shoots me a look of horror.

“Elliott.” I lower my voice. “You can’t possibly hate kids.”

“I don’t hate them, I just don’t understand them. My mother says I was never actually a child. I was born thirty years old. Kids are just… unpredictable, and they seem really fragile and breakable. It makes me nervous.”

“I am going to show you how to have fun,” I vow.

“God help us all. And I wish you good luck with that. I’m not even being sarcastic.”

I set my suitcase down, snatch a pillow off the couch, and throw it at him. His arm shoots out, and he catches it—without smiling. Who doesn’t smile at a pillow fight?

“Why are you so resistant to this?” I demand.

He sighs. “Honestly, having fun is just not in my wheelhouse. I’ve always been a pretty serious guy.”

“Because you’re so focused on work?”

He shrugs. “Someone has to be.” He tosses the pillow back onto the couch and carries his suitcase into his master suite.

Why you?I think. Why, in this whole big company, does it always have to be you who’s focused on nothing but work?

When I walk into what’s supposed to be my bedroom, I see it’s been converted into an office. There’s an oversized desk with a computer with three monitors where a dresser should be, and boxes of files sitting on the bed.

“Uh, Elliott?” I call out. “I’m sleeping on the floor, then?

Elliott walks in and winces.

“Pretty presumptuous of you to think I’d want to share a suite.” I’m only half kidding. The thought of sharing a space with Elliott is equal parts thrilling and terrifying.

“There’s been a mistake,” he says, looking grim. “This is the suite number they gave me for you, but this is most definitely mine. I arranged this extra room to be converted into an office a while ago.” He runs a hand back through his hair. “Let me call guest services and figure out the mix-up. We’ll have you in your room in a few minutes.”

Elliott leaves the suite, phone pressed to his ear. Glancing out the peephole, I watch as he paces. He doesn’t look happy, and it does nothing to quell my growing unease. Ten minutes later, he’s bursting back through the door, huffing and looking more frustrated than ever.

“They’re overbooked,” he says with a wince. “They weren’t expecting anyone to accompany me this week. I’ve had so much on my mind that I forgot to fix that, and they’ve booked the remaining rooms. There isn’t anywhere to put you.”

“What do we do?”

“I… Just give me a few more minutes,” he says as he retreats to his bedroom.

I sit in the living room, scanning my social media feed, quickly tapping out answers and thank yous to as many of my followers as I can. I’m lost in my work when Elliott comes out a few minutes later, looking just as rattled.

“Okay, I didn’t plan this through. I’m sorry. I figured since we weren’t open yet, there would be plenty of vacancies, but between the employees and their families, and the contest winners, all our rooms are full. I tried everything.”

I shrug. “Nothing we can do about it. Might as well make the best of it. You’ll take the couch, obviously.” I grin, hoping to convey that I’m teasing. I’ll do anything to get him to lighten up. This situation is already awkward—no need to make it worse.

“Well, of course.”

“I was kidding. Kid-ding.” I draw the word out slowly. “That’s when people say funny things that they don’t mean, in case you need a quick refresher. You’re my boss, Elliott. I’m taking the couch!”

He shakes his head back and forth. “Not happening. I’m a gentleman, Jillian.” Damn it, does he have to make everything into a fight? “Like you said, I’m the boss. So I say where I sleep.”

“I’ll arm-wrestle you for it,” I suggest, and he doesn’t so much as crack a smile.

Come on, that’s funny! Anyone else would’ve smiled. It was worth at least a chortle, frankly. “Mud-wrestle? Jell-O-wrestling?” I smile winningly. “Think of the photo opportunities!”

His breath hitches, and it’s then I realize that we’re mere inches apart. If I pressed up on my toes, and leaned in just slightly, our lips would touch. His throat bobs as he swallows, and I wonder if he’s thinking about our proximity. Is he nervous around women, or is he feeling the strange energy coursing between us? We might be night and day, but there’s a crazy attraction. I feel it, and if his strained expression is any indication, he does too.

He clears his throat, taking a giant step backward. “I’ll let you think up the photo opportunities. I need to get some work done.”

As he walks out of the room, I throw another pillow at the back of his head. Like a ninja, he catches it expertly and keeps walking.

I throw myself down on the couch. This man, this week, this park… are going to be the death of me.