Chapter 8
30%
For the next few days, Nathan completely changed his usual cold style, constantly seeking my attention with texts, calls, and surprise deliveries to my door. I ignored him entirely, enjoying my sudden freedom and unlimited credit. After attending the Bulgari jewelry preview (where I bought three pieces worth
more than my car), I started working on selecting the models for my upcoming
fashion show.
The day my Hermès Neige bag arrived, beautifully packaged with a handwritten note from Nathan, Ryan happened to text asking about Emma.
Me: $10,000 per question.
He instantly transferred the money to my Venmo without hesitation.
Interesting. My brother was desperate.
Me: What do you want to know?
Ryan: What’s Emma been up to? She’s not responding to my messages.
Oh, her? She’s been busy at the CNN studio training interns. She and this young hottie have been getting pretty close. There’s something about younger guys with their sweet talk that’s really got her wrapped around their finger. You know how it
- is.
Complete bullshit. Every time Emma came back from work, she complained that the intern was so immature she wouldn’t date a guy that much younger if her life depended on it. In fact, she’d been spending most evenings on my couch watching
Netflix.
Ryan seemed devastated, going silent for a long time before asking:
Is there anything she needs? I’ll buy it for her.
Me: Buy what? Stop being so indecisive. Just send money. Girls like money they can spend however they want.
He went quiet again.
Right then, Emma called, and I stopped focusing on his drama.
I went to the break room at the studio tó take the call.
On the other end, Emma laughed on the phone: “Alex, guess what? Nathan just video called asking how your fashion show preparations were going!”
1/2
12:00 PM Fri 11 Apr
08
3 30%
“I told him it was fantastic–you’ve got two or three sexy male models having dinner with you every day, living your best life. I even showed him that thirst trap pic from your Instagram of you with that Italian photographer!”
“You should have seen his face drop! I’ve never seen my brother look so upset. It
was great!”
She was truly my soul sister. We were playing the same game, perfectly in sync. I told her about Ryan’s text messages and what I’d said.
But her laughter quickly faded. After a two–second pause, she scoffed coldly:
“Good. Let him suffer.”
That’s the spirit! At this rate, I doubt my brother would be forgiven anytime this
century.
But I couldn’t back down either. We had a bet going, after all.
