“Hmm?”
“When did you realize who I was?”
“The moment I met you.” He tucked his lower lip between his teeth in an attempt to stop a grin from forming, but he was too late. “That first day on the street with Pearl.”
“How did you—had you seen one of my—”
“Loyal subscriber,” he said, his eyes darting from the floor to me... and then on me and only me. “Three years and counting. At the Honey Pot level.”
ClosedDoors allowed users to subscribe at different levels, which gave the subscriber access to more and more content depending on the level. Honey Pot level meant that Nolan had seen and consumed every inch of me long before our encounter just hours ago. It was impossible not to smile at the thought.
“It’s not often I get to thank my subscribers in person.”
“Yeah, I didn’t see Morning Grind listed as a perk on my account.”
“For Nolan Shaw, I can make a one-time-only-never-to-be-spoken-of-again exception. I better go get some rest. Call my moms.”
“Tell them I said hi,” he said as we walked to the door.
“I don’t know, Nolan. Mama Pam still holds a grudge from the time you left your loyal fans in the rain on yourFresh Inktour in Dallas.”
“I did what now?”
“You and the guys disappeared after the show, but left the tour bus at the stadium, so all your fans—myself included—stood in the rain for hours waiting for nothing.”
He clutched his chest. “You went to see INK? In concert?”
“For my birthday, you jerk,” I said with a laugh.
“I guess an ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t cut it.” He went to reach for my hand but then pulled back. “Maybe this morning made up for it?”
“Only if no one finds out,” I said as I strolled down the hallway and back to my room. But I was still smiling.
I tried the house line and each of their cell phones, but neither of my moms answered. As I hung up on Mom’s voicemail a second too late past the beep—a personal pet peeve of mine—an automated email from ClosedDoors lit up my screen.
BIANCA VON HONEY,
Your fans haven’t heard from you since yesterday. Clickhereto share an update and let them know what’s new.
The ClosedDoors Account Support Team
Where social media has no limits.
It was the longest I’d gone without at least logging on since my moms took me and Sunny on an Alaskan cruise for their anniversary last summer. (Despite Sunny’s insistence that I was missing great content opportunities. She wasn’t wrong. My boobs and glaciers at the same time would’ve been a real hit.)
Even though I didn’texplicitlypromise Teddy I wouldn’t be updating my ClosedDoors account while I was on set, posting so soon after this morning’s incident felt like playing with fire.
And yet, I knew of only one truly effective way to stop the hammering in my chest and the heat in my belly that I’d felt for hours now.
I set my phone up against the television and opened my app. After framing the camera on the bed so that it wouldn’t give away any clues to where I might be, I hit the Go Live button.
Nolan was a coincidence. A really big fucking coincidence. Surely I didn’t have any other fans tucked away in Christmas Notch, Vermont. And I couldn’t just ignore them. They paid my bills. They would be there for me with or withoutDuke the Halls.
I pulled off my jacket and sauntered over to the edge of the bed, where I looked up to the camera and in my poutiest voice said, “Good morning to my little B-hive out there.”
People really responded to live posts, and I could see why. There was something dangerous about knowing anything could happen and that whatever unfolded wasn’t rehearsed or planned.
And I had to admit, it got me going too. But that wasn’t the only thing that had me going today.
