“At least 50 per cent interest on top –minimum,” he mumbles.
“No,” I say, taking another bite full of pizza.
“Fine. One hundred per cent.”
“That’s literally not how you negotiate.”
“No, really?” he asks, but I can tell he’s messing with me. “Let’s say two hundred per cent and call it quits.”
I sit taller, frowning. I’m so onto him. I hate the thought of owing people. I don’t want his money. It’s why I’ve always worked myself to the bone. It’s this innate need to be able to stand on my own two feet and support my family if I need to. The thought of this man paying for me once he has access to his money again and more, lots more, doesn’t sit well with me at all.
“What’s in it for you?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.
He makes a semi-outraged face like the answer is obvious. “You’re saving me from being outed to my team? You’re paying for me to travel with you out of your own bank account? You’re beingsortof nice to me?”
“I’mnotbeing nice to you,” I say, but saying it out loud seems so silly I have to muffle a laugh.
He grins. “I stand corrected.”
I swallow thickly, a ball of anxiety settling in my stomach. “I don’t need your money. I don’t want it. I just want you to fund your part.”
He chews on his bottom lip, watching me curiously. “I feel like what I’m asking you to do is actually quite a big ask. I’d like to pay you more than you’re spending.”
“Why’s it a big ask?”
“Because I’m…” He sighs, glancing away. “I’m going to sound like Ron fromAnchorman.”
“You’re kind of a big deal?”
He laughs. “Well, yeah.”
“Ok, well, sorry to sound like a broken record, but I’d hardly heard of you until a few days ago and I’m sure most of Croatia are in the same boat.”
“What a metaphor to apply to this situation.”
“Can you be serious?”
“Not really, no.”
“Oh my God,” I squeal, before realising I sound like I’m flirting.Am I flirting?Absolutely not. Don’t be ridiculous. I clear my throat. “You’re quite annoying.”
“Hey, I got us pizza! Surely that’s worth some brownie points?”
“Withmymoney.”
“Which I’m going to pay you back at two hundred and fifty per cent interest.”
“No, you’re not!”
He laughs while trying to chew on another bite. “All I’m saying is there is a risk you’re seen with me, and my fans make you an unhealthy obsession. It’s why I don’t usually date normies. Easier if they already know exactly who the person is. Worst case, they get some PR out of it. Best case, it raises their profile.”
“Normies.” The word sounds so derogative.
He scrunches his face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.I just mean, it’s easier for people who are already in the spotlight. You know?”
“Why, what would they do to me?”
“Well,” he takes a second to chew before continuing, “they’d probably just find out who you are, where you’re from, who your family is, what your hobbies are, national insurance number… That sort of thing.”
