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“Maybe I’m just excellent at what I do.”
“I think you might be, but playacting isn’t you. Even when we do our D/s thing,” she says, careful of her word choices. Yeah, she’s fucking smart. “You play true. And you’re also Jaxson.”
I don’t say a word as the car takes us down the West Side Highway.
“But Orion suits you. Way more than Jaxson.” She pauses. “Just Orion. Orion.” She says it like she’s tasting it, feeling it out. “I like it. Hello, Orion.”
And she sighs, head still on my shoulder. She whispers something, very, very softly.
“Daddy Orion.”
Fuck. I’m in trouble.
Because I think regardless of what she is, I’m beginning to like Dakota Hunt.
A lot.
TWENTY-TWO
dakota
“…and that’s how you get the man of your dreams,” I say, flipping my hair and winking with overly made-up eyes. “Just reinvent yourself from top to bottom, learn what he wants, and boom! Become his fantasy.”
“Cut.” Harley grins at me over her little camera. “Wipe that gunk off and… where did you get that slutty dress? You look good but girl, it’s about five sizes too small.”
I go into the bathroom that connects our rooms, and I can’t help thinking that maybe I am the spoiled little girl that Orion accuses me of being.
“Orion,” I whisper the name to myself, like a dirty little secret. Like my secret.
It is, I guess. Normally I tell Harley everything, but I haven’t told her what happened on the trip or about Orion.
“It’s loot. Influencers can’t be choosers.”
I pull on a T-shirt and jeans. The shirt says “Something Ironic Here.” It’s another influencer item, but at least I can go out in public in this.
We film the rest of the video after my quick change.
“Just kidding, guys. Dress for you, be true.”
When Harley turns off the camera, I mime puking.
“Wanna get coffee?” she asks, rolling her eyes.
“I was going to do some work, but okay.”
“We can,” she says grandly, going through my closet. “Discuss the long-term plan for your influencing career.”
“It’s not a career.” I shove my feet into my red and black Air Jordans. “It’s an art piece gone terribly wrong.”
“You mean terribly right.” She waggles her eyebrows at me.
She’s got an awful point. But the endgame seems so far off, and the online fame would be so easy to let grow out of control. Not that I’m going to. I’m not interested in even this level of recognition. “I say we just let it die.”
“Do you really want that? We had a plan to follow, and then in a couple of years, let it die, and then we’ll be able to put together our piece on how vacuous and silly fame is these days. This kind of fame.”
But the burn from the yacht is still on me. I wouldn’t have been invited if I didn’t have a level of recognition in the public eye. It’s small because we’ve kept it there, me and Harley, but if that could happen, imagine if I was a big deal? Famous for actually doing something?
Which is why I don’t want my name attached to my art.
