Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 93942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Asher was standing five feet away, watching me. He’d stopped recording, and there was something a little sad in his expression. “I guess I don’t have to worry about Kai revealing my secret anymore.”
I stared at him, trying to gather my racing thoughts. “Why? Why do you make these videos?” I couldn’t think of any reason that made sense. Well, except for one.
I didn’t think he was going to answer me, but after a long pause, he said, “It’s a long story.”
“Can you tell me?”
He thought for a moment, then nodded. “Some of it.” He led me out to the dining room. We chose a round table and sat down, leaving one chair between us so we could see each other better.
I couldn’t think of where to begin. “How long have you been doing this?” I finally asked.
“A couple of years.”
“Your followers…” I gestured at my phone, still open to the comment section. All those women. All those compliments. All those adoring women who sounded like they wanted to climb through the screen and throw themselves at him.
“It’ll probably cross over a million next month.”
“They’re, um, pretty vocal about singing your praises. The women, anyway.”
He shrugged. “Goes with the territory of being an online influencer.”
“I just don’t understand why you do it.”
But maybe I did. Maybe he loved the praise. Loved being the object of their desire. My eyes kept drifting to his chest, his abs. The overhead lights cast shadows across his taut, tan skin.
Finally, I gestured to his bare torso. “Could you put on a shirt? I can’t think when you look like that.”
Wordlessly, he went back into the kitchen. When he came out, he was buttoning up his white chef’s jacket. Hard to believe he’d done all that without a single smirk or sarcastic comment.
“Better?” he asked.
I looked at him for a moment, then shook my head, a rueful smile settling on my lips. “No. You still look hot.” No sense denying that—he knew it, and apparently, so did a million other people.
He chuckled a little at the irritation in my voice. But his brief smile didn’t reach his eyes.
Then he leaned back in his chair. “I started at the end of my first year at Langley. I was frustrated with how traditional the cooking classes were. How the professors thought there was only one way to do things—like if you didn’t study in Paris, you’d never be a real chef.”
He ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up. “So I started making cooking demonstrations. My goal was to make it accessible. So ordinary people could follow the steps and learn to make something decent. But I wasn’t getting any views. I was spending more money on ingredients and camera equipment and lights than I was making back.”
“What changed?”
“I was on a video call with Kai and Landon, talking about it. Landon said that even though this wasn’t his area of expertise, it seemed like a lot of influencers had some kind of gimmick. Something that made them different, and made people want to watch.”
I could imagine that conversation. The three of them brainstorming and working together, as they always did.
“We were throwing around ideas. And finally Kai said, ‘Well, if you really want people to watch—women especially—you have to take off your shirt’.”
Asher gave a hollow smile. “We were joking. But it started to feel less like a joke. So I made a video that way. Then another one. All of a sudden, my subscriber count was five figures. I was getting a lot of views. And I started making real money from it. You know how expensive Langley is,” he finished quietly.
“Yes, I do.” My eyes met his. “So you’re doing that to pay for your tuition?”
He looked away, his expression torn, and I had the sense that he was considering how much he wanted to reveal. “Yes and no. I started getting more and more views, and then sponsors started approaching me. A company that makes flour. Another one that makes cookware. I talked to them and finally chose one as my sponsor. That’s what pays for my college. I have to make a certain number of videos to post online. That’s why I did one tonight. Otherwise, I’d never do it here at The Fraser.”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s not who I am here.” His voice was firm. “Here, I’m respected. I’m the head chef. I’m in charge. I’m known for what I do, not what I look like.”
I could hear the frustration in his voice. The conflict. “You want to be taken seriously as a chef,” I said.
“I’d like to abandon the whole thing entirely. But I’ve still got one more semester to pay for. And I’ve got a contract with my sponsor.”
We sat in silence for a moment.
Then he said, “I know I was a jerk to you when we first got here. Now you’ve been handed a perfect way to get your revenge. You could report me to the resort. Or to the school.”