Page 60 of The Money Shot
Chapter Thirty
Jack
Isat at my desk, staring blankly at the spreadsheet open on my monitor. My mind wasn’t on the budget projections or the slew of emails I needed to answer. It was stuck on Liam. On the look on his face when I left him standing on the sidewalk, his mouth slightly open as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.
“Do you really want to be a professional porn star?”
The memory of my words made my stomach twist. I could’ve phrased it better—hell, I could’ve just kept my mouth shut. But no, I had to act like some judgmental ass, then turn around and leave him there. The guilt gnawed at me, clawing its way through every attempt I made to focus.
I leaned back in my chair, running a hand over my face. The truth was, I didn’t understand. I couldn’t fathom how anyone would willingly choose that kind of life, no matter how quick the money came in or how easy it seemed. The thought of being that exposed—to strangers, to the world—it was incomprehensible. But that didn’t mean I had the right to shame him for it. Liam didn’t deserve that from me. If anything, he deserved support, not me acting like some sanctimonious prick.
Plus, I was on film too, now. And I couldn’t ask Liam to take the videos down, especially now that he was making real money. At least he wasn’t making the silly videos with complete strangers anymore. Like, what the hell was he thinking, letting that strange dude into his bed? That was a surefire way to make the STD clinic a regular part of his life. Plus, that guy wasn’t nearly good enough for him.
A notification pinged on my phone, snapping me out of my spiral. I grabbed it, grateful for the distraction, and saw a name I hadn’t been expecting: St. Kitt’s Contracting.
“Barrett,” I answered, trying to sound more focused than I felt.
“Good morning, Mr. Barrett,” came the gruff voice of Charles Monfils, the contractor who’d finally agreed to take on Evelyn Van Alen’s med-spa project. “I’ve been looking over the plans and budget your team sent over. Gotta say it’s tight. Real tight. But it’s doable.”
“That’s a relief,” I said, sitting up straighter. Evelyn’s ludicrously small budget had already scared off two other contractors. Monfils was the last hope of getting this thing off the ground without going back to her with bad news. And bad news wasn’t an option—not if I wanted to keep my job.
“Yeah, but here’s the thing,” he continued. “I’m gonna need someone from your firm to come down here for a few days. Check out the site, meet the team, make sure everyone’s on the same page. Otherwise, I’m not signing off on this.”
A heavy sigh escaped me before I could stop it. “Understood. I’ll talk to my boss and see what we can arrange.”
“Good. Let me know soon. We’ve got a tight timeline.”
“Will do,” I said, and we ended the call.
I set the phone down and stared at it for a moment, the weight of the conversation settling on my shoulders. This was my life now: catering to the whims of people like Evelyn VanAlen, who wouldn’t know a realistic budget if it smacked her in the face.
Damn, all those nights I spent studying at school until my eyes burned, dreaming of building something meaningful, something that mattered—they’d brought me here. To this. Running around, bending over backward to make a spoiled socialite’s vanity project a reality.
A sharp pang of self-loathing hit me. How could I judge Liam’s choices when my life felt like one big-ass compromise? At least he was doing something bold, something unapologetically his own. Me? I was just a cog in someone else’s machine, spinning endlessly and getting nowhere.
My phone rang again, jolting me out of my thoughts. I glanced at the screen. My boss, Andrea. Great.
I answered, trying to keep the weariness out of my voice. “Hi, Andrea.”
“Jack, can you come to my office? Now?”
The clipped tone in her voice sent a spike of unease through me. “Sure thing. Be right there.”
I hung up, already bracing myself for whatever fresh hell awaited. As I grabbed my notepad and headed for her office, I couldn’t help but wonder: Was this what I’d worked so hard for? And if it wasn’t, what the hell was I going to do about it?
When I knocked on Andrea’s door, her sharp voice cut through. “Come in.”
I stepped inside, and she gestured for me to sit. As I settled into the chair, she stood and began pacing behind her desk, her expression obviously irritated.
“Jack, I realize Evelyn Van Alen is a demanding client,” she began, her tone clipped. “But she’s complaining about how slow things are going. Have you even found a contractor yet that will work with her budget?”
Relief flooded me for once. “Actually, I have,” I said, sitting up straighter. “Charles Monfils, with St. Kitt’s Contracting. He’s reviewed the plans and said it’s tight, but he can work with it.”
Andrea stopped pacing, and to my surprise, a rare smile crossed her face. “Good. I knew you could do it.”
The praise caught me off guard, and I fought the urge to let it show. “There’s one thing, though,” I said, clearing my throat. “Monfils wants someone from the firm to go down to St. Kitts. He won’t sign the contracts unless we check out the site and meet the team.”
Andrea’s eyebrow arched, and a sly grin tugged at her lips. “What are you saying, Jack? Trying to score yourself a free vacation to the Caribbean?”