First Comes Like (Modern Love #3) - Alisha Rai Page 0,19
about bikini photos. Not that he knew what he’d do if she started posting those. Her body, her choice? But he was also her guardian and she was underage. Whose choice was it then?
Raising a little human was a real mind twister.
He typed Jia’s name into the search bar now. He clicked on her avatar and was rewarded with a selfie. It was from last night, but perhaps before he’d done whatever he’d done to bring unshed tears to her eyes. The photo couldn’t capture the metallic threads in her scarf or dress, or the high velocity sheen that had been on her cheeks.
He rubbed his thumb over her cheek but told himself it was just to pause it to read the caption. If I meet Mr. Right tonight, I won’t be mad.
His heart did an odd double thump. He placed his hand over his chest.
His phone buzzed. John, with a phone number, and a note. I didn’t find anything criminal on this woman. Here’s her number, tho. Should I keep digging?
Dev replied immediately. No, thank you.
He had the information that she wasn’t, for example, wanted in three countries for stalking actors. Which was, admittedly, a low bar.
He checked his watch. He still had some time.
What would be the point in using that phone number? He scrolled through the photos of Jia, faster and faster, until they became a blur of gold and brown and red and every other color of the rainbow. No unshed tears here.
Something had upset her yesterday before she’d darted away from him, right? He could check in on her. Make sure she was okay.
Yes. It would be entirely altruistic.
Chapter Five
THIS SON of a bitch.
Jia hadn’t realized she’d sworn out loud, until her driver cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon?”
She glanced up, embarrassed. She always drove herself to her studio in Los Angeles, but today she’d accepted Katrina’s offer to have her housekeeper, Gerald, chauffeur her to and from the city. While it was nice to not have to concentrate on driving, talking to herself was a lot harder when she wasn’t alone in her car.
“I’m sorry. It’s nothing.”
Gerald hummed and turned his attention pointedly back to the road.
She looked down at her phone and tried not to swear again, but there it was, in her analytics. Dev Dixit had peeped her photo from last night.
She regulated her breathing as her thoughts raced. Why, this meant . . .
Absolutely nothing.
He could have still lied about knowing her. Someone else could still be in charge of his account. It didn’t matter. Katrina and Rhiannon had told her it didn’t matter. If her twin ever responded to her—Ayesha was on some annoying camping retreat with her fellow residents, and not answering her texts—she would tell her it didn’t matter.
Jia grimly navigated to her contacts and erased Dev’s name, and that damn heart she’d put after it. She typed Catfishing Asshole in and nodded. There. That would remind her, if he ever did contact her again.
She was going to move on with her life, damn it. She was like if Destiny’s Child’s “Survivor” and Kelly Clarkson’s “Stronger” were a person. She was a stronger survivor.
“We’re here, Miss.”
Here at work, which was what adult women who didn’t need no man did. Jia grabbed her bag. “Thanks, Gerald.”
“Not a problem. I shall pick you up at seven. Ring me if anything changes.”
“Will do. Sorry you got dragged into Los Angeles for the day.”
The older man met her eyes in the rearview mirror and cracked a grin. “There’s at least three restaurants I’ve been meaning to try. A day wandering around the city is quite a treat.”
She gave him a smile in return. “Good. See you soon.”
She got out of the car and shut the door with perhaps more strength than necessary. Jia had started her empire—that’s what she called it, her empire—in her messy childhood bedroom, with her kinda crappy phone and terrible lighting.
Look at her now. This wasn’t the most glamorous building, what with the Trader Joe’s on the ground floor, but 1600 Williams was well known to every internet-famous celebrity in the world. Many of them lived and worked here, but she’d only needed a place to film that wasn’t her own bedroom. She split costs on a staged apartment with another woman who came in once or twice a week to use the pool.
A couple got into the elevator with her and ignored her, which was fine with Jia, and on par with what she knew about