Pizza My Heart(A Billionaire Romance, Part 2)(11)

“What was with all the offensive questions?” I asked. “That isn’t right. Didn’t you hear what they were asking?”

“I’ve learned to tune it out.” We turned off of a main strip and the land started to get a little hillier, wilder. It was hard to believe that there was still space for undeveloped land in this part of the most populous state. It was gorgeous—tangles of trees and rocky outcroppings.

“They were asking if we were fucking, for your information,” I said.

“They say offensive shit like that all the time,” he said without so much as flinching. “What they’re looking for is a reaction shot. The worse you look, or the weirder, the more money they’ll get for the photo.”

“Why? Don’t people want to see you happy and looking good? Isn’t that interesting for them?”

“Not interesting enough.” The houses we were passing by were enormous. How in the world did people need so much space? “I always look good in movies, on red carpets, at appearances. People pay to see the unpolished side of me. Does he look drunk? Perfect. Does he look pissed? Perfect. Does he look like he doesn’t know where he is? Perfect. Then they can spin whatever clickbait headline they want to online and earn ad revenue.”

“That sounds…awful,” I said. “Why would you put yourself through it?”

“It’s not so bad,” he reasoned. “Everyone has to make a living. One time, the paparazzi caught me…um…adjusting myself.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Headline: ‘Hollywood’s Highest-Paid Hero a Public Masturbator.’”

“Jesus.”

Devon laughed. “Yep. Took Chaz a long time to bury that one. I had to make all these friendly appearances, my hands firmly glued at my sides, until my slate was wiped clean. I don’t even adjust myself in private anymore. I’m rid of that habit.”

“Devon, that’s not funny. That’s awful.”

“You learn to laugh about it,” he said. “There’s no use crying. Poor little rich boy, right?”

I grimaced. “I guess I didn’t really understand the kinds of things you go through on a daily basis.”

“Well, I’m rewarded for them,” Devon said. “I have enough money for whatever I want, and I make people happy, one way or another.”

“It’s a high price to pay.”

“I’m used to it. We’re nearly there.”

I didn’t know what to expect when it came to the place where he lived, but when we drove up the winding path to Devon’s house and it finally came into view, I laughed, certain I was being tricked.

“What’s funny?” he asked me, confused.

“This isn’t your house,” I scoffed. I was so sure that it was an elaborate prank, Devon driving me out to some museum or historically significant castle before having a laugh and returning to some more conventional mansion. This place was palatial, perched on bluffs carefully manicured to look wild and windswept, overlooking a canyon that drew my eye to the coast. The view was gorgeous, but the house was overwhelmingly beautiful. It was too fancy to live in. I was sure of it.

“This is my house,” he said, pulling just short of the multi-car garage and putting the SUV into park.

“Nobody’s allowed to live here,” I said. “You can’t fool me, Devon. This isn’t a house. It’s a…a chateau. I don’t know.”

“Can I show you around and at least try to convince you I actually live here?”

I followed him out of the car, still smiling and shaking my head, marveling at the lengths he went through to fool me as he fit a key into the front door and opened it.

“I bet you know the guy who owns this place, and he lent you his keys so you could fool me into thinking you live here.”

I wandered inside, ready to enjoy the sights before Devon told me the truth.

“Here’s the kitchen,” he was saying, still looking at me like I was a lunatic. “I don’t do a ton of cooking, but I always meant to learn so I could do it in my downtime. Like when I’m retired. If that’s a possibility. Most people in this business never retire.”

I explored freely, opening cabinets and drawers and doors. “Ooh, cleaning supplies. For your small army of maids?”

“I like to clean myself,” he said. “It’s like meditation for me. And I don’t like anyone doing my dirty laundry for me. That’s how secrets get out.”

“Aha.” I didn’t believe this for one minute. “Continue the tour.”

“You still don’t believe I live here?” he asked, laughing. “What’s wrong with it?”