Chapter 4
Kensie
My cell blared near my ear. I impatiently reached for it on my mirrored bedside table without opening my eyes. “This better be good.”
“Three million followers and climbing. Over two hundred thousand subscribers to YouTube,” Saraj yelled into the phone. “I already have more potential sponsors calling and people requesting interviews. You might get another book deal if we strike now.”
I quickly rose and swung my feet on the side of my pink velvet round bed. Maybe too quickly, my head spun momentarily. “Since yesterday?”
“Since this morning.”
I frantically searched for my phone on my bed, but then I remembered I was using it. “Wait . . . What time is it? Why are you so loud?”
“After eleven. I’m not loud . . . Kensie, please tell me I didn’t wake you at eleven in the middle of the week?” Saraj complained. “I swear your lazy behind gets on my nerves while I’m working like a Hebrew slave to get your numbers up.”
“Then I didn’t just wake up.” I grinned before placing Saraj on speaker so I could check my accounts. “And you know I like to sleep late when I don’t have class. Why do I have so many followers? What happened?”
“You and Canaan happened,” sang Saraj.
Squinting at my screen, I pulled up my Instagram.
“What does that mean—shit . . . I have almost two million followers now on IG. Did Canaan post something about me? I did ask him to help me.” It had been two days since I saw him, and I still hadn’t reached out.
Part ego. Part scared out of my damn mind.
I had no qualms about a purely sexual relationship until Canaan. He made me yearn, and I hated it.
“You’ve really been asleep. Someone leaked a video of you and Canaan while he went down on you the other night. I’m not going to even get on your case for lying to me when I asked you what happened, and you told me he only annoyed you.”
“There were cameras?” I asked. My mind instantly replayed that night before I screamed.
An unperturbed Saraj replied, “Apparently. It’s a five-star restaurant. What did you think would happen? Someone leaked the video, and it went viral. I sent you a link.”
With trembling fingers, I clicked the link, and a second later, I was in the throes of passion. Canaan’s head blocked my lower half. The whole world could see me being pleasured by him. I should have been appalled, yet . . . yet . . . I quickly turned it off.
“Once you get over the shock, you’ll see it’s a good thing.”
“Emme will see this. Shit. My department will see this . . . oh . . . my . . . God . . . My family will see this.” I could feel the panic rise like bile in my throat. I would be an embarrassment to my doctoral program, friends, and family.
“Anyone who would be embarrassed isn’t on social media. Your parents don’t follow your career at all, and who cares about anyone else? You’re almost finished with school. Emme has a man,” Saraj said reasonably. “Has Canaan reached out to you?”
I took a deep breath, the spiraling slowing down. “He still doesn’t have my number. You think he’ll be pissed?”
“Why? His idea, right?”
“It was an impulsive move on his part to get my attention, and I’m pretty sure he’ll think I leaked it.
Before he left, I asked him to pretend to be my boyfriend, and he didn’t answer me.
What if he sues or tries to ruin me? He’s a billionaire and has unimaginable resources that I don’t have,” I fretted.
I couldn’t celebrate because I didn’t want success like this. I’d worked hard to build my brand independently, driven by sheer effort and my no-nonsense personality. Now, I’d become social media famous because of a sex tape—a cliché I never wanted.
“Call him and test the waters. At this point, it doesn’t really matter if he’s upset.
He initiated the encounter, and you already have followers and subscribers pushing us to the next level.
Go live on Valentine’s Day, addressing the video and remaining coy, especially if Canaan doesn’t want to play along. ”
As Saraj talked, I texted Canaan.
Please call me. I had nothing to do with the video. I’m sorry.
“Uh-oh,” Saraj lamented.
“What? What?” I began pacing in my room, tugging down my tank top and boy shorts.
“He’s getting backlash, and Ferrari is questioning if he’s a good look for their team.
Looks like Canaan’s been a bad boy, messing with the wife of one of his sponsors and known to party too hard with alcohol and women.
This article challenges the discretion he uses in his personal life, and his position as the face of motorsports, especially because he’s a Black man, may be in jeopardy.
You know we have to be extra perfect in the spotlight. ”
“Fuck.” I flopped back down on my bed. “He’s going to think I did this purposely and blame me for destroying his career. We hated each other back in college.”
“Even if he does, he has no choice but to clean up his image. Make him see how it’s more beneficial for you to work together, Kensie.”
“Ugh. That sounds like I’m blackmailing Canaan. He’s arrogant and stubborn and believes I hate him. That man will not hear anything I have to say.”
“Make him.”
I stared mindlessly at my recessed ceiling and skylight. “If he wanted to contact me, he would’ve found a way. And he hasn’t responded to my text.”
“He may not know you’ve reached out or be able to answer you because he has an important race tomorrow in Daytona. If he wins this one, he can compete in Formula One on Ferrari’s team. Canaan’s on the verge of making history. He could be the first Black man to win NASCAR and Formula One.”
“He has a race in Daytona? And what is Formula One? Is that some sort of NASCAR race? I’ve been seeing the headlines, but don’t quite understand.” My head spun trying to recall exactly what I’d read about Canaan.
Saraj groaned. “Formula One is the rich boy’s answer to NASCAR. In fact, there aren’t any Black racers in Formula One outside of the newcomer Gabriel Marcel, who’s already with Ferrari, and Lewis Hamilton. And don’t you follow Lewis Hamilton, the first and only Black man to win a F1 race?”
I indeed followed the sexy man. “Is that what he does? I thought he was a British model or something who loved cars.”
“That’s so freaking blasphemous. Baby girl, don’t ever say that out loud to anyone if you don’t want to sound like an idiot.
I forgot you’re a woman who hates all sports.
Act like you got the sense I gave you, and do your homework on Canaan before you see him.
You really don’t have a choice but to talk to him again, preferably in person. ”
I closed my eyes, quickly assessing my options. Resolved, I pushed down any doubt and fear about seeing Canaan again. “While I brush up on Mr. Jackson and his world, book me a hotel and a flight to Daytona. Looks like I’m about to go root for my fake man.”