Matt was looking at her intensely. ‘I’m impressed with everything you do. You’re . . . you’re amazing. I don’t know how you do it – how you keep going the whole time, always . . .’
Alexa watched as he struggled to finish his sentence. She felt instantly guilty. Matt’s blue eyes were looking intently into hers, pleadingly. He clearly meant every word.
‘Always living up to your own high standards.’
Alexa reached out and locked fingers with him across the table. ‘Sorry for being paranoid.’
Matt started to smile. ‘So go on, tell me.’ He was poised for a forkful of steak, but his eyes were still fixed on Alexa’s.
She frowned. ‘Tell you what?’
‘How the hell will you make the fifty-two million?’
Alexa smiled. ‘Fifty-four million.’
Matt winced. ‘Sorry.’
‘Well, if you really want to know . . .’
Alexa gave him one last chance to back out, but he didn’t take it. So she told him. She told him about the proposed tablet app, her plans for rejuvenating Banter TV, the new feature ideas that she and Neil had devised and the ways in which she was going to ‘up the nipple count’.
‘Ah,’ said Matt, nodding wisely as he polished off his steak. ‘I like that idea. Reckon that’ll net you at least ten million.’
Alexa smiled. It wasn’t quite fair to say that Matt had shown no interest in her work in recent weeks. He had, she recalled, sat through at least an hour of Banter TV and scanned the ‘Girls’ section of every issue she brought home. He therefore considered himself an expert in such things as submissive positions and nipple counts.
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