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Her shoulders drop and a softer, more natural smile curves her lips. “Oh. Sure.”
Party noises fade away as she follows me down the long, narrow hallway to Ice’s office.
She frowns when I pull out a key to open the door. “Ice doesn’t allow me in here.”
“You’re with me. He knows I need your help with this.”
She bites her lip and glances back the way we came. Shit. Is she worried Ice will be pissed at her or worried about being alone with me?
“Okay.”
My gaze strays to the corner and the tiny red, blinking light. Ice even has cameras set up in here. Really couldn’t give a shit less if he’s somewhere else in the house watching us. Actually, knowing we’re being filmed is a relief. This way, there’s no chance of him accusing me of hitting on his girlfriend—or whatever she is to him—later.
I drop into the chair behind the desk and motion for her to take the one across from me. “You got your license on you?”
“Give me a second.” She pulls her big purse into her lap and searches through it.
While I’m waiting, I jot down a bunch of addresses and passwords she’ll need. Ice has a copy of everything I’m giving her, and I’ll keep a third copy. Just in case.
Finally, she hands me her license. It’s real—or one hell of a fake. I snap a quick picture of her holding the license up to her face, then she sets it down on the desk next to me.
One after the other, I fill in the same tedious information at each film distribution platform.
“So, five to seven minute clips on the free sites seem to do the best to reel people in,” I explain so she knows why the fuck I dragged her down here. “At least for Stella. Yours might be different, so you can play around with the length until you find something that consistently works for you.”
“Okay.” She nods eagerly. “I never give the pop shot away.”
“Probably a good strategy. Give ’em blue balls.”
She chuckles.
My gaze won’t stop straying to her license sitting next to the keyboard.
I’m not judging. She seems to be into this business venture. It’s not like Ice is forcing her into anything. But God damn. She’s a year younger than Shelby. Old enough to make her own choices, sure. Luckier than most girls, I guess. Found someone to bankroll her business. Still, some of the stupid decisions I made at her age flood my memories.
Not your concern.
“How long you been doing this, Anya?” I can’t help myself.
Her eyes widen. Shit, maybe she mentioned it at some point and I forgot. Or maybe no one’s ever given a damn before. “Uh, since I was eighteen, why?”
“Just curious.”
She sits forward and drums her nails over against the desk, her gaze darting around the room. “Actually…”
Please tell me Ice hasn’t been banging this chick since she was a teenager.
“My stepdad posted videos of me before then…”
Fuck.
“I didn’t find out until some kids in school were passing around the links. It took me forever to get the sites to take them down.” She jerks her chin toward her license and the paperwork I’ve been filling out. “That’s all bullshit. They don’t really give a damn.”
“Shit, I’m sorry. Is your stepfather at least in prison?”
She frowns, as if prison had never been an option. Holy fuck, tell me her pedo stepdad isn’t still running around?
“Well, no…uh…” She lowers her voice. “Ice took care of him.” She raises her eyebrows in a catch-my-drift sort of way.
So, stepdaddy’s six-feet under somewhere. I’m certainly not losing sleep over the information.
Her gaze drops to my VP patch. “You’re a brother. I can tell you that, right?”
“Of course.” On second thought, Ice might not appreciate her sharing that with anyone, brother or not. “But let’s pretend you didn’t.”
She snaps her mouth shut.
“Go on,” I encourage her. “You got those videos down?”
“Yeah. They still pop up from time to time. I get sick of chasing them, though.”
I stare at her, trying hard not to ask the obvious question.
“A boyfriend posted some clips without telling me maybe a year later.” She lifts her shoulders. “I figured the whole world’s seen me anyway. Might as well profit off it myself.”
Christ, that’s fucking sad.
I’m overcome with the urge to bang my head against the desk. For fuck’s sake, I’m a fucking biker who really shouldn’t give a shit about any of this.
I struggle to keep my face neutral. Seems as if life’s given her one shitty choice after another. I don’t want to make her feel bad about the decisions she’s made.
“Is there anything else you ever wanted to do?” I tap my pen against the desk, debating my words. “You know it might be hard to find a different line of work later on.”
“I think that ship has sailed.” She flashes a pained smile. “Ice is letting me keep fifty percent ownership of all my content. That’s better than the five hundred a scene I used to get paid and own nothing after.”
