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I laughed. “Who doesn’t want to see people fucking?”
“Touché.” Hirsh laughed with me, but when the silence grew heavy between us, he continued. “I’m sorry I’m not giving you more notice, but this is happening.”
He was serious. Hirsh Levin, the king of porn, was selling his business.
Panic mode set in.
I wasn’t sure what to do with that information, where to compartmentalize it, like I did everything else. Off the top of my head, this would be filed in the I’m-severely-fucked compartment.
There was only one other thing in that compartment—or someone, Grace Nolan.
I’d known the moment we met in that coffee shop that I was fucked where she was concerned, and the last few weeks hadn’t made it any better. But as of the new year, I’d have a choice to make. I either packed up and left everything I loved behind and moved to Silicon Valley to continue in porn, or I stayed here and stared down the bullet of doing something out of my comfort zone. If I chose the latter, I’d no longer work in porn, which meant that Grace didn’t have to stay away from me.
Now that we were completely over, wasn’t it ironic how the one thing keeping us apart was no longer an issue?
“I came for another reason.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. “I came to give you your bonus.”
“Hirsh, I haven’t done anything to deserve—”
“Hush, now.” He slid it across the desk. “You’ve kept the company running while I made this deal. I know I’ve been absent. I’ve missed meetings, but it’s only because I knew you had everything under control.”
I coughed out a half laugh. “You had that much confidence in me?”
“I have that much confidence in you.”
“I thought…” I ran my hands over my head, pressing my fingers into my scalp, enjoying the pressure. “I thought I sucked and you just didn’t want to witness my sucking.” Hirsh laughed as I opened the envelope. When I registered the contents, I let out a long whistle. It was a check. “That is a lot of zeros.”
“I decided I only needed fifty-one percent of the company assets. The other forty-nine, I split between you and Max.”
“You what? Hirsh, I—”
“Max didn’t want to take it.” He stood, grabbing the two sides of his suit jacket and threading the buttons through the holes. “So he settled on ten percent and called it a finder’s fee for bringing you home all those years ago.”
I slapped my jaw shut. “You’re giving me thirty-nine percent of White Lace?”
With his hands clasped behind his back, Hirsh in all his confidence stared down at me. “You can pursue anything you want, Ben. Take time off. See the world. Go back to school. Buy a boat and live on the lake outside your house for the rest of your life. Just promise me that you’ll be happy. With whatever you choose.”
Like the gentleman he was, Hirsh bid me farewell with a smile and walked out the door like it was just any other day.
That evening, I made my way home in a daze. Pretty soon I’d be jobless. With a rich, fat bank account, but jobless nonetheless. Couple that with how badly I’d fucked up with Grace and you could say I was seriously losing my shit.
I threw my keys on the glass table by my front door and slammed it behind me. I kicked off my shoes and headed straight to the kitchen for a beer. With a green bottle in my hand, I retreated to my movie room, flopping on the couch.
The crack of the bottle cap was a welcome sound and I downed half the beer in one long gulp. I shouldn’t have come into this room, because it only forced me to think about Grace and the last time we’d spent together. Right here. On this couch. And how I’d so carelessly screwed her, because it had been what I’d wanted. I’d once again taken advantage without care of anyone else’s feelings. But I couldn’t help it. Reverting back to my old ways was how I was able to get through it. But even my best attempt at trying to keep her at a distance had been foiled the moment she gave me one last look in my doorway and walked out of my life for good.
I glanced to the floor and something green caught my eye. A reusable bag sat by the armchair. Grace must have brought it with her last week.
I put the beer down and made my way to it, a heaviness settling over me. It was only three steps across the room but if felt like every one was weighed down with cement blocks.
I peeked inside, unable to figure out what was there. I pulled out an unmarked box. No indication where it came from or what was inside it. I opened it, moving aside tissue paper to reveal tickets. I didn’t recognize the logo, but there was no mistaking the name in bold capital letters.
ARNOLD SCHWARZENEGGER.
She’d gotten me tickets to a special screening of all four Terminator movies.
Holy shit.
And there was a picture. Of Arnold the cat. And a certificate of adoption. She’d adopted him in my name.
