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“Can you explain more? I’m not twenty years old,” Aaron urges.
I think Hannah will have a heart attack if she has to say more, so I decide to save her. “Mostly fantasy with a lot of sex, extremely kinky sometimes.”
Aaron raises both eyebrows, surprised. “Really? How kinky exactly?” He turns to Hannah, who I think wants to dig a massive pit and fall into it.
“Reverse harem?”
Aaron looks questioningly at me.
“A woman with three or more men. Explicit and graphic sex scenes,” I translate.
His eyes widen in more surprise. “Oh, okay… Are you comfortable reading all of that? No one’s forcing you to do so.”
Hannah nods and blushes violently. I think she already has a list of titles to propose to us, given the shame emblazoned on her face, but I understand why Aaron asks her. Not everyone loves the genre, and she could sue him for ordering her to do it.
“Make a list of books and buy them. You have total freedom.” Aaron gives me a black card with no name written on it.
“Are you giving us your credit card to buy whatever we want?” I tease him a bit.
“It’s the corporate card, and everything that is not a book will be deducted from your wages.” He smiles at me threateningly.
“I’m not getting paid,” Hannah whispers in fear.
Aaron studies her for some time, and the poor woman seems to wriggle as if walking on hot coals.
“We’ll fix that too,” Aaron says before kicking us out of his office.
I send Hannah to get the laptop from her desk to start working on this project together, and I can’t hide a smile. Finally, that spark of passion comes alive again after I’d snuffed it out last year when I realized moving from assistant to manager wasn’t happening anytime soon. The idea of doing this job at Jail Records is a dream coming back to life after this conversation with Aaron. If only Evan would try and think more like his brother. I take out my phone, hoping he’s thought again about his proposal and answered. The screen, however, is empty, and I feel the weight of that missed text.
I walk through the hallways of the studios with my head down. I haven’t been here much in recent years, and I realize I’m terrified of meeting my father. After I destroyed his face, he didn’t call me, and he didn’t send his soulless lawyers. It’s like he disappeared entirely from my life, and I haven’t been happy about it—in fact, just the opposite. As much as I hate him and don’t want anything to do with him, I’m well aware that he could destroy me. He has the money and the means to make my life so miserable I’d wish I were dead. But after mulling over my text exchange with Emily for three days, I realized this is a conversation I can’t have on the phone. I have to do it in person.
People look at me like I’m a ghost. They know I’m the son the family has disowned, and they’re probably wondering what I’m doing here. Or maybe my dad has spread rumors of how he got those bruises on his face, and they’re staring because they think I’m a monster. I quicken my pace down the corridor that leads to Aaron’s office. I’ve always wondered why he insists on staying in this building, close to production. He could have chosen a shiny high-rise suitable for someone running a company.
All my thoughts escape me when I enter his assistant’s office and see Emily bent over the computer of a blond and somewhat anonymous girl, maybe twenty years old. She hasn’t noticed my presence yet, and I remain silent for a few seconds to enjoy this view. Since the first time we met, I knew she was my type, but seeing her so focused on her work makes me realize just how beautiful she is. Beautiful in her confidence, in the passion she puts into what she does, in the vitality that flows in her veins.
“Evan, what are you doing here?” Her voice is uncertain, and her raised eyebrows show her surprise.
“I need to talk to you and Aaron.”
“Is anything wrong? Are you sick?” The worry on her face makes me almost miss a beat.
“No, it’s about that link you texted me,” I quickly explain.
Emily goes around the table, knocks vigorously on Aaron’s door, and doesn’t even wait for permission before storming in. I smile. My brother must be going crazy. I follow her and can’t stay serious when I see Aaron’s annoyed face.
“How many times have you already fired her?” I ask him, amused.
“I don’t know, four or five, by now. But she always comes back. She’s like a boomerang: no matter how far you throw her, she always comes back,” he growls, exasperated.
Emily rolls her eyes. “You should appreciate my dedication instead of complaining.”
Aaron glances at me as if to say, “Do you understand what I’m talking about?”
I laugh because I understand perfectly. “Tell me you came to take her back to New York,” he implores me.
“More or less. I need you to come with me to Sargent, Nebraska,” I address Emily directly.
She raises an eyebrow, inviting me to continue, arms crossed and face threatening to rip my head off for one wrong word. To say that our relationship is complicated is an understatement.
