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“My name is Emily Miller. This is my colleague Evan Steel. We’re two New York record company managers looking for Emma to sign a contract. We don’t know, however, where to find her. Maybe you can help us.” She gives him her phone with the TikTok video.
The man studies us for a few seconds too long, and I’m afraid we’ll both end up in jail. “If you’re really who you say you are, why didn’t you try to contact her online? Or have you tried, and she doesn’t trust you?” he asks suspiciously.
I understand why he’s reluctant to give us information about this young woman, but if we keep going down this road, we won’t get anywhere. The air is tense. I left New York with the intention of having Emily handle the negotiation. But before launching her into her first experience as a manager, I wanted to help her find the girl and not put all the pressure on her.
Emily smiles at him. “Contacting her on TikTok is tricky. Our messages are lost in the tide of everyone else’s. We want to make her a serious proposal, a valid contract, and for that it’s best to talk face to face.” She turns to me and asks me for a business card then hands it to the sheriff. “Here’s our contact information. Do all the research you believe is necessary to give us that information. We’ll be here for the night. Tomorrow morning, we’ll come by your office, and if you think we’re trustworthy, you can call Emma to make sure she wants to see us.”
The man seems to think about it but then nods and beckons us to follow him. “I’ll take you to the hotel where you can spend the night. See you tomorrow morning.” His tone is terse, and the nod he gives the man behind the counter almost solemn. He’s not being kind, he’s making sure he keeps an eye on us. He knows where we’re staying; if anything happens in town, he’ll pick us up and take us to jail.
I grab the bag full of what Emily bought and follow them to the car. “You were good,” I tell her as soon as we start the car.
“I know,” she says with a smug smile.
I chuckle at her cockiness. It’s good she’s aware of her capabilities. It’s something I like about her—she recognizes her weaknesses but also her strengths.
“I’d like this to be your client. Like I said, I don’t want you to be my assistant anymore but my partner in this adventure. I want you at the helm of this negotiation and your name as her manager,” I tell her without beating around the bush. Nervousness grips my stomach.
“Really? Are you serious?” Her face lights up with a smile that lifts the weight from my chest.
“I’m very serious. You handle these situations well. I’ve always been aware that you’re more than just an assistant, but I’ve been too afraid I couldn’t handle everything on my own.”
Emily smiles and nods, blushing at the compliment that she perhaps wasn’t expecting.
“There will also be a salary adjustment that I hope will help you with expenses without…you know…using certain websites.” I stutter like a teenager.
She puts her hand on my leg and smiles. “I stopped using that website when I went down to Los Angeles. Partly because Aaron paid me more, but mostly because I realized my decisions can hurt the people I love. I understood why you got angry when I thought sleeping with your father was a solution. I was arrogant to think I could solve this problem with sex when you specifically asked me not to come to that dinner. I hurt you, and I apologize.”
Her tone is sincere, and she studies me for a long moment, perhaps to discern my reaction. I appreciate that she apologized to me, but I still can’t get a coherent sentence on the subject without the turmoil I carry inside thinking about that night. I still can’t get those moments out of my head, though I’ve managed to push down the anger that exploded inside me the first few days after I returned to New York. But I still can’t talk about it openly.
“Okay.” It’s the stupidest answer I’ve ever given, but I can’t come up with anything else that makes sense.
“Now let’s go if we don’t want the sheriff arresting us for making him wait an hour in the car in the sun.” Her lightness frees me from the embarrassment of having to explain my answer.
I look in the rear-view mirror and see the man studying us with impatience painted on his face. I wave my hand in apology, pull out, and follow him to the hotel.
The place looks like a bigger house than the others we passed. Extending over two floors, it has a manicured lawn, a white sign with blue lettering, and a gravel driveway leading up to a building with a porch filled with flower pots. As soon as we enter, a middle-aged woman with a blond bob and a floral dress welcomes us with a sweet smile, getting up from the chair where she’s been reading a book.
“Good morning! Can I help you?” she asks us as she reaches the counter with the computer.
The device is the only reminder that we’re in a modern era and not back in the fifties. They paid meticulous attention to restoring this place. The flowered wallpaper looks original. What strikes me most, though, is that it doesn’t feel like an old, stale place. It’s vintage in the most genuine sense of the word.
“We’re looking for one room for the night,” Emily smiles, and it doesn’t go unnoticed that she didn’t ask for two bedrooms. “Maybe two nights?” She turns to me, looking for confirmation.
I nod. “We may need to stay longer. We’re not sure yet.”
The woman smiles and pulls a key from the rack behind her with a large brass plate and the number eight engraved on it.
“Don’t worry, the honeymoon suite is free for the next few weeks. You can stay as long as you want.” She smiles, and while Emily has a pleasant conversation with the lady, I can’t help but think about the master bedroom and how I want to possess the woman next to me.
“It seemed ridiculous to ask for two rooms when we both know we’d sleep in one,” she tells me, closing the door to the room behind her.
“You’re very confident of that,” I tease her as I put my bags on a wooden chest carved with flowers and painted all white. In the center of the room, a four-poster bed with pink velvet drapes makes me think of at least ten obscene positions I want to tie her up in, legs spread for me.
She turns to me and leans against the edge of the bed covered by a floral bedspread. She crosses her arms and tilts her head as she watches me take off my shoes and socks and place them next to the door.
“There’s a third reason I don’t use the sugar daddy website anymore.” She’s trying to stay calm, but I see the blush coloring her cheeks. I study her smiling, intrigued by the turn of the conversation. “You sexually ruined me. I will never find anyone who makes me experience orgasms like that. It’s hard to find someone decent in bed, but you’ve set such high standards that no one will ever be able to meet them again.”
I’m so stunned by her confession that I remain silent for a long time before bursting into thunderous laughter. “Thank you for the compliment. May I ask you a favor? Can you repeat that in front of the Jailbirds, so Damian and Michael get taken down a notch?”
