Page 22 of The Producer: Aaron

I manage to have a decent conversation with the guy next to me, and he doesn’t think I’m a perfect idiot. We speak like two ordinary people, and I don’t babble my usual nonsensical reasoning about the current book I’m reading. It’s been over fifteen minutes, and he’s not looking at me like I’m a pathetic geek. And he’s not gone yet! It’s a record by my standards. It usually takes me five minutes to ruin the conversation.

We arrive at Mystique, one of the clubs where my fame allows us to enter without being carded, considering Serena is still twenty. We approach one of the bouncers of the VIP area, who, as soon as he sees us, shows off a huge smile and lowers himself to unhook the red velvet cord from the golden ring that opens the doors to an evening of entertainment.

“Thank you,” I whisper, smiling before kissing his cheek covered with a well-groomed dark beard. It’s lovely how a drop of alcohol makes me feel invincible and sexy.

“It’s a pleasure, honey.” He reciprocates my smile.

When we enter, the room’s dim light makes me feel immediately at home. The neon lights that surround the bar are the only source of lighting for the club, and perhaps this is why it is often frequented by famous people. When you sit at one of the tables, the shade guarantees the little privacy you need to spend the night unbothered.

A waitress comes to pick up our orders, and I leave her my credit card to open a tab for the evening. Next to me on the sofa, Serena has her hands stuck in the flap of Sean’s jeans, while he explores her tonsils with a kiss that has far too much tongue for my taste. I grimace, disgusted by the scene, and I turn toward the blond, Dean, next to me, who has a mischievous smile on his lips.

He gets closer to tell me something, but the loud music prevents me from understanding even one word. I think it’s a question because he is waiting for me to say something, but I have no idea what to answer, so I simply smile, and he seems to light up and get even closer. Far too close for my taste. I am happy when the waitress comes to our table with the tray of cocktails we ordered. At least Serena has been forced to detach herself from the guy who seems to want to devour her.

My friend’s hair is tangled, her lipstick is smeared, and her makeup drips from her eyes making her look a bit vacuous. I think she’s drunk, and seeing her like this makes me sad. It’s not a nice view, and I can’t help but wonder if I look like that too… vapid.

I grab the glass with the colored liquid and sip some, washing away with its sweet taste all the doubts that assail me. Serena laughs and plays with her phone. Next to me, Dean gets closer and closer and tells me about things I can’t understand. The music is loud, the lights are low, and I feel like I’m wrapped in a cocoon where I feel safe. I don’t know how much time has passed, but when Dean’s hand starts stroking my knee, I realize he’s too close. I get up, and my head spins a little.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” I shout to be heard by Serena.

Step by step, I arrive at the corridor where I know I will find the bathrooms. I’ve been here so many times that I could get anywhere with my eyes closed. The black walls and lack of lighting make this hallway darker than the rest of the venue, but luckily I know it well enough to know where I am. The music is much less deafening here, and when I lean against the wall, I can inhale deeply and focus on what surrounds me. I don’t have to go to the bathroom, but I don’t want Dean’s hands on me either.

“Here you are. Do you want me to accompany you?” Dean’s voice has the same effect as scratching nails on a blackboard.

“No, thank you, I can do it myself.” I smile at him, but I would like to scream when he rests his hands on my hips and lowers his face next to my ear.

“Are you sure? Because I swear I can keep you entertained,” he whispers, and when I try to push him away, his grip becomes firm.

“I’m sure. I’m not interested,” I say confidently, even if thewords come out slightly slurred because of the alcohol.

“Come on, don’t play hard to get. We can just have fun,” he repeats and presses his chest against mine. My back is pressed against the wall, and I struggle to push him away.

“Hands off.” A deep voice that I have learned to recognize makes my head turn.

Next to us, the imposing figure of Aaron covers that little bit of light that filters through the room.

Dean either doesn’t immediately realize what is happening or pretends not to have heard because he doesn’t hint at giving up. My eyes, however, are glued to the figure of my boss, who appears furious.

“I said hands off,” he repeats with more anger than before, and Dean finally understands and turns to him.

“Listen, man, we are busy here. Go fuck yourself?” His bored voice is annoying.

“I said. Hands. Off,” Aaron repeats, taking a step in our direction and staring at Dean with a murderous look.

The guy finally leaves my hips and faces Aaron, crossing his arms.

“And who are you? Her father?” he asks amusedly.

I look at Aaron’s face, an impassive mask of coldness. The only hint of his fury is a tiny flicker of his jaw muscle when clenching his teeth.

“I’m the one who tears off your fingers, one at a time. When I’m done with those, I tear your whole hands off, and when I’m done with those, I’ll rip off your arms. If you dare to touch her again, I swear I’ll tear you to pieces so small that they will need a microscope to identify you.”

His threat is so glacial that a shiver runs down my spine. I’m not sure if it’s fear or excitement. No one has ever defended me with such determination that I’m sure he could kill this guy with his bare hands.

Dean finally listens to the survival instinct that is shouting at him to run as fast as he can and murmurs, “Psycho,” toward Aaron as he scoots by to leave.

A wave of excitement hits me when Aaron’s gaze passes from Dean’s back to me. His eyes exude anger, possession, and maybe even a little lust when his gaze runs over my body, covered only by a top that leaves my belly uncovered and a skirt so short it barely covers my butt. A flash of what I could only read as jealousy runs through his gaze before he’s able to compose himself. It’s only a fraction of a second but just enough to set me on fire.

This afternoon’s conversation with Serena comes to mind, along with the sensations I felt reaching orgasm, imagining that instead of BoB, there were his expert fingers moving inside me. The excitement rising inside is something I struggle to contain, and the alcohol doesn’t help curb my hormones that seem to awaken only with his presence.

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