Page 23 of The Producer: Aaron

Aaron approaches, entering my breathing space, making me hold my breath. His aftershave fills my nostrils and makes my head spin. He rests his hands on the wall behind me, on either side of my face, and lowers himself until he reaches my height and nails me with his gaze. It would be enough for him to touch me to make me come here on the spot.

“You’re drunk.” It’s not a question.

“A bit”

His nostrils flare with fury. Knowing that I trigger these reactions in him makes me feel euphoric.

“And you would have let that scum fuck you in a corridor where everyone can see you?” His tone is low, icy, which reaches my belly and turns my bowels upside down.

I raise one hand and rest it on his face, feeling his muscles tense under my fingers as his eyes become the color of the storm and his breathing becomes shorter.

“Not him, but maybe someone else…” I slide my fingers over his perfect skin until I get to his lips. They are soft. I didn’t expect them to be this smooth. They are the lips of someone who cares about his appearance.

Aaron is a living paradox. Pure virility, but at the same time, his attention to his image borders on the manic.

“Dakota, you don’t know with who you’re playing.” His voice is hoarse, as if he were making a titanic effort to restrain himself.

“Really? Maybe I know, and I decided to taste the forbidden fruit.” Alcohol makes me bold and uninhibited, like the models accompanying him during events and who probably warm his bed during the after-party. I feel sexy and able to seduce a powerful man like him.

I slide my hand down his neck, resting my fingers on his jugular, and pause to appreciate the blood pumping crazily in his veins, the only sign of an uproar that storms inside him, but he doesn’t let shine on his face. I slip down to the collar of his immaculate shirt, drifting behind his neck, until I stroke the hair on his nape, enjoying the silkiness. His gaze catches fire without ever leaving mine.

I glide my fingers down the edges of his shirt again, and the desire to pull it off him tears me up inside. I get to the knot of his tie, grab it, and pull to bring him closer. He doesn’t move an inch. His arms are planted firmly on the wall on which I am leaning. With a little push, I detach myself from the wall andcling to the expensive fabric of his tie to get closer to his face, brushing his cheek with my nose. I deeply inhale his intense scent, closing my eyes and letting his heat invade me. I feel his warm breath on the skin of my neck and naked shoulder. It’s a feeling that sends an adrenaline rush down my body, bringing every single cell to life.

Aaron sets me on fire with his mere presence, intoxicates me with his perfume, and makes my knees give with his beauty. I bring my lips closer to his ear and barely touch his skin, anticipating the moment when my tongue will taste every inch of his body.

With a sudden gesture, Aaron detaches himself from the wall, grabs me from under the butt, and carries me upside down on his shoulder, making me scream.

“What are you doing? Put me down!” I demand, dumbfounded when he walks down the corridor and opens the emergency door next to the bathrooms.

The fresh evening air hits my legs and butt, and I realize that I am practically naked while Aaron carries me with long strides along the parking lot at the back of the club.

“Put me down! I’m going to be sick,” I beg, but he doesn’t seem to hear me.

We arrive next to his SUV. He opens the door with one hand and puts me down on the passenger seat with the other. The small bag with the phone I carry on my shoulder slides until it slips between me and the seat, sticking on my bare thigh. The movement is so sudden that my stomach gives up. I bend forward and throw up on the mat of my boss’s luxurious car.

I notice him close his eyes, inhale deeply, and swear under his breath.

“I told you that I was going to be sick, but you went on like a caveman,” I mumble, looking inside my handbag for a tissue to clean my mouth.

He firmly moves my legs to the side, pulls the filthy carpet from under my feet, and puts it in one of the garbage bins leaning against the club wall. When he returns, he gives me a handkerchief, not one of those cheap paper tissue, but one made of fabric with his initials embroidered in one corner. Only Aaron can have such a thing in his pocket and use it to clean vomit.

I watch him as he goes around the car and gets in without saying a word. The trip home is full of silence, and the embarrassment makes me curl up in my seat. I study him from the corner of my eye. His hands clasp the wheel so tight that his knuckles turn white, the only indication that he is furious. His profile is impassive as always. He’s handsome enough to take your breath away and entirely out of my league. Why the hell did I make a fool of myself jumping him?

When we arrive in front of the house, he lets me out of the car and drags me by the arm toward the entrance.

“Slow down. These shoes are killing me,” I complain.

He stops, looks at the impossibly high heels I’m wearing, then takes me in his arms like a gentleman this time, and takes me into the house. I tie my arms around his neck for support, look at his face a breath away from mine, and get lost in that square jaw and perfect features.

He walks up the stairs without ever putting me down, effortlessly, as if I didn’t weigh anything, then gently places me on the bed. As soon as I put my head on the pillow, I close my eyes and enjoy the soft sheets. In a state of semi-unconsciousness, I realize that he is taking off my shoes and a lament of pain escapes from my lips when he pulls them off. Ihear him murmur something incomprehensible and then feel a slight burning in my feet. It lasts very little and gives way to a pleasant feeling of freshness.

***

I open my eyes and realize that the sun is already high. My head explodes, and when I finally focus on my surroundings, I realize I am in my room. On the bedside table is a glass of water and two pills of analgesics. For a split second, I wonder who put them there, then Aaron comes to mind, how he dragged me out of the Mystique and put me to bed. I also remember how I made myself a fool trying to seduce him and then vomiting in his car. How the heck did he find me?

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” I cover my face with my hands, trying to hide the embarrassment, even though I’m alone in the room.

I sit down and rub my sweaty hands over the clothing I wore last night. At least he didn’t undress me once he dumped me in bed. I notice, however, that I wear a pair of black cotton socks, too big to be mine. I take them off, perplexed by such a singular choice by my boss. When they fall on the floor, I realize there is white ointment now clotted around the wounds on my feet. After weeks of torture, they seem almost healed. Did he put a healing cream on my feet? A smile tugs on my lips for the sweet gesture, but it’s promptly replaced by a frown when I think about how wasted I was last night.

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