Page 40 of The Producer: Aaron

“Do you want to talk about it?” Harrison pierces me with his deep blue eyes.

“I want to forget about it” My tone is so resolute no one tries to force me to explain what is going on.

Raphael puts down his glass, places the cigar between his lips, and reaches out over the armrest to grab the bottle of whiskey and pour two fingers into a glass before giving it to me.

I accept it without a word and start to sip, not giving in to the temptation to throw my head back and empty the glass. I want to numb the feeling in my chest, not get wasted and let my mind roam free over what I just discovered.

“So, are you going to ask her out or what?” Raphael asks Harrison, resuming the conversation they were having before I interrupted them.

In this moment, I’m grateful for this place. The men who populate this club are good at giving advice if you need some because they have the same complicated life you have, but at the same time, they understand when you need time to be upset in a place where you can be yourself.

“I don’t know, man. Have you seen her messy divorce all over the gossip magazine? I like her enough to consider it, but honestly, I don’t need to be dragged into that kind of feud.” Harrison leans his head on the backrest messing up his perfectly styled blond hair.

“Who are we bitching about this time?” asks Leonard, sitting in the armchair next to me.

I was so focused on licking my wounds I hadn’t noticed him entering the room.

“Mia Sawyer,” Harrison fills him in.

Leonard pours a glass of whiskey and picks up a cigar from the wooden box on the coffee table. “Christ. Her husband is a piece of shit. I feel bad for her.”

“Ex-husband,” Harrison points out.

Leonard smirks at him, then shifts his eyes to me and notices my gloomy face. He says nothing but looks at Raphael who just shakes his head to stop him from asking. I silently thank him for that.

“Are you going down that road?” He focuses his attention back to Harrison and just like that the night flows around me with a conversation I don’t even hear because the thoughts in my head are louder than their voices.

I lower my eyes and stare at the golden liquid in my glass, surrounded by the familiar chatter of this place. I stare at it for a long time and think about how my life has crumbled in on itself because of a kiss and a piece of paper.

It’s four in the morning when the door opens, and Aaron’s slow pace resonates on the white marble. The room is dim. Only the pool lights illuminate enough to see his defeated expression and the untied tie. I waited up for him for hours, hoping to be able to explain and receive answers in turn. At one point, I thought he wouldn’t come home.

“Aaron.” I take him by surprise. He hadn’t seen me here curled up on the couch.

“What are you still doing awake?” His tone doesn’t seem to be worried I am not sleeping, maybe he just wanted to slip into his room without meeting me, and this thought hurts.

The image of his betrayed expression today comes back to my mind, awakening that sense of guilt that grips my chest. I never thought of asking him for money or favors, I honestly just wanted to know him, and when I ended up living with him, I thought that maybe it was the only way to really know him. I never thought that, for him, learning the identity of my parents was like seeing a ghost.

“Don’t you think it’s time to talk?” I ask tiredly.

He pauses for a few moments to scrutinize my face and his expression turns from exhausted to angry. I have no idea why he is furious with me. What difference does it make who my parents are?

“Do you really want to talk now? Didn’t you have to do that when you decided to work for me three years ago?” he asks furiously as he approaches the couch I’m sitting on.

I get up and nail my eyes to his. The anger that mounts insideme only asks to be freed.

“Why should I? Explain to me why my parents are so important. What difference does it make to know who my parents are?” I shout, and he looks at me as if I have gone crazy.

“Are you serious? Can you tell me what you want from me? Money? A career? Or do you just want to fuck up my life and bury my future? Do you want revenge?” His questions leave me stunned.

I can’t understand why everyone gets angry when I bring up this topic that, apparently, concerns me personally, given everyone’s reaction.

“I just want to know you!”

“Why? Why, Dakota, do you want to know me? Why now!” He doesn’t seem to have a clue about why I may have approached him, which makes me confused.

“Because you are a ghost who has populated my life since I was twelve!” I blurt out and see the confusion on his face.

I take a deep breath and try to put the bridles to the feelings that rattle in my chest.

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