Page 46 of The Producer: Aaron

“I don’t know why you are in a bad mood tonight, but you’re unbearable. Have you argued with Aaron?” she asks, softening her gaze a little and taking me by surprise.

I take a deep breath and observe her for a few moments. I could tell her how angry I am with him, how we haven’t talked in days, and how uncomfortable I feel in his house, but I’m sure she wouldn’t understand. Without alcohol, I realize how fake she is. Even her fake sweetness clashes with her behavior froma few seconds ago. For the first time since we met, I know she doesn’t care about me. The realization is so clear that it makes me question all of our friendship.

After running away from the restaurant without paying, she called me to apologize and offered to pay her share. I accepted her apology because she seemed sincere, but seeing her now, her behavior makes me uncomfortable. Has she always been like this, and I only noticed it tonight?

“No, we live under the same roof, but there is not much of a relationship except that of employer and employee,” I lie, trying to appear as disinterested as possible.

Just thinking about him makes me smoke with anger, but I don’t want her to know. From how she rolls her eyes again and arches her lips in a mischievous grin, I’m sure I don’t want to tell her anything. She may be the only person I hang out with, but I’m not so desperate to tell her all my secrets.

“Sure. You’re a bit frigid and don’t sleep with anyone, but I don’t believe you’ve never slept with him. Why else would he keep you locked up in that house? It’s clear that he’s not worried about the stalker. Otherwise, he would have put a bodyguard on you instead of letting you out and taking an Uber to join me here.”

Serena is irritating but not stupid. I know that the story of the stalker no longer holds, but her question is the one I’ve asked myself. I don’t understand why Aaron keeps letting me stay there. I have not appeared in the newspapers anymore, and it’s not because I am afraid he will scold me if I drink. I realized I was wrong. If I am fired, hundreds of people will lose their jobs. Yet, I find myself walking around his house as if it were mine, no longer as a guest but as someone who has her groceries in the fridge. Aaron knows which brand of yogurt I like and alwaysstocks the fridge with it. He also knows I love the pieces of bamboo they put in the Chinese chicken, and he leaves them to me when we order takeaway. These are things you know about the person you live with, not about a guest you temporarily host.

“You can think what you want. I don’t care. Nothing has ever happened, and nothing will ever happen with him,” I say, not so much because it is my choice but it’s Aaron’s. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t be sitting at the counter of this bar tonight.

“So? Can I ask him out?” She raises an eyebrow challenging me.

The mere thought of seeing her come out of Aaron’s room with his shirt on and her hair shaggy after a night of sex makes me gnaw the inside of my cheek with anger.

“If you can, go for it.” I shrug, feigning indifference, but the fury grows so much that I would like to tear her hair out.

“I’ll come to your house more often, then.” She winks at me.

Not that I’m going to open the door, but the mere idea of finding her there makes me nauseous.

“What do you want?” The bartender catches our eye.

“A Crazy Cosmo for both,” Serena orders, but I raise my hand to stop the bartender.

“For me, sparkling water, thank you. No lemon,” I tell her as she nods and turns to prepare the cocktail for my friend.

“Are you serious? No alcohol?” she asks, perplexed.

I don’t feel like drinking and ending up on her Instagram stories.

“Not tonight.”

“How boring you have become.” She rolls her eyes. Again.

I refrain from answering her because the bartender brings usour orders, and I open my purse to pull out enough cash to pay for my drink and tip. Serena looks at me as if I were an alien. When the bartender glances at her to get her money, Serena looks at me insistently, expecting me to pay her share.

I refuse to pay for her again. “Don’t look at me. The last time I left the card here, I received a bill of one thousand two hundred dollars for drinks I never ordered.”

The bartender reaches out her hand and takes back her glass under Serena’s shocked gaze.

“Are you serious?” she snaps.

“Like death.” I nod, sipping from my glass.

Serena snorts, bored and surprised by my reaction, and turns around, giving me her back and leaning on the arm of the guy next to her. The guy’s girlfriend leans out, throwing a furious look at Serena, who, in response, smiles and moves away, looking at every single man most likely for a free drink. The bartender watches for a few seconds, then looks at me, and finally smiles and shakes her head, returning to focus on the cocktail she is preparing. A satisfaction that feels a lot like revenge invades my stomach making me smile.

“Are you sure you don’t want your friend’s cocktail? It’s on the house,” the bartender winks at me.

“No, thank you. But you could help me get my credit card back. I left it here some time ago, and myfriendbought a thousand dollars’ worth of drinks.”

The girl frowns and looks at me suspiciously. I give her my ID, where my name matches the one on my credit card. She grabs it, walks away for a few minutes, and then comes back with both cards. I look at the bill and find a bottle of champagne worth one-thousand dollars. The receipt of payment has a signaturethat is not mine, but I recognize Serena’s.

“Thank you for not blocking the payment with your credit card company. You’d have gotten us into trouble if you did.” She smiles at me sincerely.

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