Page 7 of The Producer: Aaron

I just need one shot, the suitable filters, and the perfect caption under the photo,Do I really look drunk? #fakenews,to give my version of the facts on my Instagram profile. There will undoubtedly be videos to deny this photo but not saying anything, passively accepting the crusade against me makes me angry. I built this career sweating every day on set. I will notallow junk magazines to sink it.

Not even five minutes have passed since my post, and the sliding door of the living room opens with a dull thud when it slams into the jamb. Aaron’s imposing figure appears to probe every inch of the pool until he finds me lying on one of the deck chairs. He is as furious as I have ever seen him, light years from the impassive mask he is used to wearing.

He wears a black tank top, gray sweatpants, and sneakers. He is sweaty, clearly just out of a gym or back from a run. The dark curls are messy on his head as if he had just passed his fingers through it. If I thought that dressed in an elegant suit he was sexy to die for, seeing his sweaty muscles and the light fabric of the tank top stuck to his sculpted body makes me breathless. I haven’t seen a more handsome man in my life. Not even the actors around me every day can compete with this vision.

I look at him, embarrassed, as he furiously approaches and tears my phone from my hand.

“Hey! Can’t I even have my phone? Will you send me to bed without dinner?” I complain, annoyed. Gone is my drooling over him.

Aaron lowers himself just enough to look me straight in the eyes.

“Photos and videos show you were drunk this afternoon, but the PRs managed to turn the story around to mitigate the consequences. Do you know what your post means? That frustrates the work of six people who tried to save your ass,” he hisses so angrily that every protest dies on my lips.

I didn’t know that anyone had already solved the problem. I was so angry with the paparazzi that I didn’t check the other news. I feel guilty because I should have checked more carefully instead of focusing on the pictures. I’m so tired of all this attention surrounding me, I completely forgot that if I’m here it’s because an entire team is working overtime to fix mymistakes. I wasn’t raised to take for granted what other people do for me, and I feel the embarrassment heat my cheeks.

“If you want, I’ll delete it,” I whisper when he gets up to go back inside with my phone in his hand.

“It’s too late. It has already been reposted by gossip sites. You have a bounty on your head, Dakota. Do you really want to ruin your career by behaving like a rebellious teenager?” he asks before turning around without even waiting for my answer.

I look at his back, illuminated by the pool’s lights, and I notice black drawings covering the skin on his shoulders. A tattoo. I can’t identify the shape, but it’s clearly ink. I pause to study this man until he disappears into the living room, perfect in appearance but hiding secrets under the starched shirts and ties that suffocate him. A man who clearly loves his space and doesn’t want to share it but who takes me into his house after my umpteenth bullshit. He is composed and impassive in public but almost animalistic when he gets angry in private. A living contradiction that leaves me disoriented.

I watch my father sitting in the armchair in front of my desk. Impeccable in his tailored suit, dark hair like mine, same ice-gray shade of eye color. We are so physically similar that it almost annoys me. Because about everything else, we are at opposite poles. He is one of those old-fashioned entrepreneurs who love to feast on the carcass of the weak to gain more and more power. Nothing and no one is as essential as his empire, not even his sons. You only have to look at how he cut out my brother Evan when he decided to follow his passion for music instead of slipping into the murky waters of the family business to understand how much he loves us.

It takes a tremendous effort to keep my face bored while he scrutinizes me with his reproachful look. He walked in here without even knocking, interrupting a call for which he didn’t even have the decency to apologize. I will not give in to asking him why he felt the need to enter here like fury.

“Have you read the newspapers recently?”

His voice is calm and composed, his posture relaxed, and his expression completely impassive. But he is my father. I have worked with him since I was twenty and have flanked him at every event since I was ten. I’ve learned to decipher his every little gesture, and the way he’s touching the bezel of his watch with rhythmic movements shows me he’s furious. He is ready to strike at the jugular, prepared to kill, but I am his son. I know very well how to defend myself. I’ve seen him too many times bring people to their knees until they cry.

“The Los Angeles Times this morning.” I was trying to distractmy mind from the gossip news with something else entirely, but I don’t tell him that. And I will not give in to the temptation to ask him why. I know where this conversation is going, and I don’t need to serve him the controversy over a silver platter.

“Did your rising star show her tits there, too? Or does she reserve that honor only for low-level magazines?”

I knew this conversation was about Dakota, and the fact that she brought his attention to her makes my skin crawl. I don’t want him to approach her for any reason. I don’t even want her to be on his radar. I know how he is used to treating people who work for him, who unfortunately fall under his clutches, and I don’t want him to ruin her, too.

“I didn’t know you read gossip newspapers. Maybe it’s time to retire if you have all this time to devote to that garbage.” I can’t resist the temptation to taunt him.

Aaron Steel Sr. doesn’t like to talk about retirement, and I know that very well. He will die in the corridors of this broadcasting company rather than leave the command to someone else, including me, at least not while he can still run it. But this is the only way to make him drop the mask and react. In fact, his gaze becomes glacial, one that nips your legs if you are not used to it. He’s given me that look of disgust since I was a child when I was still unable to understand that the fault was not mine, that my father would never be proud of me, no matter how good I was. I have years of scars to act as armor against this look.

“Don’t make me lose patience because I can just snap my fingers and shut down this streaming toy of yours. Remember that even if you are my son, you are not essential to this company.”

His words hit me in the chest, making me bleed once again, but I don’t give it to him to see. For him, the streaming project I have been carrying out for years is just a whim I don’t want to give up. He doesn’t see the potential, doesn’t see where our competitorsare aiming, and doesn’t understand that if he doesn’t rebrand the company’s image, his empire will collapse like a sand castle at high tide.

He is so arrogant he thinks I am incapable, suitable only to carry out a project that develops only on the internet because I cannot compete with the “real world.” He doesn’t realize the whole universe is moving on the web and what has become obsolete and unrealistic is precisely what our grandfather built.

“No, you won’t. Because thistoy, as you call it, wins awards like Emmys and carries millions of dollars to your pockets that you won’t give up. I know that you have done your homework and know exactly how much this division brings you. You have calculated it to the last penny. Do you want to shut it down? Be my guest, but you’ll have to explain it to the rest of the investors because they’ll end up with lighter pockets at the end of the business year.” My tone is calm, I have not even moved from the position on the armchair that I have maintained since he entered here, but the anger that boils inside me burns my stomach and chest to such an extent I struggle to breathe.

He’s caught off guard because he knows I’m right but didn’t expect my reaction. He doesn’t consider me up to the role, but he knows this project has brought money to the company’s coffers.

“Put your employees in line, or I swear I’ll replace you at lightning speed. You are not so irreplaceable, Aaron.” The poison with which he spits his words digs into my chest, making it a little less alive, a little more rotten. The fact that he feels the need to reiterate the concept that I am not indispensable is yet another confirmation that his esteem for me is non-existent. The only reason I’m still here is that he will never give this company to anyone outside the family, and I’m the only son he has left after kicking my brother out.

“I already solved the problem days ago.” I should not provoke him, but it is too strong a temptation when I see his reaction.“The fact that you only noticed it now is embarrassing.”

He stands up, puts his hands on the desk, and gets so close that I feel his warm breath on my face. His nostrils dilate, driven by a fury I rarely see on him.

“Another single bullshit from your rising star, and I swear I make her cry until she wants to quit Hollywood. A single bullshit, and I’ll ruin her,” he hisses before getting up and leaving the room.

His words dig into my chest like a disease that cannot be cured. I know he is capable of doing it. I have seen countless employees come out of his offices in tears, men or women there was no difference, but every time I tried to do something to cut his disgusting habit, I found only a wall of fear in front of his victims. I have no idea what he does to them, what he says to terrify them like that, but I’ve never been able to find something useful to help them stop him. The mere thought that he can do such a thing to a young woman like Dakota makes my skin crawl. She may be difficult to handle, but no one deserves to end up in the filthy hands of this man.

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