Page 8 of The Producer: Aaron

“I’ll bring you a new suit, but it’s better if you wash your hands before putting it on. I doubt that the laundry will be able to save that disaster.” Tracy’s voice brings me back to reality.

I am so angry with my father that I didn’t even notice that she entered my office. I look down at my pants where a blue ink stain contrasts with the gray of the fabric. In my hand, the pen I gripped so hard it broke. Only my father makes me reach certain levels of anger that I can’t handle my emotions.

***

After parking in the garage, I turn off the car and observe for a few moments the bluish color of the ink that I couldn’t remove from under my nails. The anger that boils inside me is a bit diminished, but it’s left me tired. Every fight with my father tests me not only emotionally but physically. This one drained me somuch that I hesitated when it came time to decide whether to go to the club and relax in the sauna or go home.

I grab my jacket from the passenger seat, get out of the car, and walk to the entrance that takes me into the house. I check the messages from this afternoon, and when I get to the one from the driver who tells me that he drove Dakota home two hours ago, I freeze. Where do I find her if, in the meantime, she decided to go out again to get drunk with her friends? For the umpteenth time, I find myself cursing the moment I decided to give this crazy idea a chance.

What makes me hesitate the most before opening this damn door is that I’m not sure what I want to find behind it. The empty house, with my silent and uncontaminated spaces, is tempting. I’m not used to sharing my home with anyone. I didn’t even want cleaning staff living within these walls because I don’t feel like meeting anyone when I get home in the evening. However, my father’s words echo in my head and the idea Dakota is out photographed by the paparazzi, given his threats, makes my skin crawl.

I inhale deeply, open the door through the laundry space, and walk down the corridor that leads me to the living room and kitchen. I immediately notice the door to the patio open. Dakota’s sunny laugh comes as a wave of relief I didn’t know I needed. I didn’t want to drive around the clubs in Los Angeles looking for a drunk girl who doesn’t want to be found.

I put my jacket on one of the stools on the counter, untie my tie and place it next to it, then allow myself to unfasten the first two buttons of the shirt, inhaling deeply and enjoying the freedom to relax here at home. I roll my shirt sleeves to my elbow and approach the fridge, grabbing a water bottle. I’m about to close it again, but I stop, grab a second one, and head to the pool to take one to Dakota. It’s not my ideal accommodation to have someone living under my own roof, but I’m also not an assholewho makes her feel unwanted.

I look out the door, and the anger I had managed to contain explodes in my chest like a bomb. She is there, sitting on one of the deck chairs squeezed inside that damn red bikini that leaves nothing to the imagination. Her long and pale legs stretched out on the dark pillows are an invitation to put a hand over them, and that is precisely what the guy who cleans the pool is doing.

He has a hand on her knee and is telling her something funny because I’ve never seen her smile so radiantly. He is showing off all his muscles; the body of a fit twenty-year-old with blue eyes and blond hair lightened even more by the sun. He looks like one of those Abercrombie models, blatantly flirting with her. From how she doesn’t hint at moving that damn hand and how she blinks her long eyelashes, it seems that she doesn’t mind his attention.

Before I even think about what I’m doing, I reach them with long strides, and when my imposing size catches their attention, the guy moves away from her, stands up, and straightens his back, looking at me guiltily. If it weren’t for the fact that I spent years managing my emotions in public, I would have already pushed him to the ground and punched him a couple of times on that perfect face, just to remind him who is in charge in this house.

“You’re fired,” I say calmly.

“What?” he stammers, stunned.

“Aaron!” Dakota snaps, but I don’t move my gaze away from his.

“I pay you to clean the pool, not to bother my guests,” I continue with the same coldness in my voice.

“I’m sorry… I swear it won’t happen again,” he stammers as he tries to scrape together his shirt and the few things he brought with him.

If it weren’t for the anger boiling inside me, I would almost feelpity for him. Almost.

“It will not happen again because you will no longer set foot in this house. Leave the keys on the kitchen counter.”

The boy doesn’t even answer. He walks with his head down the few feet to the door behind which he disappears.

“He wasn’t bothering me,” Dakota protests.

I finally look at her and find her sulky, with her arms crossed just below her breasts, pushing them up so much that they almost get out of those tiny triangles covering her.

“He was bothering me,” I reply with the same coldness.

I watch her for a few seconds, and I can’t blame the guy. Dakota has a girl-next-door beauty that makes you breathless. Blue eyes, blond hair, a slender and long-limbed physique but with breasts full enough to make you lose your head. In his place, at his age, I would have tried my luck too with a young woman like her.

“He had finished his job. We were just chatting,” she snaps, standing up and following me into the house.

All my desire to relax slips away completely.

“I pay him to clean the pool and leave once he’s done his job. Not to stay here to have the time of his life at my expense.”

An incredulous huff from her makes me spin. I find her looking at me as if I have gone crazy, her mouth wide open and her eyebrows raised.

“What do you want to do now? Spank me and send me to bed without dinner?” she challenges me.

The image of her lying on my lap with her butt up is a forbidden fantasy in which no man should linger if he doesn’t want to go crazy with desire. It takes a few seconds longer than it should to drive that thought out of my mind.

“Listen to me, kid. This is my home. I don’t want a bunch of guys coming and going day and night, got it? Not to mention that I want to be free to walk around the house without running into unsolicited sex scenes.” The mere thought of seeing her fuckingwith someone in this place makes me nervous.

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