The Producer, page 22
The Club doesn’t want problems with drunk people, so when they realized that I’d been sitting at this counter for hours, they called the emergency number I gave them when I signed up for the membership. The fact that I have my driver as an emergency contact says a lot about how lonely my life is.
“You can’t stay here,” I insist, and I’m not sure if it’s because we’re breaking the rules of this place or because I don’t want other men to set their eyes on Dakota. At this point, I struggle to understand what instinct tells me since it continues to clash with my reason.
“I’ll help you get home,” she mutters as she helps me off the stool.
My pace is not very firm, and despite my head spinning, the alcohol has not helped me to silence my thoughts. Indeed, overthinking all day alone has done nothing but make me fall into the spiral where I am convincing myself I am self-sabotaging my career.
The drive is quiet, and Dakota helps me climb the stairs when we get home, accompanying me to my room and helping me take off my jacket, tie, shirt, shoes, and pants, leaving me with a T-shirt and boxers. I lie down, and she lies next to me.
Studying me, she reaches out a hand and skims her fingers along the side of my face. I close my eyes and enjoy her delicate touch.
“Why did you decide to get drunk today?”
“Do I have to have a reason?”
She raises an eyebrow and invites me not to tease her with my bullshit. I smile because it’s Dakota’s way to put me in my place instead of being intimidated. And to think that Tracy was convinced that I could intimidate her. With her, it’s a bit like taming a wild horse. You can gain her trust, but you will never be able to harness her and impose your will.
“Considering you are Mr. Perfect, this is totally out of character.”
I smile at her nickname for me. She has given me many over the past few months, but I had not yet heard this one. I open my eyes and watch her as she caresses my face with her fingers, moving my hair off my forehead and looking worried. How did I find a twenty-three-year-old who stays here to look after me during a colossal hangover instead of going out with her friends?
“Do you know that when I turned eighteen, my father made me sign a contract instead of giving me a gift? I committed to working with him for his company that day. If I hadn’t I wouldn’t have seen a single penny of the trust fund that is in my name.”
“Really?” I don’t know if she’s surprised or outraged.
I nod. “My brother Evan never accepted. In fact, my father cut him off from the family money, but I like this job. I have dreamed of doing it since I was a kid and never regretted signing. When I received that money at twenty-five, it was like receiving a gift for something that doesn’t weigh me down.”
Dakota removes her hand from my face, slips it under her cheek, and pauses to observe me, perhaps to understand where I want to go with this speech. Maybe, I do not know either. I spent the day figuring out where the hell I did wrong in my life, but I couldn’t point the finger at anything in particular.
“That was the day he tightened the collar around my neck. I was so convinced I wanted to take over the family business that signing to receive money in return was like winning the lottery. Since that day, this goal has dictated every choice I’ve made. As a twenty-year-old, I daydreamed about the innovations I could bring when I took my father’s place. I felt almost euphoric when I came up with a brilliant idea.”
I never look away from her as she listens to me in silence.
“But every time I shared them with my father, he belittled them, laughed at my naivety, made me feel like someone never good enough to do something decent in life. So I stopped telling him what I had in mind and started working with my head down, trying to become the best at this job.
“When he allowed me to open the streaming division, I thought it was the breakthrough I was looking for, that the time had finally come for him to retire and allow me to take over the company for which I sacrificed years of my life. But over time, I realized that it was just a way to keep me quiet, a whim he granted me to appease my eagerness to get to the top. But do you know the ironic thing about this whole story?”
She shakes her head, and I continue with my confession.
“Until today, until I punched him, I never really noticed how tight the collar he put on me was. For years I’ve struggled to breathe, to feel happy with what I have always loved to do. Only today have I realized how much I hate my life because of him,” I admit.
Dakota moves closer and holds me in a hug. I’m glad she doesn’t say anything because right now, I wouldn’t be able to hear anything but the echo of the regrets of all the choices I’ve made in my life. Never before have I felt envy for my brother, who, despite the difficulties, is living the life he has always dreamed of, being able to really enjoy it with a smile on his lips.
I open my eyes and find Aaron asleep next to me. His room is dim, but I see the sun is already up outside. Like every Saturday morning for a month now, we take time for ourselves to bask in pleasant idleness and live our existence without constantly thinking about work. Things changed since he confessed what he felt for his father. He started putting his personal life higher on his priority list.
It’s been a while since this became my room. I don’t know how it happened, but I started sleeping in the master bedroom and eventually stayed. Even though my clothes are still in the guest room, I haven’t been sleeping there.
“Happy Birthday.” Aaron’s hoarse voice slips over me like a caress on the skin.
He reaches out and draws me to his chest in an embrace that envelops me completely, body and senses. It is beautiful how he is not afraid to express his feelings, how sweetness permeates his gestures as much as sensuality.
“Thank you,” I whisper as I cling to him.
“What do you want to do today? We can invite someone here if you want,” he whispers as he kisses my neck, making me shudder with pleasure.
He asked me several times this month, thinking I was reluctant to invite someone into his home and making excuses. The truth is that I don’t really have anyone who would come to my birthday. When you go out and get drunk at every party, you don’t have the opportunity to make many friends.
“I don’t have anyone to invite, but we can go out for breakfast if you want,” I say as he pushes away from me to look me in the eye.
He furrows his brow and looks too awake compared to a moment ago, studying with a worried expression.
“It’s not a problem if you want to invite people here, you know?”
“It’s not that I don’t want to, but I’ve never had friends here in Los Angeles apart from Serena. I don’t have anyone who would want to come on my birthday,” I admit.
He holds me to himself and gently kisses my hair. “I’m sorry.”.
“Don’t be sorry. It doesn’t bother me.”
“So, where are we going out for breakfast?” he asks.
“I want pancakes.”
Aaron chuckles and squeezes me tight before getting out of bed and helping me up. I never thought I would like a completely naked man so much, but I find myself admiring his perfect body every chance I get. It still seems impossible that he is attracted to someone like me.
“Are you done checking me out? I’m not your breakfast. Get up, so we can go celebrate properly,” he teases, dragging me out of bed.
“Do I really have to? I like the view.” I lean against him and kiss him on the shoulder.
“It’s not bad for me either, but I also appreciate looking at you dressed, smiling, and talking to me about the things you like.”
No one has ever told me such a thing, and my heart squirms in my chest. To think that a man like him can feel a genuine interest in a woman who is thirteen years younger is still something that in my head looks more like a fairy tale than the reality I am living. Yet he listens to me when I speak and remembers even the smallest details of our conversations.
I haven’t often dealt with such attentive people, especially in Los Angeles. During the parties I attended, everyone was ready to make small talk, but no one ever got too deep into a conversation that could somehow put them in an uncomfortable position. The weight of words among these hills almost crushes you.
Getting dressed and resisting the temptation to tear our clothes off is a struggle, but in the end, we get into the car and enter the Saturday morning Los Angeles traffic. Aaron is driving, wearing a pair of light Chinos, a polo shirt, sneakers, sunglasses, and hair a bit messy.
“Why are you staring at me?” he asks as he reaches out a hand and intertwines our fingers.
“I like you when you’re not dressed in elegant suits. You have a more relaxed face, and you look almost younger.”
He glances at me before looking back at the road, smiling. “Are you saying I’m an old man?”
I bring his hand to my lips and kiss the back.
“No, I’m saying you look relaxed.”
He nods and seems to think about it for a few seconds before answering. It is his nature to weigh the words, to pause to think if something is worth saying or if it is better to keep quiet. I have always appreciated his way of never speaking inappropriately, of using words in the right measure.
“Isn’t this age difference a problem for you?” From his tone, he almost seems to need to be reassured.
I know how much he’s fought against himself for what he feels for me.
“Why should it be? You are sexy to die for, have abs to drool over, are fantastic in bed, listen to what I say, and have much more interesting topics than the latest game just released. I’d be crazy to have issues with the age difference.”
He bursts out laughing, amused. “You sure know how to pump a man’s ego.”
“If you’re worried about what people say, you don’t have to be. I’ve never felt compelled to have sex with you because you are my boss or for fear of losing my job. I know people often don’t understand, but I grew up among adults and always found their conversations much more inspiring than those of kids my age.”
“I don’t care about people’s gossip, but I want to be more than certain that they don’t have a foundation.”
“You can sleep soundly.” I smile and shake his hand as he parks in front of a small Beverly Hills bakery that, from the outside, almost goes unnoticed.
I have the impression this is one of those celebrity places that tourists cannot find because you’d only know about it if you are famous and through word of mouth. When we enter, we see some familiar faces that are having breakfast and don’t go beyond the initial glance. No one stares at us or starts whispering with the person who sits next to them pointing, something that often happens when I visit Rodeo Drive, where tourists walk with wide eyes and sweat dripping on their foreheads.
Aaron puts his hand on my back and leads me to one of the tables near the wall with a bench covered with fluffy pastel-colored pillows. He sits next to me, instead of sitting in the chair on the other side of the table, and wraps his arm around my shoulders, dragging me for a hug and gently kissing my hair. I like how it is not a problem for him to prove himself tender in public.
“How do you know this place? Do you always bring your conquests here?” I ask, looking up from the menu and watching his expression get slightly darker.
“Actually, no. A person I know called me one day and told me that my mother was in here, drunk, making a scene with the waitresses. I ran here to pick her up, and since I couldn’t convince her to leave without loading her on my shoulders and forcing her into the car, I stopped with her for breakfast until she calmed down. I discovered that here you can eat delicious pastry.” He smiles at me, but I notice a veil of sadness in his eyes.
Of all the explanations he could give me, this one didn’t even cross my mind. I have always seen his mother in public next to his father, elegant and perfect in dresses sewn on her. Not even a hair out of place, let alone drunk enough to make a scene, always with a smile, but her eyes, perhaps, a little sad. He’s never told me about her, and it seems a bit strange since we exchanged several anecdotes about our childhood, but now that I think about it, his memories are never tied to his parents.
“How is your relationship with her?”
Aaron shrugs and shakes his head slightly.
“Nonexistent.” He inhales deeply and stares at the table in front of us as if looking for words. “My brother and I were raised by nannies. Our parents never took care of us, as happens in ordinary families. We never received any gesture of affection from them. When we were old enough to understand how much my mother was always stuffed with antidepressants and alcohol, Evan and I began to keep an eye on her to prevent her from making headlines with a scandal.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, resting my lips on the back of his hand.
The smile he gives me is tender, sincere, almost melancholic. I get lost in his eyes that at first seemed the color of ice but now warm my heart. Boiling ice, that’s what I would call Aaron. A man who can set you on fire with just a glance.
“You don’t have to be sorry. In all honesty, I don’t miss my family. Evan is the only affection I care about, and he is present, even if we don’t see each other often. He squeezes me to his chest, letting slip away some of the melancholy of this moment. “But can we talk about happy things like your birthday? What do you want to do to celebrate?”
I understand that he doesn’t want to continue on the subject, but I appreciate that he decided to share something so personal with me. This little glimpse of his life is the most beautiful gift he could give me for my birthday.
“This cherry cake looks great.”
“But weren’t you the one who wanted pancakes?” He chuckles amusedly.
“After seeing the cake, they took a back seat.”
He holds me to himself and doesn’t let me go even when the waitress comes to take our orders.
“Sorry to interrupt you. I wanted to hug the birthday girl.” A voice I don’t recognize catches my attention.
I look up and see a younger version of Aaron, same ice-gray eyes, dark hair, and tailored suit.
“Oh my God, there are two of you!” I squeal surprised making them laugh.
The guy in his early thirties lowers himself and hugs me. “Happy birthday,” he whispers to my ear.
“Dakota, this is my brother Evan,” Aaron introduces.
“Nice to meet you” A smile spreads on my face. It’s sweet Aaron wants to introduce me to his family, or at least the part that is more attached to him.
“I didn’t want to crush your birthday breakfast, but I’m in town for a few more hours and wanted to meet the girl my brother can’t stop talking about,” he explains, sitting in front of us grinning and looking at his brother.
I look at Aaron and find him hiding an embarrassed smile. I didn’t know he talked about me with Evan. He seems almost shy in front of this confession.
“It’s not like we had a lecture about the topic. You asked me about the gossip magazines, and I answered you.” It’s clear he’s trying to downplay the conversation they had.
“You definitely bragged about it,” his brother laughs while I smile seeing Aaron embarrassed.
“So, are you both born with those suits? Is it something branded in your DNA?” I joke, focusing my attention on Evan and giving Aaron some respite.
They both chuckle and nod.
“You can say that. The Jailbirds give me shit about it all the time.” His eyes soften when he talks about his clients, and from what Aaron told me, best friends.
They are the most famous rock band in the world, and I can imagine them making fun of his un-rock attire.
“But I can see you have some influence on my brother,” he continues. “Why are you wearing Chinos in public? You look like an old dude. What is the next step? Cargo shorts and New Balance? Are you trying to pull off the dad outfit?” He gives Aaron a hard time, but I can see the amusement on their faces.
“Shut up, you idiot!” Aaron pushes him by his shoulder.
I love this interaction between those two. From what Aaron told me during our endless conversations, they weren’t on good terms until a short while ago, but they are fixing their relationship and becoming closer by the day.
“I’m happy you succeeded in the hard task of getting him out of that office. It’s time for him to enjoy his life,” Evan says, returning his attention to me.
“From what I’ve heard you are a workaholic, too.” I raise my eyebrow daring him to contradict me.
His smile is genuine. “I like you, girl. Now I understand why my brother is so crazy about you.”
I blush and feel Aaron’s arms squeeze me in a reassuring hug. I like the light atmosphere at this table, and I loved to discover that Aaron talked about me to Evan. It’s further confirmation that he is invested in this relationship more than I thought, and the mere thought makes my stomach squirm with butterflies.
We sit at the table for almost two hours, eating sweets, drinking good coffee, and talking about the most trivial things, such as our favorite color and our most hidden dreams–such as winning the Oscar. Two hours where the world around us disappears and only the three of us remain, with our fears and hopes.
***
I was wrong if I thought breakfast was the only way to celebrate my birthday. Aaron made it almost a mission to take me out and pamper me all day. After breakfast, he took me to a spa for a couple’s massage, then to eat at one of the hottest restaurants in Los Angeles. In the evening, he took me to the cinema after buying me a dress, shoes, and a bag from one of my favorite designers, spending a disproportionate amount despite my protests. When we finally get home, I’m tired but shining inside my new clothing.
