Chapter 10
Three days have gone by since the contract arrived and Empire signed it woodenly, her face giving nothing away. Three days since I’d brought her to orgasm, and neither one of us have been willing to talk about it.
What is there to say?
Not a damn thing if it’s a one and done incident.
It’s better for us both to stick to the real nature of this relationship between us: business. I’m her manager, her guardian. It’s up to me to make sure she’s taken care of as an actress, not to make sure she’s well pleasured.
The couriers delivered the contract right on time, too.
Rather than continue to avoid each other, doing the stranger dance in a mansion large enough to comfortably fit a family of sixteen, I forced her to sit down with me at the dining room table, going over the contract line by line to make sure Empire understands what will be demanded of her with the role and the concessions I’ve fought for. More money, reduced hours…luxuries not often afforded to first time actresses.
Never afforded them because they had other managers who weren’t looking out for their well-being.
Instead, she stared at the words blank faced. She nodded when appropriate and limited the conversation to yes or no. The interaction left me feeling like a miserable bastard and acting worse.
I growled at her when I suggested ordering Chinese food for dinner and she chose instead to hole up in her room and pick at leftovers.
In the morning, I purposely refused to make her coffee so she, with her back turned, fixed herself a matcha tea with almond milk.
I didn’t expect her to jump for fucking joy at the terms of the contract, but a little gratitude would have been nice. I’d bumped her up from low six figures to closer to seven for the role, which was great, considering she’d never done anything else in her life.
Sure, the demands added a bit of pressure to her in terms of her future performance, but I had a few extra things written into her contract to make sure she isn’t overworked. There wouldn’t be twenty-hour days for her. Not on her first film.
I stand at the living room window, staring out at the gardens like the answers are somewhere hidden in the topiary.
The girl has been studiously ignoring me.
If she puts half as much effort into the role of Alicia, then she’ll be in line for a damn Oscar. She’s gone out of her way to not stay in her room but makes sure no matter where I am in the house, she’s not in the same space.
I’m on my second espresso of the day, my insides jittery and a shit ton of work ahead, wondering if I’ve pushed the line too far with her and should apologize for being a horny dickhead.
One of us has to crack first.
I flash my teeth, and my reflection shows it. I’ve never been the kind of man to crack, never been the one to cave in unless there is no other choice. And damn it, if I were ten years younger, I might see just how long the silence will last between the two of us, just to push back, to be selfish and force Empire to be the one to crack first.
I’m in my fucking forties. I’m not a child anymore.
Time to put an end to the bullshit, because I want her to be comfortable here, but it’s my house too. I refuse to tiptoe on eggshells anymore.
“Dammit.” My hand curls into fists at my side and my stomach hollows out.
Diplomacy is an artform, and I’m too tense for my own good. Being blunt serves its purposes well and gets the job done, where beating around the bush rarely accomplishes anything. I stalk down the hallway and find the door to her room ajar. Blinking in surprise at the mess, at the fact that she’s not closeted in the space as she’s been so often lately, I turn on my heel, ready to call out to her. A soft feminine voice filters through the open.
Ah ha.
Today, she’s in the den listening to music on a pair of discrete white headphones tucked into the curves of her ears. I stand in front of her for a full minute, waiting to see if she notices me before she even bothers to look up. And when she does, I snap my fingers in front of her face. Take off the damn headphones. I watch her blink and come back to herself long enough to scowl at me.
“What do you want, Marcus?” she asks overly loud, still blasting her music.
“Take them off.” I swoop my finger in a circle near my ear before she gets the message and takes them off with a petulant sigh, as though I am the literal worst piece of human garbage for bothering her while she’s working.
At least the ire is better than ambivalence. I can work with this. For some reason, having Empire ignore me is worse than a screaming match.
“What?” she asks again once the headphones are out. “Do you need something?”
“Brat,” I hiss under my breath. “We’ve got to talk.”
She stares up at me expectantly, and if she’d been standing, she would have tapped her foot. “Well?”
The tone has me seeing red almost immediately, and a small part of me, the little beast in my brain who wants to antagonize, slowly stretches awake. “I’ve given it a lot of thought, and this—” I break off and gesture to her. “Isn’t working.”
She arches a brow toward her hairline. “I’m not sure what you mean?”
It’s before noon, and she’s in her pajamas, something fuzzy on the bottom and skimpy on the top. I’m not sure where I’d start rubbing my face first.
She washed her hair yesterday, and today, it’s sticking out on end, her makeup smeared and her complexion ruddy, about as far from a budding starlet as someone in her position can get, and the press will eat her alive if this gets out there.
“It’s time for us to work on your image,” I continue with a growl. “Since the movie is going to start shooting soon, it’s only right for us to lay the groundwork. Get your social media back up to where it used to be and then even bigger.”
I’ve been as lenient as possible with her. To lose one parent is horrendous, but to lose two, in such a sudden manner, is a goddamn tragedy, and I’d left Empire alone to grieve in her own way while I struggled through my own feelings.
I let her stay in her room, let her hide away. It’s time for us both to rejoin the land of the living.
“You know, the last time I went out in public, it wasn’t really a good experience for me.” She nibbles on her lower lip, staring at the script in her hands.
“Do you mean your coffee date with River yesterday?” News to me. She’d come home a little paler than when she left, but she seemed in good spirits.
Empire pushes the limp strands of hair away from her face in time for me to catch the eye roll. “I mean when that man shoved pictures of my parents’ dead bodies in my face.”
“Yeah, I get it.” I scrub the skin above my ear. “It was a dick move. You have every right to be wary of the press.”
“Which means I don’t want to go out in public anymore.” She says it matter of factly. I should have already gotten this fact, in her opinion, and pressuring her to do what she wants isn’t going to end well for me.
“Newsflash: you’ll never be royalty in this business if you never leave the house.”
She takes her time setting the script aside and working her neck side to side, her shoulders up and down. “You’re the only one who thinks royalty is achievable, Marcus. I’m not even sure I want it.”
I amp up my glower. “No, you just want to stay in bed all day.”
“I’m not in bed now, am I?” she asks with enough snark to choke an ox.
“Here’s the funny thing. You signed a contract. Not only will you have to leave the house to start filming, but you are required to sit for interviews and press releases. To walk in front of the camera and pose for it,” I reply.
There’s no way to accommodate her in this, even if a sliver of humanity left inside of me wants to gather her up and make sure nothing hurts her again.
“You need to show your face. The production company who hired you expects you to work to push the film and make it worth their while. They hired someone with virtually no acting credentials to their names. They took a chance on you.”
She studies me for a long moment before she purses her lips. She used to be sun kissed and happy, California’s golden child born into movie stardom. Now what’s become of her?
What am I going to do with her?
“You have to get back out there, If not now, when? You’re going to throw your life away to live here as a hermit? Sooner or later, I’m going to kick you the hell out of my house.” I say it without a hint of malice.
“You know how they say it’s always harder to get back on a horse after you’ve fallen off? It’s like that for me.” Her eyes go wide, wet, her lower lip trembling.
She’s got the skills. I’ll give her that much.
“Except this isn’t a horse,” I retort. “This is your future. Don’t throw it away.”
She sets her jaw, her shoulders squaring a little. “Are you telling me this as a manager, or as my guardian?”
“Both,” I answer without hesitation. “There’s no choice in this, Empire, and I’m too old to keep forcing you out the door. It’s a bad look for both of us.”
“No, you’d rather force me into the shower,” she quips.
“Because you still fucking stink. You might be pretty, but that doesn’t keep the smell away. How about I take you to an opening?” I blurt out the offer without thought, but the moment I say it out loud is the moment I realize it’s the perfect solution.
A way for me to be there with her through every step and give her a trial by fire. She hasn’t been to an opening since she went with her parents, what…two years ago?
Past time.
The abrupt offer takes her by surprise. “You’d actually take me?”
It’s my turn to shrug. “Sure. Why not? It’s been a long time since I’ve gone to an opening, and there’s one at the end of the week for a former client of mine. It’s as good a chance as any for us to get back out there.” Us. As though it will help her feel less alone to think that I also need to get back out there.
A chance to feel human again…sure, it’s no pleasure to have photographers in my face and reporters firing off a million questions at once. But getting dressed up, mingling with others in the business, showing off Empire at her best? That sounds great.
Finally, I fall onto the couch beside her, tired of looming, tired of feeling like I’m always the one who has to drive and make sure she doesn’t go right off a cliff. There’s no chance of Empire hurting herself in a physical way, but mental flagellation? We’re both professionals at this point.
“I really don’t want to go,” she insists again.
I close my eyes and inhale through my nose. “You’re saying it like I’m giving you a choice. You either come to the opening with me, where you know what to expect, or I choose something else.”
“You’re threatening me?”
“You catch on quickly.” I blow out the breath. “If you want to see it as a threat, then by all means, do. I’m looking out for you. All I’ve ever done is for you and your career.” Our career, I mentally correct.
Because our success is intertwined.
This is the closest we’ve been physically since that day on the couch, and my mind immediately returns there when her shoulder presses against mine. “I suppose you think I’m ungrateful,” she says softly.
“I might start to see it that way if you keep digging your heels in.”
Empire groans. “Fine, then. I’ll go to the opening with you, but I don’t have anything to wear. All of my fancy clothes…have memories attached.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.” My heart softens, and the hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach lessens a bit.
She twists her face to mine and smiles. Small, tight, but there. Let the healing begin. “Thank you for always looking out for me. I know it’s a pain in the ass and cramps your style.”
“It definitely does. Not like I actually want a roommate.”
“It’s appreciated, Marcus.”
I like the way she stares at me. I look back at her boldly. My dick gives a twitch of acknowledgement, but I stuff down any desire to do more than look. Not like she’ll ever let me touch her again. It’s a bad fucking idea, and I’ve had too many of those in my life to count.