8. Lena
CHAPTER 8
Lena
A lek Ivanov is a dick. No, worse. He’s a lovestruck dick who’s involved me in his fixation. But he’s also a wealthy asshole who made my life a hell of a lot easier.
I paid my parents back the moment I received the money two weeks ago. I couldn’t have been happier to have that weight lifted off my shoulders. It felt so good, even if I didn’t actually work for the money. They asked me a lot of questions about the money, all which I deflected. They wouldn’t believe I got it from my singing. With my brother being a doctor, you can say their disappointment in my chosen occupation is very real.
But I never let it stop me from doing what I want. Even if it means hurting the feelings of those I love. Singing is what I was put on this planet for, so stopping it would be like denying my next breath.
I haven’t seen Alek since that night two weeks ago, and to say I’m relieved is an understatement. I was nervous the first few nights coming in for rehearsals, almost expecting his uptight assholeness to be sitting in his usual chair. Maybe what I said offended him. Good.
We’re finishing our rehearsal as my boss approaches me before anyone leaves the stage.
“Fantastic. Everyone, go have some refreshments in the back.” He applauds and looks up at me on the stage. “Lena, please follow me to my office. There’s something we have to discuss,” Matthew says, and he isn’t his usual happy self this time as he walks away.
Fuck, have I done something seriously wrong? Matthew is never mad. Stressed sometimes but never angry.
“What did you do to get his panties in a twist?” Julie leans over and whispers.
I shrug, not entirely sure. Although the extra cash helped, I still haven’t quit my job at the bar—it’s good to be cautious—but there’s no way I can lose this job. I’m not really sure what I would do, and the bar work isn’t enough income for me to live on. It’s also not what I love .
I jump from the stage and walk in the direction of his office. Matthew is already waiting inside, sitting at his desk. It’s a small office, crowded by framed photos on the walls of previous casts and shows. His desk is flooded with scribblings of what might be another script, and the room is far too dusty for my liking.
He indicates that I should close the door, but a cold dread washes over me. Fuck, am I going to be dumped from the show? What did I do?
“Tell me honestly, have you done something to our investor?” I look at him, confused, unsure as to who he’s even talking about. “Alek Ivanov. Did you do something?”
Goose bumps erupt over my skin.
Shit, maybe I shouldn’t have sworn at him. No, he deserved it. The asshole.
But would he really stoop so low as to cost me my job?
“No. Why, what’s wrong?” I ask. I can’t lose this job, and the desperation quivers in my voice.
He sighs and reaches for a piece of paper on top of the crumpled-up scripts. He pushes it toward me. I lean over the desk, too scared to be close in case the chaotic mess swallows me whole.
The piece of paper is a new contract. My eyebrows furrow in confusion as I skim over it. It has my name on it and a wage that is double what I receive now. What the hell?
“I have a contract,” I say, unsure as to what the fuck is happening. Usually, when someone sees their wage has doubled, they’re excited, but this feels far more ominous than that.
“This is another contract requiring that you sing outside of work once every two weeks at his choosing.” I look down at it again. “It’s an unusual request, and Alek didn’t seem entirely pleased when making it. We don’t usually accept such requests, but we don’t want to upset him since he has been a major sponsor for a long time.”
“He wants me to sing for him?” I ask, confused. I assumed he hated me. Maybe I was wrong. No, he does hate me. He must be trying to use me for information. Information I don’t have.
“He does. There is an additional clause in there, however.”
“An additional clause?” I pick up the contract to read the entire thing thoroughly.
“Yes. You have to quit your job at the bar,” he says so quietly I’m almost certain I didn’t hear him right.
When he doesn’t correct himself, my jaw drops. “What?”
“He said he doesn’t want you overworking yourself, so you’re consistently in top shape to perform for him.”
I scoff. “Oh, I bet he does.” I bite my lip, suddenly remembering who I’m talking to. This is way more than I’d earn at my bar job in two weeks anyway, but still, that’s not for him to decide.
I don’t think my boss is upset with me at all, rather we both realize how odd the request is.
I feel like I’m making a deal with the devil.
“Once you’ve signed the contract, he’s waiting outside with a car for you.”
“He wants me to sing now ?” I ask, shocked. I haven’t had time to get dressed, and I’m wearing a throw-over loose dress because I had adjustments made to my costume.
“Yes. He wants you to sign and go with him now.”
I look at the contract and take the pen Matthew holds out to me. I offer a curt smile as I hesitate to sign.
The money is double, so can I really complain? No. I’ll sing in his bathroom if that’s what he requires. But the clause of having to quit my other job? That’s just some controlling assholeness right there.
“I’m just going to read over it quickly,” I say with a sweet smile. “Actually, do you mind if I speak with him about the contract?”
Matthew seems reluctant but agrees. “I need the contract on my desk next time you’re here. Remember, though, Lena, we need his sponsorship, so don’t do anything that jeopardizes that.”
“Of course,” I wholeheartedly agree. I do want that money. It will help me pay my student loans off so much faster, and maybe I can move to a nicer part of town. But I don’t want to depend solely on the man who threw me out of my last gig.
Walking past the dressing room, I head out the back door to find Alek waiting for me, leaning against his expensive-looking car. His gaze lands on me the moment I walk out of the door. It’s almost dark, and seeing this man parked in an already empty parking lot looks strange. He adjusts his gloves expectantly.
“A new contract?” I say with a hand on my hip, the contract pinched between my fingers.
He takes in my bright-purple dress, but surprisingly, he makes no comment about it. But neither does he comment on the contract.
I walk closer, and he goes to open the door, but I wave my finger back and forth. “Hell to the no, old man. You and I are going to negotiate on this contract.”
There’s a slight shift in his expression. I’d even say he might be surprised if he weren’t so robot-like.
We have an awkward standoff. This guy might as well be mute in the way it seems as if speaking inconveniences him so.
“Okay, then have a good day,” I say as I flip my hair over my shoulder and turn back toward the door.
“I don’t negotiate,” he grits out.
“Oh, he does speak,” I say audaciously. “And I’m not someone who is told what to do,” I add.
He appraises me, almost curiously, as he pushes off the car and comes toward me. Not so he’s close enough to touch, but enough to try to intimidate me. “What is it you wish to… negotiate?” His jaw clenches. “Is the money not generous enough?”
I scoff in disbelief. “Generous?” It’s fucking incredible money, but I don’t give that away. “I mean, it’s okay. I won’t be quitting my job, though.”
“You don’t have to leave here.”
“I’m talking about the bar job, and you know it,” I say with my hand on my hip again. “You don’t get to dictate what I do and don’t do in my spare time.”
“On the contrary, you signed that you won’t sing elsewhere professionally in your current contract. This is no different. A sacrifice.”
“Not the same thing, old man.” I sneer. His eyes flare hot at the use of “‘old man,”‘ and I realize I’m getting under his skin. For better or for worse. I must be an idiot for sassing someone who is clearly as dangerous as this guy is. “Why do you even want me to sing for you? You clearly don’t even like me.”
He seems to struggle with his words until he plucks the contract and pen out of my hand, making sure not to touch me. He presses it against the car window and begins to write. Once done, he steps to the side, as if summoning me without words. I move into his space, which he’s clearly uncomfortable with, and see that he’s scratched out and signed the clause about me leaving my bar job. Instead, it says:
Thou shalt not call Aleksandr Ivanov “old man” or imply in any comment, jokingly or not, that he is older than he appears.
I bite my bottom lip to keep from smiling, and raise my eyebrows. “You’re serious about this.” I point at the contract, trying not to laugh. He doesn’t seem amused. Who even writes “thou” these days?
I pluck the pen from his hand and sign on the dotted line. I’ll take that as a win today. Once it’s signed, I tuck the contract in the pocket of my loose dress because… hello, pockets in a dress.
He steps around the car and opens the passenger door for me. He waves for me to enter, but I stay where I am.
“Where are we going?”
His gaze pins on me, but again, he says nothing. I think he’s hit his threshold for speaking for the day. This guy is all sorts of unusual, and it’s a crime to package someone with such a terrible personality with the looks of model. He’s polished in a terrifying way, but I have the impression those muscles under his shirt aren’t for visual purposes only.
“I won’t allow you to kill me,” I tell him, crossing my arms over my chest as I round the hood and make my way to him.
“Get in the car,” he finally says. I huff and step up closer to him, and instantly, I can smell him. He smells like a fresh breeze on the ocean. Light but memorable. I regret that I got this close to him, because he reminds me that despite his personality, he is hot as fuck. Not only do his shaved head and gloved hands intimidate me, they also make me think I’ve been chasing the wrong kind of men most of my life.
Even then, I distinctly know this is a man no woman should chase or try to attract.
“Where am I singing?” I ask as I slide into the car. He shuts the door behind me and walks around to the driver’s side.
Give me strength if I have to deal with this man once every two weeks. But at least it’ll fast-track my goals.
When he opens the door and sits next to me, it’s only seconds until he revs the engine, works the stick on his manual car, and takes off. Shit . I reach for my seat belt and quickly put it on.
This guy is a maniac.
“Where am I singing?” I repeat.
He reaches for the volume dial on the radio and turns it up, effectively shutting me up.
This guy can’t be serious.
What the fuck have I signed myself up for?