She wiggled free from my arms and gave my chest a hard shove to put some distance between us. “I don’t want to be like some object you lust over.”
“You’re not an object, and you know it.”
“But it feels like I am!”
I shook my head, trying to find better words. “Answer me one thing, Lana. Touching me…did that feel right to you?”
She was ready to shoot a harsh “no” at me, but she swallowed it as her jaw tightened. Her gaze dropped to the floor, and her fingers nervously picked at the hem of her shirt.
“Answer me, Lana. Did it feel right?”
She nodded slowly but squeezed her eyes shut as she shook her head instead. “It’s wrong, Callan.”
“Tell me why.”
“Because—” She let out a heavy sigh and threw her hands into the air. “You were married to my mother, and you’re way older.”
“Don’t give me that,” I said with a dry laugh.
“I’m not wrong,” she shot back. “I can’t do this.”
I watched her pick up her notebook, and without another glance in my direction, she started to head upstairs.
“Lana.”
She stopped on the second step but didn’t turn around.
“I never meant for this to happen,” I said. “I didn’t plan it. I didn’t want it.”
She glanced over her shoulder, face torn. “Then stop,” she said flatly. “You can stop this. You’re the one in control, remember?”
“I’m not,” I said, and the honesty in my voice surprised even me. “I lost that the second you walked into that room.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s not my problem.”
“It is now. Because you’re part of this. You wanted to understand my world—this is it. And, to be honest, I think that’s what you should really be writing about.”
She turned halfway toward me. “You want me to write about your dysfunction?”
That made me laugh. The girl had some humor. “I want you to write the truth,” I said. “Not what looks good on paper, not just about the boring production process. The truth.”
She looked away, staring at the stairs like she could disappear into them if she tried hard enough. “You’re asking too much,” she whispered.
“I’m asking you to finish what you started,” I replied. “You’re already in it, Lana. Be brave.”
For a long moment, she didn’t move. Then, finally, she exhaled and turned back to face me fully. “Fine,” she said, her voice low but steady. “I’ll finish it.”
I nodded once. “That’s all I’m asking.”
She gave a tight, humorless smile. “No. It’s not. You’re asking me to stay close enough for you to use me as fuel.”
I didn’t deny it. “Maybe. But you can’t deny you’re curious. Even when you shouldn’t be. You want to understand what makes people cross the line. You want to understand the art of porn. That’s why you’re still standing here.”
She stared at me, lips pressed tight, and eyes widening at the realization of how right I was. “You’re exhausting.”
“I’ve heard worse.”
She shook her head, her expression softening just enough for me to see the conflict underneath. “I’ll write,” she said again, quieter this time. “But after that, I’m done.”
