I shivered under the blanket. “I can’t do another shoot.”
“You can do whatever you’re told, but it’s not about that. Get up and come with me.”
He led me down hallways I’d never seen before. It made me realize how ridiculously large and eerily quiet this place was.
“Here.” Bo stopped in front of a door at the end of a long hallway. “Take my advice and don’t be snarky.”
“You’re not staying?”
“No.”
Uneasiness ran through me. I hadn’t been alone with The Director before.
Bo knocked on the door, and The Director’s monotone voice invited us in. I stepped into a wide office, pleasantly warm thanks to the burning fireplace. The Director sat in an armchair, holding a glass of wine and wearing his signature black clothes.
My eyes traveled to the framed portrait hanging on the wall. An old man with a white, well-groomed beard; his narrow eyes seemed to be staring at me in disdain.
“Thank you, Bo. You can leave us.”
Bo gave me a final warning glare before closing the door behind him.
“My father,” The Director said, looking at the portrait of the old man. “Theodore. A complicated man.”
“He adopted you and Eliot.”
The Director nodded, twisting his lips in annoyance. “Eliot told me he'd shared too much with you. Sit.”
I stopped myself from saying I preferred to stand and went to sit on the long leather couch, feeling more of the warmth from the fireplace.
“How do you find your new room?”
“Fine.” It was more than fine compared to where I’d been forced to stay before, but he already knew that.
I noticed a hint of suspicion in the way he watched me, as if he didn’t want me in his personal space. I recalled what Eliot had said about me being here to fill the void he’d left behind.
“Did Eliot ask you to talk to me?”
“Does it matter?”
It didn’t really, so I let it go.
“Would you like wine?”
“Yes,” I said, almost too fast.
He walked to the minibar by the side of the room.
“Not that one,” I said when he picked up a bottle. “The one next to it.”
“This one’s Eliot's favorite.” He almost sounded confused as he picked up the second bottle, but my taste in wine was a direct result of my time with Eliot.
He poured the wine into a tall glass and brought it to me, then sat on the other side of the couch. This whole situation felt surreal and wrong.
I took a sip of wine before asking, “Am I here to have sex with you?”
“You are very direct, and no, you’re not here for sex. I would like for you to watch your latest videos and review your work.”
My work.I tasted bile. “I don’t want to see it.”
