Page 11 of Bound By Brielle (Crave & Cure Productions)

He smiles. “Everyonewatches porn.”

“Not me.” If I was Pinocchio, I’d be in trouble.

“Crave & Cure is a game changer in the adult film industry. But you’ll see that when you go there next week and start your mentorship.”

I shake my head, plucking my linen blouse from my torso, sweat making it stick. Damn, I really huffed over here. “I can’t be a protégé to a porn director, Mr. Leon. I need to work with arealdirector.”

He stops rotating in his chair and slides his frames back on, repositioning them on the bridge of his nose with a push of his index finger. “I went to film school with Augustus Moore, and he’s a friend of mine. He’s exceptional. Extremely talented.”

“As talented as Barry Jenkins?” I question, rolling my lips together in an effort to stay calm. Because I’m starting to think not only was this intentional, but I’m not getting out of it.

“Yes,” he replies, staring at me so intensely that I squirm in my seat a little. “Aug has revolutionized adult films on many fronts. And adult filmsarefilms. You can and will learn from him.” He leans forward, dropping his clasped hands to his desk, eyes holding mine. “That’s the assignment.”

“I–” I clear my throat, finding the fight has left me. “My father–”

“That’s the assignment,” he repeats, turning to face his computer screen. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Miss Parker, I have a script to work on.” He turns his body toward his computer and begins typing. That’s my cue to leave.

So I do, and instead of dragging this awful day out any longer, I call my dad on my walk back to my apartment.

“Well?” he barks after answering on the first ring. Seriously.The first fucking ring.

“It’s not a mistake, and he won’t change it and he doesn’t care how much you pay. Everyone pays it, Dad,” I say quickly, cutting him off at the knees. “And apparently, this Augustus guy is his old classmate and some legend in the adult film industry.”

“That’s it?” Dad snarls. “You’re in your last semester of grad school and you’ll spend it making porn movies in some seedy studio?”

I sigh, trudging down the sidewalk leading to the off-campus apartments where I’ve lived for nearly six years. “That’s it.”

A moment passes before my dad says, “That’s unacceptable.”

Again, I sigh as I round the corner, my place coming into view. All I want to do is pour a glass of booze the size of my head, sink into a deep bubble bath, binge murder shows, and put all of this out of my head until Monday. “Accept it,” I say to my father, quite frankly sick of him always adding so much fucking stress on my shoulders. “I want to be done with this phone call,” I tell him, because it’s true, and it’s not the first time I’ve flat out told him as much.

“Fine. I’ll call that motherfucker myself!” he growls, and I can actually hear him stomping around his office.

“He’s not a mother fucker, dad.” I climb the stairs to my apartment, exhausted from this day and this call.

“Oh, so now you want to work at a porn studio,” he snaps.

“No. But I’m doing it. Because that’s the assignment, it’s only one semester, and then I’ll move on.” I shove the key in the lock and twist, pushing my door open to be greeted by my cold, dark apartment. “I will call you later.” And without a goodbye, I hang up.

Like father, like daughter.

six

If I could do it, I’d do it for him

augustus

“Next order of business,”I flip the sheet of paper and read the item at the top of page two. “We have a protégé coming from the mentorship program at UCSF.”

I look around the office, heads bobbing at me as they take in the information. “She’ll be here Monday and she’ll be with us for a semester, about four months.”

“Jesus,” Lance mutters, and I look up to see him leaned forward, elbows on knees, stroking a hand through his hair, eyes on the ground.

He doesn’t elaborate on his outburst, but I know what he’s thinking. I know not only because I know the man like the back of my hand, but because I had and have the same thoughts. An annoying and overly eager film school student on our heels day in and day out, asking too many goddamn questions and getting in the way.

But what Lance doesn’t see is that we need this. We need someone and something else to focus on. Because the last twelve months have been exhausting agony, and while I will never give up trying to get him back, I think an occasional diversion of focus would do us both good.

Ignoring Lance’s one-word feedback of the situation, I say, “Ezra Leon is the film school director heading up the program over there.” My tailbone resting against my desk, feet crossed at the ankle, I dig my phone from my pocket. I got the email from Ezra last night that contained the assigned student information, but I was too busy staring at the ceiling and dying inside to read through it. Opening my email app, I tap the message already read and read it more carefully.

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