Page 28 of Big Boss
I don’t like talking on the phone in general, and I despise having conversations with strangers.
First is the whispering, the little glances. Then usually someone asks. But they never ask about me as a producer of no fewer than twenty Grammy Award winners in the last seven years. Not a self-made billionaire.
Nope. It’s always about “Eating Out.” Is it about my real life? How much of it is based in my personal experience? Do I give demonstrations? Teach classes? Am I going to start an Only Secrets page?
There is literally no answer for those types of questions that isn’t completely awkward for both of us.
If you’ve never asked about my sex life, thank you for that. And if you have, then know I’m judging you. If you’re really aggressive with it, I will be talking about you with my friends later.
I literally had a little old lady ask me to sign her butt cheek last month. Apparently, she wanted to get my signature tattooed on her ass. You want to know the worst part?
It was Jackson’s aunt. The wild one from Valentine, with a thing for firefighters. She wasn’t even here visiting for long, but it was long enough to cause plenty of trouble for all of us.
And yes. I did autograph her butt, partly because Erica made me do it. Jackson swears she didn’t actually go through with getting the tattoo done but I have my doubts—not that I’m going to ask for any type of official confirmation on that one.
Speaking of autographs and butt cheeks, I briefly debate calling for an Uber, but decide it’s not worth dealing with whoever my driver is going to be. Because it’s always, always awkward. Instead, I pull out my keys and steel myself for a quick drive downtown.
I don’t have the patience to deal with any more drama today. Once I get Erica’s mess all sorted out, that is.
It’s bad enough having to navigate the various emotional landmines of the guys in our poker game’s attitudes. There’s definitely something going on between Sebastian and Jackson that is throwing off the entire group’s dynamics.
I’ll have to sort that out later. For now, I’m going to sort out whatever is going on with Erica over at Glitter. She needs me, whether she’s willing to admit to it or not. And I’ll be damned if I don’t let her benefit from the full access to my name and all the dubious social cachet that entails.
Notorious, sure. But it’s also how doors end up being opened for me at most businesses and social events worth attending. Plenty of people like having the chance to take my picture, even when I’m not in the news for allegedly harassing my shitty former personal assistant.
Twenty minutes later, I’m leaving my car with the valet at Glitter. Because that’s what kind of place this is—a day spa with uniformed valets. I can see the parking attendant sizing me up, but flash him my extra friendly smile and that makes it so he’s stunned long enough for me to leave the keys with him and scram.
Inside, I spot Erica easily. She’s near the front desk, and a taller, pretty blonde is deep in her personal space and jabbing a finger in her face.
Instantly, the hair on the back of my neck stands up. I know Erica doesn’t like having people too close to her—especially close to her face and more specifically her eyes.
I can feel her discomfort with the situation, and I just walked in the door. She’s frozen, just like she was in the elevator the day we met.
And because I am cursed, the goddamned spa is playing “Eating Out.” It’s at an exceptionally loud volume, and I can hear my much younger voice crooning away about oral sex as soon as the door opens.
“So finger licking good, I’ll slide my face between your thighs….” I stiffen as a wave of embarrassment threatens to pull me out of my protective mindset and back into the doldrums of the most awkward aspect of being me.
But I can’t go down that dangerous path. I don’t have time to feel shame about the song that gave me the foundation for everything I have now.
Erica needs me.
I move to her side, and move in front of her gently, angling her slightly behind my body. Then I give her a smile that I make sure everyone can see before turning my attention to the woman who was jabbing her finger in Erica’s face.
“What exactly is the problem here?” I say, as bland as a glass of water. It’s better to not let on how angry I am right now. There’s no way that ends up getting Erica what she wants, whatever that is, and ultimately that’s my goal right now.
I mean, they already called the police. Someone here is causing problems, and I’m going to solve them right now.
Erica still feels stiff against me, every line of her body aggressive and defiant. The woman across from us sniffs dismissively. “This woman was telling us that she should be able to walk in and just demand an appointment, which is clearly not true. And she had your credit card. That’s why we called—”
I raise a hand to stop her from saying anything else. I don’t know if Erica knows the jerks at the day spa called the cops to accuse her of stealing my credit card, but if she doesn’t, I’m not going to be the one to tell her. Definitely not like this, in front of a room of people she doesn’t even know.
I shrug, forcing a casualness that I definitely don’t actually feel. “Oh? Well, I already dealt with that little phone call issue.” I wave my hand like I’m shooing away a fly. “Also, I assured Erica earlier this morning that you’d be willing to get her in.” I pause and raise one eyebrow at her. “Aren’t you willing to fit her into the schedule? For me?”
I pause and let the awkwardness draw out until it’s heavy in the air between us. The woman across from me squirms under the unspoken accusation behind the polite, innocent-seeming inquiry. “Did you need me to sign an autograph for you or something before you can help? Or are you all simply unable to give Miss Ridley the services she prefers?”
The woman across from us pauses, momentarily stymied by my geniality coupled with the barbed insult I just lobbed at her. I guess all those years doing interview after interview courtesy of dear old dad are good for something after all. “Of course we can fit her in, Mr. Tate. The only real issue we’re having is that this…person…said she’s your girlfriend.”
I can feel Erica’s body shaking hard, but whether it’s this woman’s tone or her words is irrelevant to me. I’m not going to stand here and watch my Erica be treated poorly.
