Page 7 of Charismatic Producer Daddy

"Anna, I'm a movie producer. I got my start shooting videos of my high school friends covered in fake blood and running away from a dude in a dollar store wolf mask before presenting it to my parents and telling them this was how I was going to make my living. Trust me, I'm not going to judge your aspirations."

I felt a little more reassured. "I want to be a writer," I said. "I want to write silly stories and release them chapter by chapter online like a soap opera TV series. But that's crazy, right?"

He smiled at me. "Not crazy. Awesome."

I felt myself blush beet red at that. Aside from my parents, I hadn't dared mention my dreams to anyone else. How could I? I sounded insane. My parents definitely thought I was insane. My father flat-out told me he wasn't paying for me to go to college unless I tried to get a real job and my mother told me she wasn't going to have a good-for-nothing bum living under her roof. After I graduated college, I never went back.

But Christopher wasn't phased by it. He didn't seem to think it was crazy at all. "I feel like I'm delusional," I admitted.

He shook his head and he slowly started pulling food out of the grocery bag. "No more delusional than the rest of us." He smiled at me. "I bet you can make a living off of your writing. You're tenacious and stubborn, and those are two qualities that help a lot in creative fields. I believe in you, Anna. You should believe in yourself."

I felt myself blush a deep red. Somehow he always knew was to say to leave me feeling a little off-kilter.

When Christopher was finished making dinner, he served me in the living room. "I hope you enjoy," he said.

I took a bite and nearly moaned. "This is delicious," I said. "Fuck, I don't think I've ever tasted anything this good."

He chuckled. "You don't have to play it up for me," he said.

"I'm being sincere. This is delicious." I couldn't get enough of the wonderful medley of herbs and spices and sauce.

"When was the last time you had a real meal?"

I swallowed another bite of food. "Define real meal."

He looked at me, suddenly serious. "When was the last time you had a meal that wasn't ramen noodles?"

I bit my lip as I thought. "Two weeks ago," I said. "At my work-study job, there was leftover food and the staff was allowed to take what they wanted. I ended up eating steak and potatoes."

"You've been living off of just ramen and campus food? No wonder you like my cooking so much."

I shrugged. "I'll get by. I'm almost done with college and that will leave me with more time." Part of me was nervous at that thought. I wasn't quite sure about what I was going to do once I was done. I wouldn't have any more college left to pay for, but unless I found another part-time job, I wouldn't be able to pay my current bills and pay off my student loans at the same time.

Christopher nodded. He seemed to be thinking. "I could pay for food delivery," he said. "For like a week or something. Just to give you a break from ramen noodles."

"No way. You've already done way too much for me."

"Think of it as a sponsorship," he said. "I'm paying it forward to another creator." He smiled. "Who knows, maybe one day I'll get the movie rights to one of your stories."

"You haven't even seen any of my stories," I said. "For all you know, they're complete garbage."

He shrugged. "You're worth a risk."

I felt myself blush again. I couldn't tell if he was flirting or not. But why would he be flirting?

Christopher cleared his throat. "I should clean up and get out of your hair," he said. "Thank you for having dinner with me."

"Thank you for cooking," I said. "You know I still need to find a way to pay you back. Seriously. I mean more than promising you the movie rights to my stories."

"Taking care of you is payment enough. Really."

I shook my head. "I don't understand."

"Maybe that's a good thing," he said. "Maybe you don't want to understand." He seemed really serious now. All of the cheerfulness from earlier was gone.

A shiver ran down my spine as I watched him wash the dishes and clean the countertops. He wasn't looking at me. He seemed to be avoiding my eyes. "Tell me," I said. "Please."

"Anna, I--" he cleared his throat. "Forget it."

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