Page 5 of Cohen's Control

He seems satisfied with that answer, and a moment later, his father is calling to him from the other side of the pool, standing at the edge in a sweaty t-shirt.

“I’m done with my workout, son,” he calls, lifting a hand to acknowledge me. I wave back to him.

“Your dad wants you to get out,” I tell him, extending a hand to the boy.

He shakes his head. “I’m gonna swim back to the other side. That’s where my towel is.”

“Smart.”

Then he’s thrashing and kicking his way back. I watch his dad help him out, wrapping him in an oversized Lego beach towel. They walk off together, and I hear promises of pancakes with chocolate chips.

All of me hurts.

I stand beneath the gym shower for a few minutes before stepping out, pulling on some black jeans and a henley. I shove my socked feet into lace-up boots, sling my bag over my shoulder and make the drive to work.

I like my job, and I like the people there. I have tasks. I have things to do that are very detail oriented. I have things that have to get done or people are at risk of getting hurt, or work can’t get done. I’m focused and driven, and most importantly, completely fucking distracted from everything else when I’m there.

I arrive at Crave, ignoring everyone and the hello’s that flank me as I make my way to the back, where I’ve carved a little office out for myself. I shove my bag under the desk and grab my utility belt, hooking it around my waist. With my lanyard looping around my neck, I make sure I have all my access keys, my light meter, and everything else.

Back on my feet, I head out and get to work. The only place where I can comfortably ignore my pain, at least for a few hours.

three

scarlett

I feel like the lucky one

Chewing the inside of my cheek, my knee bounces as I busy my hands with the cuffs of my oversized hoodie sleeves.

He’ll stop.He will stop. I mean, he’s not going to harass me forever, right?

If anything, he’ll stop sooner than later. After all, narcissists like control and once he realizes he can’t control me anymore, he’ll quit harassing me to maintain appearances. He can’t risk his reputation.

Pete’s greatest skill is keeping the monster hidden. Then when it was just us he’d let it out to play. I’d get to see what was behind that CEO and director mask he wore so many hours of the day.

A hand comes down on my shoulder, pulling me from my worry. It’s not pure worry, it’s worse. It’s a dark, soul-scraping worry that assaults me in waves, bringing an undertow of anxiety that threatens to pull me out to sea and consume every last bit of me.

“Hey,” Aug says softly, shaking me only a little. He crouches in front of me, capturing my eyes.

I blink at him, and his presence is a reminder of why I’m not giving up. There is kindness out there, there are people who want what’s best without tethering favors to promises—Augustus Moore being one of them. He reminds me that I want more for myself, and more than what I had with Pete.

“Scarlett, are you okay?” he asks, concern etched into the furrow of his brow. His dark eyes squeeze me as they narrow, studying me like he’s got the answer key. But the truth is? Augustus does know me. In the last few months, he’s made it a priority to not just get to know me for the sake of Crave, but get to know me for me. I think from the first time we met—when he tracked me down at my cycling class—he knew I was struggling. Whether my fractures were visible or he’s just intuitive, I don’t know. But I can honestly say he’s a safe person in my life, and genuinely cares.

I swallow the clog of fears in my throat, and wipe at the evidence of my anxiety forming on my upper lip. “Hey Aug,” I force myself to say in the most normal tone I can muster, even putting on a small smile. “Just… talking myself down right now.” I shrug, letting my eyebrows rise and fall. “You know me.”

He drops his hand to my knee now, and squeezes with the same affection a father might show his daughter. “What’s he doing now?”

I sigh. “Calling me non-stop. I wouldn’t tell him where my new place is, and he’s furious. He called me one-hundred and two times yesterday.”

Aug shakes his head. “Jesus Christ.”

“Right? So right now I’m just feeling freaked out and overwhelmed while telling myself that eventually he’ll quit. Because it will be too damaging to his ego and at some point, he will leave me alone for good.” I rest my chin in my palms and my elbows on my knees. “I just wish some point was now, you know?”

Aug nods slowly, patting my knee as he studies a spot on the ground, clearly in thought. But I don’t want him to feel obligated to fix my whole life. He’s already done so much. I open my mouth to assure him everything will be fine, and that he doesn’t need to worry, when the art and set director walks by, fiddling with the carabiner on his work belt. His eyes flick to mine only briefly, but for some reason, my gaze follows him all the way out of the room.

He looks at everyone with the same impassive, almost soulless gaze. Though he’s never been friendly with me, nor have I seen him really come alive in conversation with anyone here, his continual stoicism makes me feel safe and secure because it’s predictable. And predictable is the desire of every woman who’s been in a relationship with a volatile man.

He’s also incredibly handsome. Meeting an extremely good-looking, well-mannered, quiet, respectful man in the adult film industry isn’t an every day deal.

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