Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
“Yeah?” I say when he doesn’t reply.
“Sorry.” He clears his throat. “I know it was my idea not to tell Sophie about the documentary, but I thought it might be good for her to know, even get involved. Videomaking is her passion and always has been. She’ll be able to get footage you won’t since she’s here more often. What do you think?”
I swallow. If we end up working on a project together, it’ll mean seeing her more often. That’s the last thing I should want after what I did. I should do everything in my power to ensure it doesn’t happen.
“I think it’s a great idea.”
Something must be wrong with me. I can tell myself I agree because of the excitement in my best friend’s voice. But deep down, there’s the possibility of being alone with Sophie again, feeling her curvy, perfect body, feeling the passion, the heat, hell, feeling alive for the first time in years.
“You said she’s doing well at college,” I go on. “If she can use her skills here, great.”
“It’ll be a big opportunity for her, too,” he replies. “Working with Free Everywhere, but I must be upfront about something.”
These pauses are killing me, giving me way too much time to speculate about what he’s thinking or going to say.
“You have to be honest with her about her work,” he says. “Sophie hates feeling like she hasn’t earned something. It probably comes from me, you know, all the cash I got selling my shares to you. She doesn’t have to work her way through college. She doesn’t have to worry about debt. It weighs on her, even if she tries to hide it. If her work’s good, tell her. If not, be honest too.”
“I’m not much of a videographer, anyway,” I tell him. “A documentary maker. Whatever you want to call it. I won’t be the one judging her work.”
“Tell our people, then,” he says.
“Our,” I repeat, smiling despite everything. “It’s been a long time since I heard you talk about our business.”
“Maybe lately, I’ve been thinking about a few things,” he replies.
Is life really going to be this cruel? I’ve waited to hear that Paul wants to work with me again for years, hoping and dreaming about what it would be like to have my best friend at my side again. Work was so much more enjoyable when he was around. However, am I going to learn this today, barely an hour after I grabbed his little sister’s perfect legs and kissed her perfect lips?
“I enjoy my life,” Paul goes on. “I get to do what I want when I want, but I’m forty. I’m starting to feel like an ass sometimes. Lately, I’ve been thinking I might need some direction, a sense of purpose, something except for the next trip.”
“If you want a place in the company, it’s there, always. Hell, you can even buy half my shares at a discount.”
“That’s a big risk,” he points out.
“Only if I thought you’d ever betray me.”
I don’t think about the irony of what I’m saying until the words are out of my mouth. I’m taking it because it’s a given he’d never betray me when I’ve done just that.
“Thanks, Kaleb,” he says. “I thought you might be pissed, honestly. I can’t just leave and join the company whenever I want.”
After what I did, he can do a whole lot more than that any goddamn time he wants. He could walk into the offices tomorrow and start giving orders if it meant he’d forgive me for what I did. This is twisting me up. I shouldn’t be thinking like this about the company.
“The company would be better to have you with us,” I tell him. “This isn’t charity.”
“It’s just a possibility, anyway,” he replies. “I wanted to see if you’d be up for it, that’s all.”
“I am,” I say. “Completely.”
“Thanks, bro. I’ll talk to Sophie about the video. Speak later.”
There it is again. Bro. I hate the fact it makes me cringe.
I drive back to my hotel. Oh, dammit. There are a bunch of vultures outside, paparazzi with their cameras around their necks, looking up and down the street. I pull up illegally onto a curb, watching them, wondering if I should circle around and wait. Why should I? These people have no shame.
Taking out my phone, I check the video. It still only has a few thousand views. After about a minute, the paparazzi turn and start rushing down the street. They’re not here for me. A woman I vaguely recognize is leaving by a service entrance, with four tall security guards surrounding her. The vultures have no shame, sprinting toward her.
A mother and her daughter jump out of the way, but not fast enough. One bumps into the mother so hard she stumbles against the wall. Then she looks around. Her daughter is gone. Jesus Christ, she’s caught up in the flood of paparazzi, swept along with them, running as if she’s too scared to break away from the crowd. The mother hasn’t seen it.