Forbidden Desires

by Jenna Hartley

  I set down my fork and wiped my lips before removing the lid, unsure what I’d find, not entirely terrified once I saw the contents.

  Folder upon folder of receipts and ledgers lay inside, a massive stack of paper and numbers that nearly made my head spin. I let out an involuntary breath, my eyes combing over the pile, wondering what I’d gotten myself into.

  “Okay,” I finally said with an air of determination. The only way out was through. One bite at a time. All that jazz.

  Mama twisted her hands before slipping them into her apron pockets to keep them busy, I suspected. “Are you sure you want to do this, Annika? You are so busy already. I don’t want to burden you.”

  I smiled at her and cupped her soft elbow. “It’s no burden, Mama.”

  “I can help, too, Dina,” Roxy said.

  “Me too!” Kira chimed.

  I laughed. “See? We’ll get it sorted.”

  She relaxed, smiling. “All right.”

  I put the lid on the box and set it on the ground next to me before tucking into my dinner, listening to the easy chatter of my family. That was the best thing about being with them — it was always easy, where everything else in my life was a battle, uphill, in the snow and sleet and rain. The Industry was a place of lies and illusions, a city built on shifting sands, and the only way to survive was to know your enemy. And everyone was your enemy.

  Chapter 3

  Vodka Drawers

  * * *

  Annika

  * * *

  I DREW IN A SLEEPY breath when my alarm chimed. It was already light out, thanks to the long summer days, and my eyelids resisted subjecting me to the sunshine. I reached blindly for my phone, sighing once I unlocked it and the alarm stopped.

  It had been late when I finally fell asleep — I’d spent hours staring at my ceiling, thinking about how I’d failed my first interaction with Hairy, considering plans to course-correct. I didn’t have a lot of options, but they included:

  1) Apologizing and pretending we were friends, which made my stomach turn.

  2) Telling him straight up how I felt and calling for a truce, of sorts.

  I imagined meeting him again, thought through all the potential conversations we’d have, including a few possibilities that ended with a hot and heavy make-out session and some ripped clothing. I don’t know why the thought occurred to me, exactly — he was the polar opposite of any man I’d ever dated. I had requirements, such as: clean cut, ambitious, professional, refined. A man who was my equal, a match wherein we had the same goals, the same perspective, the same foundation. Guys like Hairy were the kind you met at a bar or a concert and let ravage you, do all those things you wouldn’t expect from a respectable guy. Let him own you, for a moment, at least. But they’re not the kind you keep around.

  And that was all there was to it. He was a fantasy, not a real prospect. So of course the idea of him was enticing. It was enticing because it was imagined.

  I sighed, having convinced myself I was right, and flipped off my covers before padding into the bathroom. I stopped at the sink, pausing in front of the mirror. I looked a little wild, for me — blond waves loose and framing my face, just brushing the tops of my shoulders, my eyes wide and blue, cheeks rosy, like they’d been pinched, white cotton sleep shorts and top, almost transparent.

  Sometimes I didn’t even recognize myself. It was like looking into a mirror at my past to find the old version of myself. The quiet girl who walked wide-eyed into the television industry, naively thinking it was pure and good. But it wasn’t. At the time, I’d been assigned to Laney as her PA. She was my friend and my enemy, teaching me what it took to navigate our careers through tough love and hard choices, putting me on the spot whenever she could to keep me on my toes. She was just a producer then, and we struck a quick friendship, one that evolved into a mentorship, and slowly, I’d turned into a version of her — a cold-blooded shark with a lying smile full of teeth. It was how we produced. It was how we survived. And that was how the dichotomy of my life was born.

  The old version of me disappeared unless I was with my family, and the new version was the dictator of every other aspect of my life. Every man I’d dated as an adult matched that new outlook — I’d adopted it so deeply that I could hardly remember being any other way. And they’d all been perfectly fine. I just didn’t really want fine. On top of that, I was married to my job, and that relationship was demanding, intense, and everything I’d ever wanted.

  By the time I was finished getting ready, I looked more like myself — hair tight and tidy, black cigarette pants and white silk tank, black oxfords, red lipstick. Together. Tailored. Controlled.

  I smiled at my reflection, red lips curling, ready to take over the world. Or the Upper West. Or Hairy. Whatever.

  I made my way into the kitchen, finding Roxy pouring coffee and Kira at the table watching cartoons on her tablet while she ate cereal. Her little feet swung in bobby socks and saddle shoes, plaid uniform skirt fanned out on the seat around her, blond hair neatly braided.

  “Morning,” I said, still smiling.

  Roxy smiled back, looking hideously unfashionable, for a fashion designer. Her bathrobe was pink, furry chenille — a relic of her mother’s — and she wore slippers that were basically stuffed monkeys with holes in their bellies to stuff her feet into. She also had on banana pajama pants and a tank top, her blond hair in a topknot.

  This was not an unusual outfit for her. At that hour, at least.

  “Ugh, not the monkey getup again, Roxy.”

  “And a lovely day to you, too,” she said snidely and reached for another coffee cup. “Don’t dis my thing.”

  I laughed as she poured, stopping next to her, leaning my hip on the counter. “It was a perfectly normal thing when we were twelve.”

  She shrugged and passed my coffee over. “Listen — it’s not my fault that my face happens to contort into a monkey face worthy of stupid human contest blue ribbons. Everyone made it a thing. It was literally all I got for my birthday and Hanukkah for like … well, I still get monkey stuff for my birthday and Hanukkah. Anyway, monkeys are cute.”

  I shook my head and took a sip, glancing over at Kira as I swallowed. “She’s growing up so fast.”

  Roxy sighed and folded her arms across her chest, eyes on her daughter. “I know. She’s so excited about Kindergarten starting that she insists on wearing her new uniform every day. I’ve got her talked down to Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, so that’s something.”

  “It doesn’t start for months!”

  “I know, which is why I’ve got to put the lid on it now or else they’ll be tatters by the time the first day rolls around.”

  I chuckled. “At least we know someone in the alterations and dry cleaning business.”

  “Very true. I’m dropping her off there in a bit. Thank God Dina and Max don’t mind her there all day.”

  “No way. Papa’s going to be a mopey old grump when she isn’t at the shop with him every day.”

  “Max? A grump?” She laughed. “That’s funny, Annika.”

  “What can I say? I’m a riot.”

  “I’ve always wondered where you got your grump from. It has to be genetic somewhere, but there isn’t a single member of our family who’s as serious as you.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe I’m adopted.”

  “Ha. That’d be a neat trick since we’re very clearly related.” She motioned to our faces, which looked so much alike.

  I sighed, cupping my mug in my hands. “Sometimes I feel like I’m the only one who takes things seriously. But honestly, I don’t mind. I like taking care of all you ragamuffins.”

  She snickered.

  “Honestly, I think I just have Resting Bitch Face.”

  “RBF? Yeah, sorta, but only sometimes.”

  “At work it’s always on. Because bitches get shit done.”

  She held up her hand with a laugh. “Hear, hear.”

  I slapped her palm and took a deep pull of my
coffee. “I’ve gotta run. I’m supposed to meet Laney at the apartment we rented for production. Wish me luck.”

  “Psh. What do you need luck for?”

  “Dealing with Hairy.”

  Her face contorted. “What?”

  Instant regret. “That Hairy Fucking Guy that runs the tattoo parlor.”

  She didn’t look any less confused. I sighed.

  “He’s just one of those guys, you know? Like he’s smarmy and hairy and thinks he’s hot shit.”

  One eyebrow rose. “Is he hot shit?”

  My cheeks warmed up. Traitors. “I don’t know, Roxy. He’s big and hairy and maybe has X-ray vision.”

  “As in …”

  “As in, I’m pretty sure he knows what I look like naked without having seen it with his own eyes.”

  She still looked a little confused. “Okay, so he’s a creep?”

  I huffed. “No. Yes. I mean, he is and he isn’t, you know?”

  “No.”

  My eyes rolled far enough into my skull that I could see the clock behind me, and it was time to get the hell out of that kitchen. “Yeah, you do.” I kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll see you later,” I called as I walked away.

  “This isn’t over.”

  “‘Kay,” I sang cheerily.

  “Bye, Anni!” Kira finally said, tearing her eyes away from the screen.

  “Bye, Bunny.” I kissed her head and grabbed my Tom Ford purse, flying out the door before I could answer any more questions.

  The real question was, why was he even on my mind? Which happened to be the question I definitely didn’t want the answer to.

  * * *

  T

  he driver — a different one every day — dropped me off outside of Tonic, and I climbed out, coffees in hand. I tried not to stare into the windows of the shop to see if Hairy was there as I walked by — his chair was in front by one of the windows, I knew, but it sat empty. An unfamiliar feeling sank through me and disappeared. Disappointment? I almost laughed at the absurdity.

  I grabbed both cups with one hand like I’d learned waiting tables in college and pulled open the door to the stairwell that would take me to the apartments. We’d rented one to use as our office and control room while filming, a place to store extra gear, with a green screen room to film interviews and catch a little rest.

  At the second floor landing, I passed Joel and Shep’s apartment, where he’d lived since they’d opened the shop in the nineties. It was crazy to think that when I was nine and playing in my parents’ store, he had lost both of his parents and started his own business. He’d even been married then, for God’s sake. The thought unnerved me — I became acutely aware of how very different our lives had been.

  I kept walking, climbing another two flights to get to the control room. The long wall of the living room was set up with a dozen monitors on utility shelving. Two rows of tables faced them, with our whiteboard standing in the back, complete with head shots of our cast, though otherwise they were blank, for now.

  Engineers bustled around, working on connecting playback equipment and testing the cameras. Another group sat at the tables, going over plans for construction, and I walked past, straight to the bedrooms. One room was set up for filming one-on-ones, and the other contained fully decorated room which included a couch and two desks — mine and Laney’s. My own desk. Executive producer of my own show.

  I couldn’t help but smile.

  Laney looked up from the papers on her desk as I approached, setting her coffee down next to her. “Morning.”

  She picked up her drink and took a sip. “You know we have PAs for this, right?”

  I shrugged. “Old habits, I guess.” I took a seat across from her and sat back in my chair with a sigh, panning the room once more.

  “Not too bad, huh?” she asked, looking around with a smile.

  “Not bad at all. I can’t believe they hung paintings and mirrors in here. I mean, there’s a rug. Who got a rug?”

  “It was of my demands — an office where I could spend all day, every day, happily. Relatively, at least.”

  I chuckled. “Yeah, well, it’s not like our jobs are very Zen.”

  “Not at all, which is why we deserve a sanctuary. How are your parents?” She folded her arms on the table, and her dark hair swung over her shoulder, framing her face.

  “Good. They gave a giant box of ledgers to go through so I can figure out how they can retire, so that should be fun in all my spare time.”

  “Ha.”

  “Exactly.” I sat up and leaned on my desk. “So, what’s first on the agenda?”

  “Well,” she started, scanning her computer screen, “the first thing I need are those contracts. If we can get construction going tomorrow, we could be ready to roll Sunday for filming.”

  “Excellent.”

  “Why don’t you go down there and grab them?” There was a sly undertone to her words I didn’t trust.

  “Can’t we send a PA?” My eyes narrowed.

  “Nope. They’re not all here yet. Besides, you may need to talk someone into signing still. So, scoot.”

  I didn’t move to stand, just kept eyeing her.

  “Joel’s not down there, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “It’s not,” I lied. Plans or no plans, I wasn’t ready to see him just yet. Too much pressure not to buckle like I had last night.

  “Seriously, he’s not there. Just go talk to Shep. He doesn’t bite.”

  I rolled my eyes and pushed away from the desk. “Fine.”

  “Oh,” she said as I walked past, “be sure to ask him to close the store tomorrow for construction, would you?”

  “I’m sure he’ll take that well.”

  She shrugged. “Like I said — they know what they signed up for. Good luck.”

  “We don’t happen to have any beer or whiskey or anything to bribe them with, do we?”

  Laney laughed. “You don’t need it. Bye, Annika,” she said pointedly.

  I planned out my attack as I descended the stairs, and by the time I pulled open the door, I was prepped and ready. Until I looked up and saw not-Shep behind the counter.

  Hairy was smirking, shoulders broad and muscular in a white T-shirt that was tight in all the right places, or wrong, depending on your angle. The sleeves were tight around his biceps, which were covered in ink, the crisp, clean whiteness of the fabric against the dark ink in his skin calling my eyes to it, a harsh line of contrast that demanded attention. He leaned on the counter, palms flat on the surface, the apples of his cheeks tight with his smile.

  “Well, well, well. Morning, princess. Didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

  I kept walking, keeping my face still as I approached him, all business on the outside. “Good morning. Laney sent me down for the contracts. Did you have them ready? Or should I come back later?”

  “I’ve got them,” he answered, still with that smirk on his face as he reached under the counter and retrieved a folder.

  “All of them?”

  He held them out for me to take. “All of them.”

  “Thank you,” I said tightly and reached for them, but he snatched them back before I had a chance to grab them.

  “Ah, ah, ah. How come you came down to get these?”

  A flush crept up my neck, feeling foolish that he’d tricked me. “I told you, Laney sent me.”

  His eyes sparked, the greens and browns and golds of his irises twinkling with amusement as he leaned on the counter. “What, you didn’t want to see me? I’m hurt.”

  I let out a controlled breath. Handle him. “Listen. I think we got off on the wrong foot last night. I’m sorry I called you an asshole—”

  “No, you’re not.”

  My lips tightened. “All right, I’m not. I don’t like being ogled or spoken to like a good-time girl. That’s not what I am. I’d like to make that perfectly clear.”

  “Trust me, princess. It’s perfectly clear.”

 
I leveled my eyes at him. “But my distaste for you doesn’t affect my ability to do my job. So, I want to call a truce.”

  “A truce? I didn’t realize we were at war.”

  “Didn’t you? Seems to me like you’ve got your cannon loaded.”

  He laughed, a big, happy sound that might have made me smile, if I hadn’t been so pissed off.

  “You know what I mean,” I snapped.

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I know exactly what you mean,” he quipped back, that smug bastard. “So, what are your terms?”

  “Stop trying to pick me up.”

  He measured me with his eyes. “Oh, I’m sure I could pick you up. You weigh, what, one-twenty-five?”

  I turned on my laser beams and tried to flatten him with them. “Mr. Anderson. Stop hitting on me. You realize this is sexual harassment?”

  “Psh, I’m not even your boss.”

  “That doesn’t matter, you’re still harassing me.”

  He watched me for a second, his smile finally faltering. “You’re serious.”

  “Of course I’m serious. Wait, you’re not one of those No means yes guys, are you?”

  He made a face. “No. Believe it or not, I don’t typically have a problem picking up women.”

  I made a face back that said I thought he was vain, and his face fell. He looked cowed, his full lips turned down at the corners.

  “Listen, I’m sorry, An—” he cleared his throat, “—Ms. Belousov. It really was all in good fun.”

  Somehow, I felt like a bitch for forcing him to apologize, like I didn’t know he was toying with me. But I reminded myself of my discomfort. I had every right to ask for what I wanted from him, and that was for him to leave me alone.

  I thought it was, at least. With him looking all sorry, I almost backed down. But I didn’t because I’m probably one of the most stubborn people on the planet.

  “Thank you,” I said after a moment.

  He nodded once. “You’re welcome.”

  I relaxed a little. “Are you able to close the shop tomorrow for construction?”

  He full-on frowned at that. “It’s Saturday. We’ve got a full day booked for almost our entire staff.”