After Effect

by Leann Belle

But last night, Finchy here was practically a coy, dirty little sex kitten. Today, I don’t even think he likes me.

  I stifled a sigh while I kept my eyes fixed on a wandering heifer in the field behind him.

  Finch puttered up and rested an elbow on the handlebars to prop himself up on his hand. Those hot and cold blue eyes barged right into mine, as if someone had sold him a free pass to my soul. Maybe he was scarier without his glasses, after all. “Penny for your thoughts?”

  Would it only cost a penny to have you bend me over that scooter?

  “Just thinking about how nice out it is today.” Better to lie in this case. “We can head back whenever you’d like. I’ll give you a ride to the bus station. Or we can take the scooter all the way back to the city.”

  “I don’t mind the scooter.” Somehow in my distraction, I didn’t notice that he had developed a shit eating grin on his face. “I’ll drive this time.”

  “You don’t drive a scooter. You ride it. If you can’t even get that part right, you’re not ready yet.” I pursed my lips. There is not a chance in hell I’m getting on the back of that bike with him on the front. “Cars hurt a lot more than hay bales when you hit into them, you know.”

  “Do they? I might have to give that a try next.” Finch shrugged. “I’m serious though. Let me ride us back. You navigate. If it doesn’t work out, we’ll trade places.”

  “No deal! Do you know how dangerous it is to ride a scooter through Los Angeles? We’re going to be riding around cars and road rage and cliffs and soccer moms!”

  “Oh, so you’re scared.” Finch’s voice was so matter-of-fact when he made that statement that I could have punched him, and no one would have thought it was unjust.

  “No, I’m not scared. It’s just-“

  “Then there’s no problem.” He gave the back of my leather banana seat a solid pat.

  “No! Still no!” He’s crazy. He’s completely crazy. He’ll get us killed. I’m too young and hot and talented to be killed on my eight horsepower scooter.

  “Then how about this?” Finch leaned forward over the bars, while he kept his eyes on me. “If you do this for me, I’ll be in your debt.”

  I lifted my eyebrow. “And?”

  “I’ll owe you.”

  “And?”

  “You can make any request you want, and I’ll oblige.”

  I eyed him suspiciously. You do not want to put yourself in this position, Finchy. “Why is this so important to you? You hadn’t even ridden a two wheeled vehicle until a few minutes ago.”

  Finch let out an exasperated sigh. He shook his head, then came back up to meet my gaze with a smile. “You can trust me, too.”

  ###

  I’m such an idiot.

  The little scooter puttered beneath me as I squeezed Finch from behind. My arms were wrapped around his waist, but I stayed mindful to never drop them below that. I didn’t need to be reminded about what was between his legs. Nor did I need to acknowledge the implications of saying he’s currently between my legs. I had never been so thankful that I was too terrified of dying to be aroused by the warmth and proximity.

  The start of the trip had been a lot of ‘slow down!’ and ‘watch out for that car!’ and ‘Stop sign! Stop sign! Stop Sign!’ My voice was about worn out now, so I switched to gasping and intermittent sobs.

  But Finch seemed to know the area better than I ever would have expected, as he effortlessly navigated through the grid of strawberry farms to the open stretch onto the Pacific Coast Highway.

  The sea air was immediately thick and cold and salty. I pulled myself closer to Finch just to steal a little bit of his warmth.

  “This is kind of the long way around, isn’t it?” I yelled into his ear as he navigated the first sweeping turn of the seaside mountain road. Despite all my complaining, he was actually riding just fine. Once his initial learning pains were out of the way, he had a natural talent for hugging the turns. His body just knew what to do.

  I wish life was ever this effortless for me. Even singing, the one single thing I’m supposed to be good at. In my own room, I’m good enough to catch the attention of ALIVE Records. But the second I’m in front of people who might judge me? I’m lucky if I can manage to pull off a midrange tenor.

  Finch continued along the two lane black top, back and forth, until we came upon an unusually large overlook. He pulled onto the dirt and parked beside the guard rail.

  “Come on. I’ll show you something.” He waved his hand before promptly jumping over the rail. I looked over to see him shimmying across a rocky ledge.

  “That… doesn’t look safe…” Who was this guy? What happened to the business minded intern who made me feel like an idiot every time I choked? Finch seemed like a completely different person outside of work, one-on-one, when there’s nothing at stake.

  Ugh. I already want to jump his bones. The last thing I need is to start liking his personality, too.

  Fortunately, the one thing I did have going for me was balance. Years of dance practice made sure of that. I jumped the rail, and shimmied along. Eventually, the cliff side cut in to a small cubby that overlooked the waves, and every crash against the rocks below created a cooling mist around us. It was near death defying just to get there, but the view was well worth it.

  “What’s this?” I ducked into the cubby, while Finch took a seat against the rocky wall, leaving his sights on the ocean.

  “Yesterday, you got to see where my father died…” He began. His tone was both serious and unreadable. “Today I want to show you where he lived.”

  “So you grew up under a rock? That makes so much more sense now.”

  “Very funny.” Finch rolled his eyes, though the soft smile on his lips betrayed him. “He used to bring me here when I was having a bad day. He’d take me for a ride up Mulholland. We’d get some pistachio ice cream in Malibu, then we’d tuck in here, out of sight and away from the troubles of the world, to eat it.”

  “Pistachio? Just too classy for vanilla, were you?”

  “My tastes would never be that bland.”

  “Of course, of course. What was I thinking?” I tossed him a snide grin and settled in next to him. “How old were you when he got into the accident?”

  “Fourteen.” Finch frowned.

  “Was your mom in the car, too?”

  “No, but she died around the same time. It’s… complicated.”

  I wasn’t sure I should press further. It all felt entirely too personal to talk about with someone who was technically my boss. After a long pause, I turned to him again. “Why are you showing me this?” I was happy he was. Happier than I even understood. But I didn’t feel like it made sense. This wasn’t our relationship. I’m not even sure it ever could be.

  Finch’s expression remained static as he ran a hand down his chin where a light stubble had formed overnight. “We’ve got a ten song album to write… I thought it might inspire you.”

  Finch wouldn’t make eye contact anymore. Instead, he put an arm around my shoulder, and continued to look at the sea. It was the kind of ambiguous gesture that, with all its simplicity, could be the most intimate thing in the world or the most deeply platonic. And I hated every part of my brain that wanted it to be the former.

  Chapter 8

  Finch Corbin

  Two Months Later

  The first album recording went off without a hitch. Lilly’s voice was polished, sexy, and evocative, the lyrics were powerful and relatable, and there wasn’t the vaguest doubt in my mind that she was going to blow America wide open when her first single dropped. We had to spend about every waking minute together for the last couple weeks to get it done, but in all the hustle and bustle, we had fortunately both managed to avoid talking about anything other than work.

  Errr, obviously. Because what else would we talk about? We didn’t need to talk about that night at the club, and we didn’t need to talk about the day after. I would rather a coworker never see me in that kind of state. But in this c
ase, opening up to her seemed to have given her a touch more confidence, and she had been performing flawlessly in front of our test audiences so long as I was there. So we’ll call that little day trip ‘team building.’ That’s a good phrase. Very professional.

  Sigh.

  But the excess of work was a needed distraction. I had done a lot of footwork, I had made more phone calls in the last week than I had in the combined total of my lifetime, and I knew I was about to make Christian Baek shove his doubt right back down his throat.

  Which is good, because I don’t have enough soul left to sell if he doesn’t. The only worry I did still have was, well, the album release party. A brilliant album didn’t mean anything if no one knew it existed. But in order to get that kind of backing, I needed a little help.

  I tapped on the door to the marketing department. “Jonathan, can I ask you for some advice?”

  “One moment.” Jonathan swiftly typed a long string of text, then hit submit and returned his attention to me. “How can I help you today, Finch?”

  “I need to coordinate an album launch for Lilly and… I’m not sure what kind of resources we have.”

  “What kind of resources are you hoping for.” He was always smiling. Upbeat to the point that it was almost a little annoying. But it at least made him easy to talk to.

  “Television would obviously be ideal, but I know that’s a touch more high profile than I can ask for at this point… maybe a live radio show?”

  “Hmmm…” He tapped his finger on the desk a few times as he pondered my request. “I have some contacts I could shoot you. Maybe 98.5 KLOL, or 104.7 KGod.”

  A country or a gospel station? “That’s… hardly our target audience.” I mumbled under my breath. “What about KRAW?”

  Jonathan pursed his lips. “They’re… tough. Our relationship with them hasn’t been strong lately. We had a popstar who went a little rogue, and ended up with a bit of a scandal when she cheated on Greg Winner. Haven’t worked with them since.”

  “That’s unfortunate.”

  “Yeah, really was.”

  We both stood in silence for several seconds. Then Jonathan spoke again. “So… KGod?”

  “Yeah…” Because a gospel and Cristian rock station is the perfect home for Lilly moaning an erotic love song into the mic.

  Goddamn it. We got a whole album recorded. This should be the easy part.

  As I headed back to my desk, I couldn’t help but notice Baek’s office door was open.

  … I guess I could ask him. I mean, it’s in his best interest for me to succeed, right? I’m already in debt to him on near slavery levels. What’s another chain or two.

  I approached his door cautiously, not committing to entering until I knew for sure he wasn’t mid-phone call or something.

  “I’ll keep an eye on him.” The words were only muffled by distance. “Of course… Yes, that’s all.” The sound of the phone returning to the receiver punctuated the air. I waited another minute before I entered his potential line of sight, to make sure he didn’t think I was listening in on his phone call.

  Then I stepped into the room. “Mr. Baek, do you have a minute?”

  His eyes immediately shot to mine. There was something different about his dark eyes today. Worry? Maybe he was… shaken? I couldn’t quite tell. I suddenly regretted having come here at all.

  But not much to my surprise, he exhaled that uneasy expression, and inhaled his usual cold command. “A minute. I’ll be counting.”

  “That’s all I need. I want to get Lilly Cisneros an album release party on the radio. I’m thinking KRAW.”

  “I’m sure Jonathan already would have told you about our relationship with KRAW lately.” He looked unamused.

  “What if we offered an exclusive track, to only be heard on KRAW for the first month.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

  “I’ll pick the strongest track on the album, and we’ll separate it out as a single for the wide release. Listeners who love the song will chime in to their station to get the chance to hear it, and we can offer a small commission on digital downloads via their website.”

  “Interesting. I don’t hate the idea.” He folded his hands on his desk. “I can make the proposal to Clinton. He heads the Whirl Media Group. There won’t be an argument.”

  Just like that?

  “And in return…” He continued.

  Not just like that.

  “I have an errand for you. Just a simple delivery.”

  “A delivery?” Why not just use the post office?

  “You’re still an intern, Corbin. This is hardly above you.”

  Unnecessary. “Of course. That won’t be a problem, sir.”

  ###

  ALIVE Records apparently had some kind of warehouse in Long Beach. It was a solid two hours of driving from the downtown office when I left after work. I tuned in to KRAW for the whole ride, listening for any subtleties and idiosyncrasies in Greg Winner’s presentation that might give me more insight into his character and tastes. Any advantage I could find.

  When I arrived at the warehouse, it was as massive as it was nondescript. A blank canvas of a building, with bricks painted in dirty white, a half-assed graffiti on the back wall, and rust on the bars over the office window. I knocked on a door with chipping paint. This didn’t feel at all like what I expected of an entertainment company warehouse.

  I knocked again. It was nearly two minutes before someone answered the door. When they did, he was a short, yet incredibly average looking, man. He had shaggy hair, and tired grey eyes atop a bland flannel shirt.

  “You must be Corbin.” He nodded to himself. “Where’s your car parked?”

  “It’s just down the street… Is this package big?” I eyed the man suspiciously. He didn’t invite me in. He didn’t extend his hand. He didn’t even introduce himself.

  “Pull it around back. I’ll meet you out there.” The man closed the door in my face. It was a few seconds before it registered that he wasn’t coming back. I turned on my heel and walked down to my black Mercedes. I rolled into the alleyway, squeezing past a semi that didn’t remotely fit in the spot it was parked in, then backed up against the garage.

  An aluminum door slid upward as I got out of the car.

  “Pop your trunk.”

  “Of course.” I held the remote at eye level and pressed the button. Without another word, he tucked a briefcase in my trunk, then slammed it shut. I winced just watching him manhandle my poor car. “Is that all?”

  “Yep.” As quickly as he came, the man disappeared into the warehouse and shut the door.

  Well that was strange. If it’s just a briefcase it would have fit in the cab.

  I shrugged and got back in the car. The delivery point was right by Lilly’s. I picked up my phone and hovered over her number…

  No, probably shouldn’t text her. By the time I got out there, it would be long passed dark.

  I sat through traffic on the 405. By the time I got to the 101, it was late enough for the roads to open up. On the other side of those 80 miles, I pulled into a parking lot in an outdoor mall.

  I checked the address Baek had texted me again. It coincided perfectly with… A pizza place? Dropping off a delivery to a pizza place? The irony wasn’t lost on me.

  I kept my lights on as I moved around to the trunk. I reached took a hold of the briefcase and hoisted it out of my car.

  Oh fuck that’s heavy. The weight of the case nearly pulled my arm from its socket. What the fuck. Am I delivering a box of lead?

  The shop was dark, not a single light showing through the full length windows. Chairs were already atop the tables. Am I too late? Did I already miss my opportunity?

  I approached the door just the same. A small buzzer, white and rectangular, was positioned above the door handle. I gave it a press.

  No answer.

  Maybe this is the wrong place? I pulled up Baek’s number on my phone, but before I could hit dial, t
he door flew open. A man dressed with dark skin and dark clothing stood before me, barely visible in the night.

  He gave me a nod, and took the briefcase without a word, moving swiftly back into the depths of the Pizzaria.

  Well, that was fucking weird.

  I shrugged outwardly, then returned to my car. 10:30PM…

  Lilly’s probably still up.

  She picked up after the first ring “Finchy?”

  “Lilly.” The moment she answered, it suddenly occurred to me that I had no idea what I was calling her for. “Have you eaten dinner?”

  “It’s 10:30PM. Is this a trick question to make sure I’m sticking to my diet?” Her voice was playful.

  “No, I… I just happened to be in the area.” God, I sound like an idiot.

  “You just happened to be in Oxnard?”

  “Yeah,”

  “And you’re hungry?”

  “Uh-“ My stomach growled loudly enough that she could probably hear it through the line.

  Her laugh filled the receiver. “Come over. You know the address,”

  She hung up, and I sat there in my leather seats, staring at the screen of my phone. Why did I do that?

  I guess there’s no turning back now.

  I pulled up to Cisneros con Gandules. It was closed for the night, as I had figured. I went around back to Lilly’s door. It was slightly ajar, a dim light seeping from the crack.

  I approached quietly and nudged the door open. I was immediately bombarded with the scent of Latin spices. Lilly’s voice carried down the hall, loud enough to be heard a few rooms over from the kitchen as she sang an old country song with playful notes. I stepped through the open door, and inched toward the kitchen.

  Fresh cilantro and garlic tickled my nose. I could hear the sound of sizzling meats and sautéing vegetables. God it all smelled so good. My stomach grumbled in approval.

  Then I heard another woman’s voice. I stopped in my tracks, making sure I was nowhere near the kitchen’s line of sight. “Ah, no sweetie! You don’t put cheese on that.”

  “What? Why? Cheese makes everything better.” Lilly retorted with a whimper.

  “It’s a complete butchering of the dish. Do you want to impress this ‘friend’ of yours, or are you going to go rogue on me?” Her tone carried the gentle but stern chastising that only a mother could master.