"Care to join me for a drink tonight… and maybe something more?" she asks, a devilish grin on her face. I know
exactly what she's insinuating.
"Not tonight doll," I say dismissively. Don't get me wrong; she's hot and easily fuckable, but I just don't care. Normally, I'd be up for bending most of these women over and fucking them… but now I have my sights on only one. Yes, I know it's hard to believe, but it's true. Ethan fucking Kane getting attached? But before you think I'm growing soft on you, I'm not. I'm just into Brittney, okay?
I watch as a frown forms on the actress' face—I can't even remember her name—and she moves on. I don't think most of these new actresses ever expected me to be so uninterested in them—given my reputation and all.
I enjoy a relatively peaceful next 20 minutes when I suddenly feel two arms wrapped around my waist.
"How's my handsome boss today?" the voice asks. I turn around and see that it's Carla. Remember her from the scene we shot in the upper middle-class suburban home, complete with crochet on the tables, a giant 52” flat screen TV on the wall, pictures of a fictional family, and a roaring fireplace?
That was all before Brittney. Back then, it felt fine fucking Carla. She wasn't anything amazing, but my cock didn't seem to complain. After Brittney, I don't want anything to do fucking do with her.
I give Carla a smile but don't say much. I really don't have anything to say, but I don't want to be over-the-top rude.
"When are we gonna shoot another scene together?" she purrs.
"I'm really too busy for that these days," I say. She gives me a puzzled look. I've never been one to stay out of shoots completely. But she shrugs her own confusion away, gives me one more quick hug goodbye, and walks off.
I begin to walk off as well, and then hear another voice.
"Ethan, there you are!"
Great. Can't I get any time to think around this place without women fawning all over me?
"Look, I need everyone to leave me al—" I say, but I'm cut off. It's Cheryl.
"It's important," she says.
"Sorry, I didn't realize it was you," I reply. "I've been bombarded ever since I walked in the door."
"Where's the prototype?" she asks me. "You left here with it yesterday, but I don't see it anywhere."
"I left it at home."
"You what?" Cheryl asks. She looks genuinely shocked.
"It's fine. I'll bring it back in tomorrow."
"Ethan, do you realize what you've done? You've left our only prototype—the one piece of technology that we're banking on and pouring all of our resources into—exposed and unguarded. Would you leave a million dollars on the sidewalk and expect it to be there the next day?"
"It's not like I left it on the street corner," I say. "That's not a good analogy. This is my apartment we're talking about. It's safe there. No one is going to touch it."
"Are you sure about that?" Cheryl asks, her eyes narrowing. "I don't think that was the wisest thing to do because you weren't alone … You had Brittney over."
"How did you know that?" I ask.
"I dropped her off near One57 yesterday and just as I thought, she ended up at your place.”
For a moment I wonder if Cheryl has resorted to stalking me at my own apartment now.
"Look, I know you worry, but I trust her," I say.
"Since when have you become so trusting of strangers?" she asks.
"It's not like that … I've gotten to really know Brittney. She's not a stranger. I can trust her. She's opened up to me. You can trust her too."
Are you listening to yourself?" Cheryl asks, shaking her head. "Prove to me that she can be trusted."