Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“How thoughtful of you to make sure we have dinner first before murder,” I say before pulling out onto the main road.
“Don’t pretend the dinner isn’t just an appetizer to you on nights like these.”
I’d smile if it were something I was capable of.
CHAPTER 8
Lena
Alek Ivanov is a dick. No, worse. He’s a lovestruck dick who’s involved me in his fixation. But he’s also a wealthy asshole who made my life a hell of a lot easier.
I paid my parents back the moment I received the money two weeks ago. I couldn’t have been happier to have that weight lifted off my shoulders. It felt so good, even if I didn’t actually work for the money. They asked me a lot of questions about the money, all which I deflected. They wouldn’t believe I got it from my singing. With my brother being a doctor, you can say their disappointment in my chosen occupation is very real.
But I never let it stop me from doing what I want. Even if it means hurting the feelings of those I love. Singing is what I was put on this planet for, so stopping it would be like denying my next breath.
I haven’t seen Alek since that night two weeks ago, and to say I’m relieved is an understatement. I was nervous the first few nights coming in for rehearsals, almost expecting his uptight assholeness to be sitting in his usual chair. Maybe what I said offended him. Good.
We’re finishing our rehearsal as my boss approaches me before anyone leaves the stage.
“Fantastic. Everyone, go have some refreshments in the back.” He applauds and looks up at me on the stage. “Lena, please follow me to my office. There’s something we have to discuss,” Matthew says, and he isn’t his usual happy self this time as he walks away.
Fuck, have I done something seriously wrong? Matthew is never mad. Stressed sometimes but never angry.
“What did you do to get his panties in a twist?” Julie leans over and whispers.
I shrug, not entirely sure. Although the extra cash helped, I still haven’t quit my job at the bar—it’s good to be cautious—but there’s no way I can lose this job. I’m not really sure what I would do, and the bar work isn’t enough income for me to live on. It’s also not what I love.
I jump from the stage and walk in the direction of his office. Matthew is already waiting inside, sitting at his desk. It’s a small office, crowded by framed photos on the walls of previous casts and shows. His desk is flooded with scribblings of what might be another script, and the room is far too dusty for my liking.
He indicates that I should close the door, but a cold dread washes over me. Fuck, am I going to be dumped from the show? What did I do?
“Tell me honestly, have you done something to our investor?” I look at him, confused, unsure as to who he’s even talking about. “Alek Ivanov. Did you do something?”
Goose bumps erupt over my skin.
Shit, maybe I shouldn’t have sworn at him. No, he deserved it. The asshole.
But would he really stoop so low as to cost me my job?
“No. Why, what’s wrong?” I ask. I can’t lose this job, and the desperation quivers in my voice.
He sighs and reaches for a piece of paper on top of the crumpled-up scripts. He pushes it toward me. I lean over the desk, too scared to be close in case the chaotic mess swallows me whole.
The piece of paper is a new contract. My eyebrows furrow in confusion as I skim over it. It has my name on it and a wage that is double what I receive now. What the hell?
“I have a contract,” I say, unsure as to what the fuck is happening. Usually, when someone sees their wage has doubled, they’re excited, but this feels far more ominous than that.
“This is another contract requiring that you sing outside of work once every two weeks at his choosing.” I look down at it again. “It’s an unusual request, and Alek didn’t seem entirely pleased when making it. We don’t usually accept such requests, but we don’t want to upset him since he has been a major sponsor for a long time.”
“He wants me to sing for him?” I ask, confused. I assumed he hated me. Maybe I was wrong. No, he does hate me. He must be trying to use me for information. Information I don’t have.
“He does. There is an additional clause in there, however.”
“An additional clause?” I pick up the contract to read the entire thing thoroughly.
“Yes. You have to quit your job at the bar,” he says so quietly I’m almost certain I didn’t hear him right.
When he doesn’t correct himself, my jaw drops. “What?”