by Sunniva Dee
“I bet it is; Emil can’t get over how much he likes his wife.” He suppresses a smile. “It’s sort of a cock-rocker tune, for sure, but it’s fucking catchy.”
“It’s a sign,” I say.
“Of what?”
“You got a video for it yet?”
“Not yet, no. We record before making the videos.”
“Ah of course.” I lean back in my chair, making it creak. “Here’s the thing. From my experience, there are two ways of standing out from the competition in most businesses: thinking outside the box, and cross-promotion. Music is art, but it’s also a business. Hence, the name ‘music industry,’ right?” I nod at my own obvious description, and Troy bobs his head in agreement.
“Well, here’s something that hasn’t been done before: a rock band using an adult entertainment company’s promotional channels to acquire a broader audience.”
I exhale, letting him consider what I’m implying. Troy’s bright. He catches on immediately; though his face remains frozen, his pupils widen, darkening his gaze for the second that gives him away.
He crosses his arms. “How?”
“You don’t think my audience listens to music? I could take ‘Deep in You’ to a whole new level. I run a tight studio, and since I took over, we’ve procured state-of-the art equipment and the best of the best across the board. I’m talking directors, producers, editors, gaffers, and everything in between. There isn’t a single person on the non-performer side of my payroll with less than five years of experience and a college degree within their craft, most of whom have prestigious awards under their belts by the time their asses land on Hillside.”
“As in ‘Best Filming of a…’ Never mind.” Troy closes his eyes, censoring his own joke. I’m not above appreciating it though, so I chuckle.
“Yeah, there’re definitely a few of those, but to be honest, the competition is so fierce my guys are mainstream quality. Anyway.” I clap my hands together. “I want to try something new.”
“Go mainstream?”
“Not exactly. Rock music and passion go hand in hand, which Clown Irruption’s lyrics prove. I still have that one song… what’s it called—‘Fuck You?’—stuck in my head. Damn infectious that thing. Basically, to make a long story short, Lucid Entertainment has script writers who can set you up for ‘Deep in You’ to become the most watched music video since the heyday of MTV.”
Troy stares me down. All deep and scorching and velvety, he’s a perfect sight for Gianni’s lens. Blinking slowly, he shakes his head. “Are you proposing what I think you are?”
“Try me.” I break out a shit-eating wolf smile.
“You want to make a music video that’s basically porn.”
He needs to get it out of his system before I dig in, so I don’t reply. Instead, I lift my shoulders in a shrug.
“I have to be honest, man. That’s not going to fly. We’ll get no playtime anywhere with an X-rated video.”
“That’s true, man. True.”
He arches his brows at me, his face at its most expressive so far.
“I’m branching out, and you’d be branching out: you’ve never made sweet music with the adult industry before. We’ve never worked with rock bands before. So here’s my plan: provide my script writer with the lyrics and an early cut of the song. Let her play with it.”
“She’s good?”
“Really good and very versatile. Came from Disney, actually.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Not kidding. It’ll be softcore, showing minimal skin but alluding to a whole lot of action. And the performers are you, the band and your women.”
“What? No way. One thing is some kind of censored porn video, but Bo will never go for that.”
I take a moment, enjoying his balking. The hunt is on. I love this part where I’ve got people in disbelief while knowing I’m onto something.
“Don’t get me wrong, Troy. I research my potential business partners, and there are reasons why Clown Irruption is my first choice among the high-profile bands out there.”
“Our looks?” He huffs out a quiet laugh.
“Important, but more than your looks and magnetism, it’s where the band is in its cycle. At this point, your music constantly hits top hundred, which is great. Within days though, it drops. You need something spectacular to keep you there longer, and that’s where Lucid comes into the picture. The fact that you have a record brewing is perfect.”
He shakes his head. I smile.
“So far, everything I’ve learned about Bo Lindgren and Clown Irruption points to an astute business instinct and a sense of timing. My gut feeling tells me you guys will sit down and coolly consider the pros and cons of my offer. Best part is, if you’re not releasing for a few more months, we’ll have time to negotiate a deal that can meet both parties’ wettest dreams.”
Troy’s features remain still for another moment. Then his mouth inflates with a small snort. “There’s no way Bo would agree to having sex on film. He’s private as hell. Not to mention Nadia; she’d make sure they didn’t do it, for sure.”
“She’s bossy?”
“Not really. It’s one of those things, man. A look, and he’ll do anything to keep her happy.”
“Ah. We call that ‘pussy-whipped’ where I come from.”
“Dude.” His stare hardens. “Not the two of them.”
It’s not often I misread people and have to backtrack, but I didn’t know how deep Troy’s loyalty to the bandleader and his wife ran. I’m good with that. These loyalties don’t come unwarranted, and I won’t be questioning it. An apology won’t help, though, so I simply say, “Got it.”
From what I’ve seen of the bass player, Elias, I’m not worried. I get the feeling he’s a follower, and clearly, his moral scruples aren’t all that developed. But I do want to know more about the front man. “What about your singer? He’s a good-looking fellow. Has that sunny Swedish thing about him.”
“Emil?”
“Mm-hmm.” I scan for his instinctive reactions.
Troy’s gaze draws toward a commotion in the hallway. It’s just someone finding the restroom and exchanging slapstick one-liners with a fellow partier on the way there. “Emil will do anything Zoe’s up for. She’s crazy. She could slap you in the face over a suggestion like this, or freaking insist on directing it herself.”
“Ah. A handful?”
He rolls his eyes. “You could say that. She’s also the only chick to ever have kept Emil’s attention for more than five minutes, so there’s that. Anyway, long story short, your proposal is far out. To be frank, I don’t believe the band will go for it.”
Slowly, I sit up in my chair and scoot my elbows forward on the desk. “Would you?”
It’s four fifteen in the morning, and the party’s over at the studio. The cleaning crew has arrived, and I’m heading down to the house.
I’m satisfied with what I’ve accomplished. I’ve planted a seed in Troy’s head, and he’ll be discussing it with the others—I’m sure of it. Despite his self-control, it wasn’t hard to tell his reaction; he’s shocked and intrigued. Last thing I said was I’d give him a call in a few days—just to chat, you know. Rome wasn’t built in a day.
I smile, loving this part of life. Unintentionally, I pass the exit to my house and don’t realize it until I’m halfway to the Valley bottom.
Okay, so it’s not unintentional. I need a quick fill of Kristen and the other babies at the NICU before I go to bed. Though I’m not the caretaker of any child, it makes a little something feel good in my chest to see them there. So innocent, so new, so unspoiled by the world.
Sister Margaret’s on my speed dial. She’s not happy with that turn of events, but if she’s at work, she picks up every time.
“Sister Margaret?” I ask. Formalities, man. They sure sound stupid sometimes.
“Mr. Nascimbeni, per favore.” She commits a wary sigh. “It’s late.”
“Or early. It’s nice to hear your voice too.”
That makes her huff. “What do you want from me?”
“How’s Kristen?”
“She’s doing great, actually. She was kicking her feet so hard this afternoon she almost lost a little booty.”
“Seriously?” This is good news. “What are the doctors saying?”
“They think she’ll be out of here sooner than the two weeks they originally predicted.”
“She’s strong. The other day, she squeezed my finger.”
“Yes, she does squeeze your finger now!” She can’t help laughing, and I join her.
She tells me this time is an exception. It’s the only time I get to visit her babies. I’m not family, see, and I should not be there. I can give my donation to the NICU via the hospital website.
I agree with her. I promise I’ll never ask for such a favor again. “I do make your job easier, though, by freeing up time for your other babies.”
She grunts her disagreement. I let my amusement puff out through my nostrils.
I didn’t lie to Troy; I always do my research before launching a new business prospect. It’s about using your connections, associates, partners, others’ paid help—in my case people from Il Lince’s organization. Sometimes, I use bribed civilians. I use firemen and law officers. Growing up mob, this is as natural as breathing. Now, I do the same with the beautiful Tatiana of the Valley.
I can’t say I’m well versed in nun behavior, but this girl must be offbeat with the rest of her pack. Perhaps it’s different for young novices, before they’re fully committed to their calling. For now, I guess she’s sort of a pledge to the Order of St. Catherine? It might be why she removes her robe before leaving the St. Tatiana at night.
My men report that she doesn’t frequent the little church next to her sisterhood’s apartment complex. Her curtains are always drawn, or I would have made them study her behavior in the room too; the more you know about someone, the easier it is to strike their chords and make them whimper.
It takes me a week to gather enough intel to make my next move. My last stint was too impulsive and didn’t work on her, a mistake I won’t be repeating; no woman ignores Isaias di Nascimbeni twice, and I’ll be making sure of that today.
I run through what I know about Tatiana on the way to the church. She’s the middle sibling of a small family from San Francisco. Father works in Silicon Valley. Mother is a stay-at-home wife, while her two brothers have long since moved out. By the pictures on the wall, the family adores their little girl. Girl scout, Halloween, and Christmas photos. There’s one of her being blessed by a higher-ranked priest, a confirmation picture judging by her age.
Her studies at the University of St. John weren’t theological. What stood out from her transcript was the forensic science classes she took. Funny how this little beauty could have been dangerous to my father.
What I like about her past is that her novice status with the sisterhood seems like a spur of the moment decision. It surprises me that they let her in, but the nuns seem legit enough.
I enter the St. Tatiana. It’s broad daylight, and my only errand is some close-up sparring with my beauty. This I already know about her: she’s passionate. So much so, she dropped her mundane, everyday life to follow something she believed in. Still, she’s not fully committed to her cloak. If she were, she wouldn’t have removed it before exiting the church.
Profiling tells me she’s acutely intelligent, which is interesting as hell combined with the fact that I affect her. When I last saw her, she spent all her energy ignoring the fuck out of me, and that shit doesn’t happen without reason.
I spot her right away by a rack of prayer candles. She’s cleaning out burned-down ones and replenishing with new ones, and I reach her before she has time to escape. Until now, I’ve taken the blunt route, stormed in on testosterone-driven impulse, but this new approach is going to get me further. Tatiana, my latest business venture. Fuck, it’s nice to have to work for it.
“Hey there,” I greet quietly.
She tenses but doesn’t look at me. My heart does some kind of odd jump at that. I run my eyes over her, cataloging her frame under the black tent she’s wearing. I have a pretty good idea of how she looks naked.
“How is la bella Tatiana today?”
Her fingers flick candle crumbs off the stand and onto a dustpan. She’s so, so busy, and my cock hardens at her studious omission of me. I lower my voice. “Are you going to ignore me again?”
No answer is needed as she starts on her walk to the front of the church. I saunter after her; with the majestic stride she’s got going, she could be in some procession on her way toward the altar.
“She’s speechless,” I murmur. “Hmm, I could’ve sworn she had a tongue, a damn sharp one too.”
“Don’t swear in God’s house,” she clips, and for that moment, I have her full attention, light-light crystal grey eyes sparkling with annoyance.
“My apologies.” I grasp the banister in front of the altar and swing my gaze upward, remorse hopefully written all over my face. “Dear God, I’m so sorry about saying ‘damn.’ I did not mean it. But don’t worry. Sister Tatiana will make me a better man.”
“I will not.”
That glare again. I slap my hand over my heart, groaning with pain. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“Wow, you need to work on your pickup lines. Someone—who’s not a nun, and who’s actually interested—deserves better than that.”
I don’t rub in that I got her talking. “So you don’t want to be my death?”
“I do not, no. Thank you.”
“In that case, dinner and a bottle of wine? There’s an excellent restaurant a few blocks over. Mintrer’s. Their wine is hand-selected by the owner.” I sniff like I expect this to be an easy sell.
“Are you high?”
I snort out laughing. “Whoa, didn’t see that coming from a nun.”
“What do you know about nuns?”
“My mother, you know. And I’ve dated a few. Also, Sister Cecilia is my housekeeper,” I say, “and Sister Mary the mother of my children.”
Her eyes are about to bug out of her head. She’s incredulous and furious, and this is fucking awesome. I’m waiting for a clever retort that doesn’t come. When she can finally speak again, she shakes her head. “I think you should leave, Mr.—”
“Call me Isaias. I’m here for my confession, unless it’s not a good time?”
“Oh!” For a second, she scrunches her eyes shut like she’s been off-topic and I just hauled her back in. It’s perfect. What she doesn’t realize is that I’m god. Whatever I put my efforts into turns to gold. I puppeteer people without them even knowing it, and she’s playing right into it.
“No, of course. I’ll find Father Altermatt for you.”
I lift my shoulders in a slow shrug. “It’s fine. I can come back.”
“He’s in the back, hold on.” She picks up the box of votive candles. The packing tape is torn on one side. “Bet you need a good absolution.” She wobbles the box into place in her arms.
“Whoa, careful.” I shoot a hand out last second, keeping the crack from rejecting the candles. “Give it to me.”
“No, I can—” She jerks the box closer to her chest, and the candles rush out, landing around her feet.
I hunch, scooping wax cylinders into my hands. She lets out a huff of air as she shifts down on her knees.
“You don’t listen well, do you?” I examine her face as I work. She tries to keep those perfect features marble-immobile, but her eyes give her away. Flicking between the candles on the floor and the ones in my hands, she’s assessing the damage—and probably the easiest way to get past me.
“
Obviously, I couldn’t have guessed that the box was broken.”
For most people, what I’m about to say would be stupid, but this woman, with so much passion and anger hidden under those ice features, it could throw her off enough to give me an in. “I saw it. All you needed to do was heed me, but you didn’t. If you can’t listen worth shit, how can becoming a nun be the right choice for you?”
Tatiana’s hands still around the candles. Her head lifts slowly until she meets my eyes with the coldest, steeliest stare I’ve ever seen. It’s making the blood woosh through my veins.
“I. Am none of your business. What you need to do is get your confession done and leave. I know what I’m doing. As far as the way I am? Rest assured I’m exactly right for my calling. We clear?”
We clear? Holy shit. My goddamn dick can’t take this. I’ve got a raging hard-on for this girl.
“Coffee.” I don’t let go of her glare. She’s killing me with it, honestly, truly going assassin-mode.
“Not happening,” she says. Then: “I’m a nun.” She adds the last sentence like an afterthought. Not a good sign for her. It is for me, though.
“And nuns don’t drink coffee?”
“Not with men who are none of their concern.”
“Not with sinners who need saving?”
Silence. Complete silence.
“Just one cup of coffee, that’s all,” I add. “What harm could it do? When are you done here today?”
Still no answer. She’s trying to take the candles out of my hands and stuff them back into the broken box. I hold them hostage against my body. She’d have to touch me to get them, and she doesn’t want to do that.
“Seven thirty?” On regular days, that’s when my people have seen her leave.
She narrows her eyes. “Are you spying on me?”
“I’m psychic, Sister Tatiana. Did I forget to tell you that? I’ll pick you up then. Coffee Expressive’s sound good?”
It’s a wrap on our biggest film of the quarter. Gianni’s happy with the raw data. One of the new girls flown in from the East Coast has mad talent. It’s hard to find girls who don’t look like they’re faking it in the beginning, but everything this one does is one hundred percent real. On the last shot, Morgan came on command—Gianni literally counted her in—and with one of our biggest stars too. That takes balls. In general, the newbies are nervous as hell working with Luka for the first time.