<hr/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 16pt;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">Un viejo capítulo:</span></span><br/><hr/><br/><div class="floatright">(https://pbs.twimg.com/media/DZcDhYLX0AItBmM.jpg)</div>Setting the pen down, I leaned back in the chair across from my manager, crossing my jean-clad legs. “So once they get that contract, the merchandise will be sent and we’ll come up with a photo shoot time and posting date?”<br/><br/>Joyce, the older, wiser, and flamboyantly coiffed woman who had helped negotiate my career to the precipice it was at now, nodded an affirmative. This mid-day meeting was earning me several paychecks at once that would not only keep the roof over my head, but help the little production company business in the works.<br/><br/>Scooping up the signed paper, she then set down three others in front of me. “I’ll have it sent over right away. Those followers you have amassed are going to be salivating for their product. Now. Sweetheart. This one is for the Adam & Eve product line we spoke about earlier, this is for a shoot with Marsha May promoting the sex toy line, just softcore, publicity, the like.” The woman’s fake, manicured red nails waved over the printed-out pieces of paper with a flick of her bangle-laden wrist. Joyce was old-school and I loved her for it. “And this, this is the latest offer for that scene with Johnny…”<br/><br/>It was the last contract I picked up first, naturally. One of the biggest porn companies in the Valley had been trying to get me to on camera for an anal scene with their main male star for the past few months. I’d politely declined so far. This contract was enticing. Enough to buy me a new Bentley and then some…<br/><br/>Pushing the paper back towards Joyce, I picked up the pen again and signed my name to the first two contracts. “Decline again on that one, Baba. Tell them the fee is still too low, that the dates don’t line up with my calendar. Let’s see what they counter with next time.”<br/><br/>“There might not be a next time!”<br/><br/>Shrugging, I leaned over the desk and kissed her rouged cheek. “Oh, I think there will be. And it’ll be enough to buy you that house in Boca, I promise.” Backing towards the door, I gathered my things with a grin. “Vegas is still on for this weekend?” Her exasperated nod was all I needed. “Good. I’ll be sure to let you know how the venue treats us this time.”<br/><br/>“Is what’s-his-name tagging along?”<br/><br/>I gave her an enigmatic smile and remembered at that moment I had turned my phone off the night before and had yet to flick it back on. I’d politely refused Marlon’s invitation to the latest party at his pad, knowing if I was there, I’d never make it here in time. Turning my phone off had been a way to keep myself from caving into his temptations again. “He’s not on the guest list at the strip club.”<br/><br/>With a wave, I was out the door and turning my phone back on, letting it boot up as I tucked back into a sleek little black BMW. The few text messages were expected, along with a couple voicemails. The email came up next and he could never be easy, could he? Instead of flowers, or chocolates, normal romantic gestures, this man was sending her…<br/><br/><em>Fuck</em>, that was hot.<br/><br/>The video played on my screen, slightly grainy, and a little skippy with the reception was no less impactful. My hand had been around that cock. In that very tub, no less. The churning water evoked other memories as well and the end – Marlon’s hand flying from his cock and his eyes connecting with the camera before the video paused had me gasping. Hard. Even as someone who lived and breathed the porn industry for a living, this was something sent lightning bolts of pleasure straight to my cunt and had my fingers fumbling to re –<br/><br/>The screen froze. The phone locked. It flickered a few times and then went dead. Anything I tried was useless. With a cry of frustration, I tossed it to the seat next to me and fired up my cars engine.<br/><br/>Hours later, sometime around when errands were finished and dinner was supposed to be, I walked into the kitchen of the Fontana mansion. Still dressed in form-fitting jeans, short boots, the black leather cropped jacket and a t-shirt, I tipped the sunglasses up on my head as my eyes roamed for the home’s owner.<br/><br/>With a sigh, I tucked the still-dead phone onto the marble kitchen counter top and slipped off my jacket. “Rhonda,” I called out to the home’s AI system. I’d been getting more and more comfortable using her – I refused to think of it as a thing – the more time I spent here. “When you get a chance, I’d appreciate it if you could run diagnostics on that thing. It’s been frozen and dead all day after I watched that little tidbit I know he had you attach for him and send me.”<br/><br/>Opening the fridge and tugging out a bottle of water, I arched an eyebrow at the overhead camera I knew was in the ceiling. “And while you’re at it, take whatever tracking software he had you install off of it.<strong>Again.</strong>I know it’s there. Just like I know his access code to your mainframe.”<br/>