Infini (Aerial Ethereal #2)(10)

We felt invincible.

I’m fifteen.

She’s fourteen.

We’re young enough to make mistakes, but we’re old enough to be employed by a billion dollar company with strict, unbending rules.

Aerial Ethereal minors (i.e. employees younger than 18) are not allowed to date or have sexual relations with other Aerial Ethereal employees.

The line in my contract wreaks havoc on me.

On us.

Exactly 48 minors were caught breaking that rule in the past forty years. Exactly 48 minors were sacked from Aerial Ethereal.

There should be no hope for me or her, but I haven’t accepted my reality yet. I just can’t.

I glare at the door to Marc Duval’s Manhattan office. Baylee is on the other side, and it’s not like I had much of a choice in who went first. I would’ve taken her place.

Truth: I’d do anything to lift the consequence off Baylee. She doesn’t deserve to be fired. This circus—it means so fucking much to her. Infini, especially. It’s more than a job for Bay.

It tears at my insides knowing that I’m responsible for hurting her…in an insurmountable, unthinkable way.

And if I start focusing on what she means to me—I’ll really puke.

(They won’t split us apart. They can’t.) I feel how na?ve I am. I feel young.

I feel fifteen for, maybe, the first time in a really long while. I’ve been independent most of my life. Able to take care of myself and make my own money. It’s what my mom and dad wanted. I’ve never felt like I needed a parent. Not until this moment. Not until right now.

Isn’t that what parents do? Make things right. Help carry the burden. Lift the weight.

I sniff and rub my nose, suppressing more emotion.

The door opens, and I immediately stand. My body thrums, nerves and dread compounding, and I feel like I’m on the edge of a cliff, grabbing for her hand, but she slips through my fingers.

And I watch her fall.

Really, I can’t see Bay. Not yet. A young black woman purposefully shields the fourteen-year-old girl from my sight. Hourglass frame and fashion-forward clothes—I instantly recognize her as Baylee’s Aunt Lucy.

But I just want to see Bay—to make sure she’s alright.

Nikolai and Dimitri are on their feet in front of me, purposefully blocking my view. (Come on.) I try to sidestep, but Nik clamps a hand on my shoulder.

“Stop,” he warns.

Stop. I freeze, but my eyes dance past him. I try to peer through the gap between his arm and Dimitri’s.

Lucy hugs Bay tightly to her side, and all I can see is Baylee’s loose brown curls. Through the small gap, Lucy finds a way to glare at me.

I’m stunned cold.

Since I met Lucy she’s always liked me. Always.

The changes crash against my chest, my world shifting up and down and sideways. All off-kilter.

(I’m not okay.)

“Nikolai,” Lucy greets, her voice unusually stone.

“Lucy.” Nik nods back.

Baylee’s legal guardian.

My legal guardian.

It doesn’t faze me that our parents aren’t here. Hers would be if they could.

Mine are traveling in some foreign country for a touring show. I can’t even remember what continent they’re on right now.

Baylee and her aunt walk hurriedly past, and I want to call Bay back. To shout her name, but my throat swells closed. I hear the door shut.

They’re gone.

I didn’t even see her.

I barely hear Marc call for us. Dazed, my brother or my cousin puts their hand on my shoulder and physically pushes me towards the office. Each step is involuntary. I’m on automatic.

Programmed to move.

Once inside, Marc shuts the door, and I sit on a chair between Nik and Dimitri, all of us facing Marc’s oak desk. My gaze glues to his Aerial Ethereal mug, blue lettering with purple swirls.

As soon as Marc’s ass hits the seat, he gestures to me.

My face scorches and aches like someone’s taken a frying pan and whacked me several times. I open my mouth, struggling for a second, but then I find words.

“I take full responsibility for what happened,” I say. “Baylee had nothing to do with it.” I’m about to say that I forced her to have sex. A lie, but I’d do that. I’d literally do anything to protect her right now. “She—”

Marc raises his hand, silencing me.

(I’m going to puke.)

Nikolai glares at me like, don’t retch on his fucking carpet.

I swallow acid.

Marc looks older than his early fifties. Shaggy blond hair, sideburns graying, and his dark blue eyes wield only criticisms. I’ve now met the face of all the dull corporate emails.

“The sentiment is chivalrous,” he tells me, “but it takes two people to have intercourse.”

Intercourse? I frown and try not to shake my head. It bugs me. That clinical term.

“And Baylee already explained that it was consensual.” Marc holds onto a manila folder. “Before I pass over a termination contract, we need to talk.”

Termination.

I can’t look at Nik, but he’s stone-cold beside me. Rigid and unbendable. Maybe he’s trying to be a rock for me. Something I can hang onto as I fall.

I remember what Nik said to do. So I start to say, “I’m sorry—”