Infini (Aerial Ethereal #2)(11)

“Apologies won’t fix this.”

I sit straighter, back aching.

Marc sets down the folder. “Do you know why Aerial Ethereal has a rule about minors not dating or having sexual relations with other company members?” He phrases this like a quiz I’m supposed to fail.

I open my mouth to answer.

He interrupts, “You don’t know or else you would have followed it. At least, that’s the hope. Because if you knew the importance of this rule and you still knowingly broke it, then I don’t just have an ignorant kid on my hands. I have a reckless teenager with zero respect for this company.”

I’ve never felt this incapable of speech. Of being. Existing. I feel weak. And powerless. I hang my head, unable to look him in the eyes. Slowly but surely cowering to Corporate.

“Which one is it, Luka?” Marc asks. Testing me.

My gaze sears the longer I stare fixatedly at his mug. What am I supposed to say? What’s right? What’s wrong? (Someone tell me. Please. Tell me.) What do I need to do? I’ll do it.

I’ll do anything.

(Just don’t take my family away from me. Don’t take my sister. My brothers. Don’t take her. I need them all.) I turn my head to look for help. For a parent. Nik.

Reading my expression, he immediately speaks up. “Luka respects the company—”

Marc holds up another hand. “I didn’t ask you, Nikolai. I’d like to hear from your brother.” The heat of his gaze boils my skin. “Luka?”

“I…” I lick my dry lips. “I didn’t…I didn’t know.” My Adidas shirt suctions to my abs, sweating through the black fabric.

Nik clears his throat and leans forward. “I should’ve explained its importance. I’ll take some responsibility for this.”

He will?

Marc taps his pen to the desk. “So you didn’t know about his relationship with Baylee Wright?”

“No. I thought they were just best friends. Had I known it went beyond that, I would’ve put an end to it from the start.”

My brother isn’t railroading me, but I wish there could be a scenario where he would’ve been on my side. Hearing him now just cements all the reasons why we kept our relationship secret in the first place.

No one could know. It’d leak to Corporate, and we’d become the forty-ninth and fiftieth minors to be fired for going “beyond” a friendship.

I guess we are 49 and 50 now.

Marc looks to Dimitri. “And you? Did you know?”

My cousin shakes his head.

Once more, Marc’s attention bears down on me, and I thread my fingers, cupping my hands together. Trying to remain as calm as I usually am.

“I’ll tell you what I told Baylee,” Marc says. “Aerial Ethereal has many rules, but for minors this is the most important one. It’s why we’ve never failed to terminate a minor after the violation.” He rolls his chair forward, arms splayed on the desk. “We employ children, and these children, like yourself—”

I try not to flinch, but he makes me feel five years old. Not fifteen. I don’t like feeling this small. Or this drastic loss of control.

I have to take a breath. I listen. I try to breathe.

“—well, these children will work for us throughout their precious adolescence. Our job is to maintain the safest work environment for minors. Safe does not include sexual intercourse. Safe does not include workplace relationships that can lead to sexual intercourse.”

I wish he would stop saying “sexual intercourse” like it’s a disease—please God.

“We also do not advocate underage sex. This isn’t high school. This is a professional company that has high standards of care and compliance.” Marc places his palm on the manila folder. “As I said, this is a termination contract.”

And then I watch him procure a second manila folder from his drawer.

He sets it beside the termination papers. When his authoritative eyes meet mine, I see something else in them. Caution.

Trepidation.

Like this next part—the second folder—is completely out of the ordinary.

“For how many times I’ve sat here and fired teenager after teenager, we’ve never offered a choice to any of them,” he says. “But I gave Baylee a choice to remain in Aerial Ethereal. And now I’m giving you the same one.”

Why? I don’t even have to ask. He’s already there, telling me.

“Her discipline is unique. It’s harder to find a juggler of her skill-level than to find an aerialist of yours.”

I nod, agreeing. (Don’t fire her. Keep her. Please.) She deserves to be happy and safe. I just wish I could’ve given her that.

“We’re also respecting the memory of Joyce Wright. Baylee’s mother was an incredibly talented asset to Aerial Ethereal, and her contributions to Infini…” He pauses and collects himself before saying, “Her music is still heard.”

I nod again. Trying not to get choked up. Bay’s parents passed away around the beginning of Infini, and Joyce composed the score of the show.

“Why offer you a choice?” he asks what’s on my mind. “You’re a Kotova.”

(Of course.)

“The chemistry and trust your family have on stage is irreplaceable.”