“Get this,” she sneers. “Pure little Chanel has been sending him nudes too.”
I frown.
“This fifteen-year-old little girl is built like a fucking Penthouse Pet.”
We chuckle.
“Oh, it gets worse,” she continues. “While I’m looking through his phone, a new message comes through from her.”
“What was it?”
“I got a Brazilian like you wanted. You like?”
My mouth falls open.
“Can you believe that message?”
Unable to help it, I burst out laughing.
“I would find this funny, too, if it weren’t my child,” she whispers as she sits down at her desk.
“Then Brad had a complete meltdown and told me that if I call Chanel’s parents, I’m effectively committing social suicide for him as his whole reputation will be ruined and that he’s never going to school again.” She hits her computer keyboard with a hard bang.
“That’s true,” Aaron replies. “You can’t call her mother.”
“So it’s all right for her to call me, but I can’t call her?” she stammers.
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I probably wouldn’t call her mother either.”
“Well, what would you do?” she asks.
“I’d buy him a box of condoms, that’s what I’d do.”
She stares at me, wide eyed.
“Because imagine if he got her pregnant,” I add.
“Oh my God.” She drags her hand down her face. “I can’t deal with boys. They are so stupid.”
“The amount of testosterone in a male teenager is ridiculous,” Aaron replies casually. “I was jerking off four times a day when I was fifteen.”
Molly and I wince.
“Four times a day?” I stammer.
“Don’t girls do that?” He frowns in surprise.
“No,” we both gasp.
“Men are gross.” I fake a shiver in disgust.
The phone on my desk rings. “Hello,” I answer.
“Hello, Emily, this is Sammia, Mr. Miles’s PA.”
What does she want? “Hi.”
“Mr. Miles asked me to let you know that you have a meeting in his office in an hour.”