“Oh my god.” She scoffed. “I mean,wow. In a city of arrogant men with overinflated egos, you really take thecake.”
That was utter bullshit and proved that Georgina was completely clueless about me and my past. I’d not only battled through overinflated egos but had gritted my teeth as I’d done my best to blend in by faking arrogance and privilege. And I’d managed to keep a level head through all of it. “There you go assuming again about things you know nothingabout.”
“I don’t operate off assumptions. I employ facts, and thefactis you’ve been nothing but a complete jerk since you dumped coffee all over me thismorning.”
“I’vebeen a jerk?Me?” My temper rose.Shewas the one who’d run intome.Shehad gone from zero to sixty, cutting as deep as she could and without mercy, accusing me first of entitlement and then of sexism. I surged to my feet, my office chair rolling back into a wall. “You think because you read some click-bait article that you have all the facts about me? You don’t know where I’ve been, where I come from, or what matters to me.” My voice had risen to an unnecessary level, but I couldn’t help it. I pictured my mother walking through the door after work, her hair barely holding in its bun, her spirit broken from a long day of dealing with people who thought they were better than her. I was not and would never be the person who treated others, specifically women, like dirt—no matter what some dumb fucking article said, no matter what Georgina thought she knew. “You called me an asshole this morning, but at least I speak up for the people I careabout.”
“Sebastian—”
“Justin, I told you to shut up,” I shotback.
Georgina’s mouth hung open. “I tried to speak up, but you . . . you . . .” She stammered, then seemed to give up on the thought. “I can’t believe I gave you the benefit of the doubt. You really do deserve your name in thatarticle.”
“Get out of my office. Both of you.” Georgina and Justin stared at me. Already, my fury began to recede, but I didn’t care. I wanted to be angry. People like Georgina Keller didn’t deserve to get off the hook just for being pretty and pouty. “Fine.” I picked up my cell and went around the desk. “I’llgo.”
They didn’t try to stop me. I refrained from slamming the door on my way out. I couldn’t really go anywhere—there was work to do, and I wasn’t about to leave it in her hands—but I needed abreather.
I ended up in the men’s bathroom, leaning my hands against the sink as I avoided my reflection by staring into baskets of disposable razors, aftershave, anddeodorant.
Georgina had performed the rare feat of ruffling my feathers, and she’d done it twice in one day. I considered myself easy to get along with, but she clearly had something against me. It was also possible she just didn’t likeme.
It was uncommon for me, not only to be disliked, but to return the feeling. Men wanted to be me. Women wanted to bewithme.
Lots ofwomen.
I finally looked up, caught my eye in the mirror, andcringed.
“You assume because I work here and look the way Ido. . .”
George had gone easy on me given that comment. I made a point to take care of myself—went to the gym five times a week, ate right, and as an editor of a men’s lifestyle magazine, I got only the best products, usually free. I lifted my chin and inspected my jawline. I’d shaved meticulously that morning. In New York, you had to stay on your game. It was as if Georgina had seen through all that. I’d been treated a certain way since I’d hit puberty, shot up in height, and lost any baby fat. I’d been told enough times that I was handsome and charming, but Georgina didn’t seem to care about any of that—not even that I also made an effort to be kind. I’d been living in a world opposite to the one in which I’d been raised, and staying grounded was easier said than done. Since accepting a hardship scholarship to Harvard, I’d gone from flipping burgers to feasting on gourmet Thanksgiving fare at my roommate’s parents’ mansion on Nantucket. Even if my peers had been forced into summer jobs in customer service or waiting tables, they’d never know the true struggle of a single mother working for, and sometimes below, minimumwage.
Why didn’t Georgina see that aboutme?
And why wasn’t I that way aroundher?
I almost hadn’t helped carry her boxes across theoffice.
“You really do deserve your name in thatarticle.”
I’d learned early on that to move up, I had to play a part. I’d blown my first few real paychecks on a custom suit, had networked at every university event I could, and had been with women where dates had felt like a status exchange. My confidence had been hard-earned along with things like an enviable apartment, my playboy image, and exotic travel. I let my peer group and the media believe I was the kind of man who took a new woman home each night, hosted decadent parties in the Hamptons, and didn’t mind blowing money on expensive things, but at the core of it, I’d thought I was still clutching to the values with which I was raised. I hadn’t had a one-night stand in over a year, I always managed the events I hosted sober, and though I splurged on expensive things, Ididmind. I only spent what I could expense or personallyafford.
But was the exposé true? Was Georgina right? With the way I’d treated her, at some point, had I started to become the image I’d cultivated for myself—and was that the reason for what my mom had asked of me in our lastconversation?
Justin burst into the bathroom. “Admiring the view, you narcissistic asshole?” he asked when he caught me staring atmyself.
“What do you want?” Igrumbled.
“You guys make a real cute couple, you know. I was enjoying the show until your accent surfaced. Then I knew she was introuble.”
I snorted. A classmate at Harvard had once told me he could tell which part of Boston I was from by my accent, and within weeks, I’d neutralized it. It only came out now when I was pissed. “She pushes my buttons, and I’m pretty sure she does it onpurpose.”
“What reason could shehave?”
I pushed off the counter and leaned back against it, crossing my arms. “She’s the one who called me an asshole at the coffee shop thismorning.”
“I figured that out. I think it was because earlier, you said she called you an asshole at the coffee shop thismorning. . .”
I shook my head. “It’s only been a few hours. How the hell am I supposed to work with her for eightweeks?”
