I let out a long sigh. What’s Sebastian trying to accomplish? Does he think punishing people who screwed me over is what I want?
How does he plan to punish himself on my behalf? Is he going to sue himself? Lock himself in a jail cell?
There are a few texts from Roman Wellendorff, the deputy minister of finance from Nesovia.
–Roman Wellendorff: I don’t understand why the hasty corporate move was necessary.
–Roman Wellendorff: I thought we had an understanding.
In whose mind? The condescending and sexist “For your own good. Women are to be protected and taken care of” voicemail he sent me wasn’t an understanding.
I block him. He’s in the past. I don’t want to deal with him or anybody like him anymore.
Then I finally notice a few texts from Sebastian. My heart skips a few beats.
–Sebastian: I hope you’re doing better. I’d like to talk whenever you’re ready.
–Sebastian: I want to make things right for you.
Chest tight with something between pain and disillusionment, I tap the edge of the phone. I don’t see the purpose of another talk. On the other hand, he apparently won’t stop siccing prosecutors on people until I do. I don’t know what else he could mean by “make things right” for me.
Maybe he just needs better closure. His talking while I was in a total state of shock probably wasn’t sufficient, even if I said everything that needed to be said. I don’t want anyone else disrupting my peace because he won’t quit going after people in my past.
–Me: Meet me at Z tonight at 11.
His response is immediate.
–Sebastian: See you tonight. VIP lounge.
Chapter 42
Lucienne
Z was the least romantic, most impersonal place I could think of when I texted Sebastian. It’s one of the most popular clubs in the city.
The air inside always throbs with pounding music. Expensive liquor flows freely. Drugs not as much, because the owner doesn’t tolerate people doing stupid things at his establishment.
But tonight, the speakers are silent, the bars and the dance floor dark. I almost stop and turn back, wondering if the club is closed and the bouncer let me in by mistake. I pull out my phone to see if there’s a message from Sebastian, but before I can check, a tall man in a black suit and shirt walks over. “Are you here for Sebastian Lasker?”
“Yes,” I say.
“This way.” He leads me to the upper level and down a darkish corridor, where the VIP lounges are. He takes me to the one in the middle and opens the door with a flourish.
Sebastian is inside with a half-full whiskey glass.
My heart picks up speed with a hint of apprehension that this might not unfold the way I envisioned. He must’ve rented out the entire club for the night. I don’t know how he managed to pull that off, but it’s not entirely surprising. He’s thorough and exacting about what he wants. My keeping him at arm’s length must’ve conflicted with his desires, even if he agreed to the impersonal venue.
I turn to the man in black. “Can I get a dirty martini, please?”
“Of course.” He disappears back into the shadowed corridor.
I walk inside and sit on the couch opposite Sebastian, then study him in the dim light. He’s in a white dress shirt, no tie, and dark slacks. His jaw line seems sharper, his cheekbones more prominent. Are there circles under his eyes? It’s hard to tell.
He takes the moment to scrutinize me too. His eyes roam over my long, curled hair, my face, then down my body in its off-shoulder teal dress and golden heels. When his eyes stop at the diamond anklet on my left ankle, I go still as a mixture of dismay and annoyance cuts through me.
I dressed for him.The outfit, the shoes, the anklet… I was thinking of him, hoping he would regret betraying me.
It was foolish to think I was over him. I’m nowhere near over him. But that doesn’t mean I’m willing to pretend he didn’t hurt me and go back to the way we were before the shareholders’ meeting.
