My breath catches at his words and the intensity in his voice. I hide my confusion by forging ahead. “Next weekend, if there’s a crisis, youaren’tcalling me.”
“Relax, Em. It’s just a weekend. What could happen?”
A lot. I’ve known Sebastian for the past seven years, ever since that one fateful interview my dad arranged. So I know a lot could happen.
CHAPTER 5
Emma
Seven yearsago
I’m intimidated just drivingup to the enormous gates of Sebastian Blake’s Malibu mansion. This is my chance to reinvent myself and show the people in my small town—and my dick of an ex—that I can be more than they’d ever expect. But I’m too aware that I’m out of my depth. If my dad, a former addict turned counselor after getting sober, hadn’t been Sebastian’s addiction advocate in rehab, I’d never get this interview.
Palm trees flank the long, rolling lawn. I park my beat-up car in the circular driveway, ascend the stairs, and ring the bell next to the oversized door. In reality, it’s more castle than house.
After being led into the formal living room by his housekeeper, I face the celebrity and his manager. And that’s when I question whether I’ll ever be able to do the job of his assistant and sobriety babysitter.
Because Sebastian Blake in person is more beautiful than anyone I’ve ever seen. In the waning afternoon light, the planes of his face could have been carved by an Italian master.
He radiates the casual charisma of someone born to privilege. It’s in every detail of quiet luxury, both in his clothing and surroundings. The only chink in his well-polished armor indicating that he might be fresh out of rehab are the dark circles under his piercing blue eyes and air of twitchy tension.
I stand before him in my discount suit and scuffed heels, with my heart beating as if I’ve run to Malibu from my cheap temporary apartment in Downtown LA.
I wonder—if I can’t keep myself together just meeting him, how can I ever do this job? How can I kick his ass and keep him in recovery if my brain goes blank from just one look? It doesn’t matter that I have first-hand experience living with an addict.
This opportunity could be over before it ever begins.
But then something miraculous happens. Something that saves me.
Sebastian Blake opens his mouth.
He glares from the couch as I stand before him with wide eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. What makes you think this is going to work? She’s just a kid. And she’s looking at me like some fangirl. She’ll either run crying home to Mommy at the first sign of trouble or kiss my poster above her bed every night,” he grumbles to his manager, impatiently drumming his fingers on the sofa’s armrest.
I already know that being young and female are two strikes against me. But I tried my best to look older. I applied my makeup more heavily than usual. I ruthlessly pulled my fine, light-brown hair back into a high ponytail. And I spent the entire day at a department store’s discount outlet picking the nicest business suit I could find, which, admittedly, isn’t all that nice. I kept the tags on because I plan on returning it if I don’t land thejob. The tag itches against my skin, reminding me I don’t belong in this world.
I hate admitting it, but his words aren’t inaccurate. I’d wanted to cry all weekend. I didn’t exactly miss home. After being cheated on and ghosted by my longtime boyfriend, all I have left there is my sister. But I miss the familiar. Here in LA, I’m being stretched and pulled in ways I don’t recognize. I don’t know who I am in this land of contrasts.
And I don’t know how to act around one of the most famous and gorgeous men on the planet.
But I don’t take shit. From anyone.
And someone saying I can’t do something only makes me more determined to do it. To prove them wrong.
So Sebastian Blake’s words ignite a fire in me, very different from the fire his good looks ignited.
My eyes glare into his. I sink down into the chair opposite the two men, head held high, with as much poise as I can muster.
I cross my legs and lean toward Sebastian and his manager. My face is a flat surface with no trace of the pleasant or people-pleasing smile you might expect from a job applicant, even one who’s just been insulted.
“First, I may be young,” I say coolly. “But I’m not enough of an idiot to take a ton of drugs and wrap my car around a telephone pole, like some people in this room.” I flick my hand. “Second, my mom’s dead. Cancer. So I’m not running home to her. And you already know my dad. I can babysit a pampered, overprivileged celebrity in my sleep. I grew up with an addict. There’s nothing you can do that will shock me. Staying in recovery is your job. But I absolutely can make your life hell if you veer off onto the wrong path. In fact, it will be a pleasure. I can organize your life into submission. Oh, and I’ve never had any posters above my bed. Inspirational quotes are more my thing. But I did, briefly, in a very regrettable preteen stage,have Landon Takahashi as my screensaver. You weren’t even in contention,” I say dismissively.
They’re bold words, mostly bull. But I need the job. Badly. The pay is amazing. I’m never going to find anything that even comes close, not with my limited résumé and only being halfway towards a bachelor’s degree. Not unless I want to try topless waitressing.
So if I fail the interview, it will not be for lack of guts. I’ll either get it or flame out spectacularly.
In the end, I’ll never be sure if Sebastian hired me because he thought I could do the job. Or, more likely, because he thought I couldn’t do it and he’d have a better chance of keeping the things he liked, including drugs.
But regardless, he hired me and somehow, seven years passed. All this time, he’s been the sun to my moon. He eclipses every part of my life. Everything revolves around him—his wants and his whims. I don’t think it even occurs to him that I won’t always work for him. And he won’t always be at the center of my world.
