“Em. You won’t be able to relax until you make sure he’s okay and you deal with this. Youwerethere at my graduation. This is just the after-party. I have all my friends here. The two of us have plenty of time to celebrate. Go. I know you want to.”
“Want to?” I raise my eyebrow. “I don’t think so.”
“Feel like you need to, then,” she amends.
I sigh. She’s right. Damn her. And damn Sebastian. Worrying about him and having the compulsion to solve any crisis is like a bad habit, one I desperately need to break. This is the last straw. This codependent relationship is not good for me.
I need a life of my own, one that a boss behaving badly won’t interrupt.
I think about Sadie’s idea. That we start our own business. I’m still not sure of everything it would involve, but I’d be my own boss, so I probably wouldn’t have to bail people out of jail.
I type out a few messages on my phone and then look up. “I can be back in two hours, if you’re still here.”
“Sure.” Her laugh says she doesn’t believe me. I don’t blame her. Even I know that’s completely unrealistic since we’re at least an hour outside the city. “Go. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She gives me a fierce hug. “I love you.”
I walk out of the crowded restaurant and into the warm night. I’m already distracted, returning to my messages and dealing with them, triage-style. Not for the first time, I regret that I’ve somehow become Sebastian’s spokesperson.
I’m in work mode now, trying to do damage control.
All the while wanting to kill my boss.
CHAPTER 9
Emma
It’s4 a.m. when Sebastian and I finally arrive at the mansion in a plain black SUV with darkened windows. Despite the nondescript car and evasive driving maneuvers performed by Duncan, the man who runs the Blake estate’s security, a growing pack of paparazzi trails us to the guard gates. When we pull up to the circular driveway, I hit send on my last text and step out of the back seat. I spent the drive coordinating with his team to keep his arrest off more news channels. But I already know it’s pointless. Too many people saw the fight directly. And there’s a damning video of Sebastian hitting Brett Danners, even if the eyewitness reports say Brett started it. The best we can do is try to mitigate the fallout.
Sebastian slips out of the car and stands at the base of the stairs leading up to the mansion. He looks tired. But the stubble gracing his jaw and fine lines of fatigue only enhance his good looks. The expensive fabric of his slacks and shirt doesn’t show a bit of wear, despite hours in jail. And when he runs a hand through his hair, it falls back in perfect lines, as always.Meanwhile, I’m sweaty and my eyes are gritty. The sleek ivory dress I wore for Sadie’s graduation is now rumpled and stained from the coffee I spilled on it while waiting at the police station.
I pray no photographer has sneaked past the gate. I don’t need pictures in this state circulating.
This is why I always try to look crisp and professional. I work hard at it. Growing up as the poor girl, I had to get my clothes from thrift stores, and they were not always clean. The apartments we lived in rarely had washing machines. Once I was old enough, I’d wash out our clothes in the sink or scrape together enough money to go to the laundromat.
And the years with Aunt Grace held a different shame. Living in a hoarder’s house, I learned early how people judged you based on appearance.
Multiply that anxiety by a million because I now live in a world where a photo of me could go viral at any minute, simply because of the man I’m standing next to.
Standing out for whatever reason invites judgement. Blending in. Staying in the background. That’s safest.
“Give it up, Em,” Sebastian says, gesturing to the phone in my hand. “It’s not possible to stop the story. The fight is all over social media. And tabloids followed me to the police station. There’s no way we can squash this.”
“What the hell were you thinking?” I ask, frustrated. “You weren’t even drunk. I thought you’d left bar brawls behind you years ago. And fighting with Brett Danners?”
Sebastian narrows his eyes. “He’s a fucking snake. I’d spend a month in jail for the chance to punch him again.”
“Hollywood is made up of assholes. Yet now you decide to confront one? Now? We’ve spent years rehabbing your reputation. You’ve been chasing the best directors in the world, proving to them that you can be trusted. And you’ve shown them you’re still a hothead.” I huff out an exasperated breath. “Andwhat about Mancini? If the rumors are true, your career would be made if he chose you to work with him again.”
I detect a slight flinch at the mention of the director. Sebastian first worked with the Hollywood icon when he was a kid. It was a show calledThe Familythat won more Emmys than I can count. Mancini has also won multiple Best Picture Academy Awards and is considered by most cinephiles to be the greatest director in the world. Everyone wants to work with him. And now, this is the last chance because he’s retiring soon.
“I don’t want to talk about it, Em.”
I follow him into the living room. He sinks onto the couch and leans his head against the rich blue suede.
“Well, we need to talk about it. You were hauled to the police station. Youruinedmy night.” Anger courses through me. “And you won’t even explain why. We could get ahead of this if we could tell the world the reason you punched him out. You might still be vulnerable to charges, but in public opinion, we could win with the right strategy.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Was this about Brett and Allegra? Did she… cheat on you with him?” I blurt out the questions that I’ve been dying to ask for the past several hours.
Did he interrupt my important event and trash his chance at something that means the world to him—all because of Allegra?
