“Sebastian,” I say weakly.
“Emma.”
He’s watching me with a knowing look.
I can’t interpret it. Just how knowing is it? Just how much has he seen? Is it,Hey, Em. I saw you throw up all over a dude’s shoes.Or is it,Hey, Em. I stripped you, saw almost every bit of your skin, and put you to bed.
Because I’m practical, I lead with the most obvious question.
“Did you see me in just my underwear last night?”
“Define see.”
I throw a pillow at him.
He laughs.
Goddamn, I missed that sound. It’s deep and brash and annoying andknowing.
“Don’t laugh, you monster. I woke up with almost no clothes and unable to remember a thing. That’s a girl’s worst nightmare,” I say softer, more vulnerable this time.
“Shit, Em.” He’s at my side so quick, I didn’t even notice him moving. One second, he was at the door, and the next, he’s watching me with a concerned frowny expression, all evidence of mirth wiped away. “I didn’t think. I didn’t—I don’t want you to worry.” He takes a deep breath, as if steadying himself. “You got sick again in the car and puked a second time.”
“I didn’t,” I say in horror.
One side of his mouth tilts up. “You did. You got into the shower to get clean. You were supposed to leave your clothes on, but you didn’t want to be in a wet dress, so you stripped. I promise I didn’t look any more than necessary. I wrapped you in a towel and got you into bed. And then I left you to sleep. I would have dressed you in my shirt, but you passed out and wouldn’t wake up. I checked on you throughout the night, though.”
I digest his words. There’s so much to be horrified about. Doing a striptease in front of my boss vies for horror number one. So I’m going to pretend it never happened. If my brain is a filing cabinet, that particular file is getting shoved to the very bottom and will never be found again.
I turn my focus on something else. One little detail keeps niggling at me as pieces of the night right themselves in my memory.
“But… but we were in your Jag. Please don’t tell me I puked in your Jag.” His grandfather’s rare vintage Jaguar. If you doubled my salary for the last seven years, that number wouldn’t come close to what it’s worth. Triple my salary. Possibly quadruple. Sebastian loves that car. He babies it. Whispers it sweet nothings. Like this house, it represents his legacy.
His family has left him. Through death or divorce or just neglect. His dad chases parts on the London stage and girls in the South of France, and his mom flits across the globe looking for lovers and increasingly complicated and expensive cures for the insult that is aging. So Sebastian is left here, a steward of the things his loved ones left behind. Including the very fancy and rare car I apparently defiled.
“It’s just a car, Em. Leather seats can be replaced.You can’t.” His voice cracks on his last sentence, and his frown deepens. He clears his throat. “I was worried.”
It must be my hangover causing my brain to malfunction, or maybe I’m just trying to distract us both from the fact that hesaw me almost naked, because I whisper, “Why did you ghost me this week?”
Before he can answer, I shake my head. “Nope. Sorry. Forget I asked that.”
“I didn’t message because I thought you might need space. And I thought maybe you’d forget about quitting and things would go back to normal if I gave it to you. It was a long shot since I offered you triple your salary and you turned it down. But I didn’t want to accidentally make things worse.” His lips quirk. “I’m not known for my tact. So I thought the best thing I could do was to go silent.”
“I’m not going to forget it. I quit for a reason. This life isn’t good for me. I need to build something of my own.”
He smooths a strand of hair away from my face. The tender gesture is familiar.
“But don’t you see, Em? You won’t have to do any more of the assistant stuff you don’t like. No more getting my dry cleaning or my coffee. You were absolutely right. You’ve been way above that shit. I’ve gradually piled more and more high-level work on you without taking the menial stuff off the list. I should have realized. You do more than my manager and publicist combined. I’ll restructure your job however you want.I need you.”
My cold, cold heart, which is never actually as cold as it pretends to be when it comes to Sebastian, melts further. But I fortify the organ. I build a fortress around it, one buttress at a time.
I need to.
Sebastian may be many things. He’s arrogant and obnoxiously entitled.
But his charisma is an effective weapon when he cares to wield it. He saves it mainly for the cameras. And only doles it out in his personal life in small, strategic doses.
In contrast, he uses his don’t-give-a-fuck attitude like a shield.
