Hot-air balloons filled the sky in an array of shapes and colors. There were ones shaped like cars, bottles of beer, and even Batman. Seb took in the spectacle like he was in some kind of surreal dream.
Standing beside him, Helen stared at the sky as if her neck would snap if she moved it. He’d been curt and borderline rude when Celeste had called—his mom had that effect on him at the best of times—and now Helen was pissed because he hadn’t explained the call, like a real boyfriend in a real relationship would have.
There’s no such thing as Just Sex!Seb mentally slapped his forehead.Of course, there wasn’t.
Feelings always got in the way. He’d let his dick overrule common sense and now they were free falling deeper into each other’s lives.
We’re past that now, it’s time you realized it.
Oh, he’d realized plenty these past few days. Top of the list—rules needed to be reset and reestablished. No more sleeping in her bed like a real couple, no morefrolickingin meadows surrounded by woodland animals and damned cheeping birds.
Focus, Clarke, focus!
No more talking about growing up with a criminal—and no more talking about working with one either.
Focus.
That’s what he’d been telling himself these past few days. But then he saw Helen again and the lines blurred like they always did when she was around.
Exactly why they needed rules.
Rules generated clarity. Rules kept the peace. They lit the runway to success and results.
A lack of rules bred chaos and turmoil.
In short, Just Sex had to become Just Not Happening Anymore.
For both their sakes.
The drive back from the city was tense. Seb didn’t expect the mood to improve after what he planned to tell Helen as soon as they got back to the cottage, but neither had he expected it to take a nosedive when Celeste called again a mile out.
He’d muted her calls but his phone vibrated in its holder, and the roads were so winding here that he needed both hands on the wheel so couldn’t switch the damn thing off.
“Don’t you get on with your mother?” Helen said, having obviously clocked the name on the display.
“We’re not the best of friends, no.”
“Why does she keep calling you?”
Seb chose his words carefully. “My mother wants me to attend my father’s memorial next week in Ottawa, despite me telling her, numerous times, that I don’t want to.”
“Why?”
“Because she thinks politically, after what happened in Vegas, it will look bad on her if I don’t.”
“No, I mean, why don’t you want to go?”
“I’m working here.”
Helen turned in her seat to face him. “But this is your father. Surely Michael Adams will give you a few days off, the calendar is clear of meetings and events next week, and you can afford the flight back, can’t you?”
“Her assistant has already booked one for me.”
“So how long have you known about this?”
Seb shifted uncomfortably. “A few weeks.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me before?”
