“Really?” His gaze flicked toward me for a split second. “Interesting.”
I braced myself for a taunt, a snarky comment, anything, but it never came.
I blinked, thrown by Sebastian’s uncharacteristic terseness. That was it? He wasn’t going to give me shit for needing help to find a date? What was wrong with him?
I almost reached over to check if he had a fever, but Xavier slung an arm around his shoulder and saved me from my own impulse. “We should pair her with Killian. He’s always down for a good party.”
“Killian Katrakis?” Ayana perked up. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of him. He’d be perfect!”
“Heisreally good-looking,” Sloane mused. “Not as good-looking as you, of course,” she added when Xavier shot her a wounded look. She patted him on the shoulder like he was a golden retriever instead of a six-foot-plus billionaire. “But Killian could work. What do youthink, Maya? You’re acquainted with him, right?”
“Sure. We know each other,” I said with some wariness.
Killian Katrakis was the CEO of a major electronics conglomerate. Gorgeous, single, and richer than God, he was one of the city’s most sought-after bachelors. There was an ongoing bet amongst the single (and not-so-single) socialites in New York to see who could lock him down first. So far, no one had gotten even close.
“Great! We’ll give him a call.” Xavier’s dimples flashed again. “Right, Seb?”
A muscle feathered in Sebastian’s jaw. “Wearen’t doing anything,” he said coolly. “I’ll leave the matchmaking to you. I’m not interested in doomed endeavors.”
“Fine.” Xavier appeared undeterred by the brushoff. In fact, he almost looked like he was trying not to laugh. “Don’t worry, Maya. I got you. Be back soon.” He grabbed a bemused Sloane and dragged her to another part of the club.
“I’ll be back too. Restroom,” Ayana elaborated. She winked at me and disappeared into the crowd.
And then there were two.
Sebastian and I eyed each other. His hair was more tousled than usual, and there was a bandage wrapped around his thumb. It hadn’t been there last week.
“Here I thought you’d be in the office,” he drawled. “Did you call me from the club earlier? That’s sad.”
The urge to ask about his bandage disappeared beneath a comfortingly familiar avalanche of annoyance. “I called you from happy hour, and that’s because I needed the alcohol to make talking to you bearable.”
His lips curved. “I’d find that more believable if we hadn’t hadmanyconversations sober, Sal.”
I hated that he was right.
A specific memory rose, unbidden, like an old ghost emergingfrom a long sleep.
Boarding school. The hushed silence of the library. The faint, distinctive smell of old books, like dry wood mixed with sweet vanilla.
And Sebastian and I, cooped up there so late during finals that we were the only ones left. We were wired from too much caffeine and delirious from too little sleep, and we would stay there long after midnight, our conversations meandering from the function of cells to debates about art, literature, and philosophy. We’d fall asleep arguing, and…
I blinked away the memory before it sank its claws into me.
That was then; this is now.
“Many conversations, yes. Many conversations I’ve enjoyed? Not so much,” I said, recovering.
A smirk played around the corners of his mouth. “Stock’s up day over day this past week,” he said, abruptly changing subjects. “Good job.”
“Are you so obsessed that you’re stalking my company’s performance?”
His expression flickered before it smoothed again. “It’s the first rule of business, Sal. Always keep a close eye on your competition.”
“We operate in completely different fields.” They were both food-focused, sure, but there was a vast difference between frozen foods and gourmet restaurants.
“I’m not talking about our companies.”
My eyes flew to his.
