What I end up with is an ankle-length nightgown with a ruffle around the neckline that would make even a conservative granny happy. I also grab a pair of men’s pajamas, complete with long pants and a button-up shirt with long sleeves.
Sebastian might have bought me at an auction, stolen my father’s baseball team from me, and then dragged me here to his turf, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him enjoy sharing a bed with me.
34
SEBASTIAN
After Blair leaves,I order room service and then pour myself a stiff drink. I take it out to the suite’s balcony, hoping to get some air and think. To say things have not gone as planned today would be a gross understatement.
It’s not that I expected Blair to be thrilled about getting auctioned off, of course, but I thought she’d be relieved to know that I was the winner. That she wouldn’t be forced to marry Ted Polansky or the spoiled Brit or that self-obsessed CEO Mason Sharp. Hell, and I figured she’d be excited to come back to the island and get away from her parents. She seemed to love it here when she was visiting. But now…she looks so angry and miserable that I’m doubting this trip was a good idea at all.
Seeing her so despondent at her apartment earlier killed me. I can’t imagine what she’s going through. Her entire life has been pulled out from under her, and she’s been betrayed by the people closest to her—including me. My obligation to serve my clients, her parents, kept me from revealing the truth to her for far too long, but it’s a shitty excuse for keeping her in the dark.
I have no idea how I’m going to get her to trust me again. All I do know is, I’m up for the challenge. I’ll do anything to make it up to her. I just wish I knew where to start.
Pulling out my phone, I idly refresh my email inboxes and find a resignation from Daisy, sent a few hours ago. It’s brief and formal and doesn’t explain why she’s quitting. But if I had to guess, it’s due to my deplorable behavior. Between kissing her at the Junkanoo and acting like a total ass ever since I cut myself off from Blair, I’ve been a nightmare of a boss. It’s not how I usually conduct myself, and I’m ashamed. Daisy deserves so much better.
I email her back to tell her that I reject her resignation, that she has the potential to accomplish great things at the resort, and that I think she’s become an asset to the team. I apologize for acting inappropriately toward her both in and out of the office and promise that it won’t happen again. The cherry on top is a raise and a paragraph’s worth of sincere compliments, which doesn’t require a lot of effort since she’s improved so much in the short time she’s been training as a concierge. I also approve the special project she pitched last week—a pre-set menu of combination excursions for guests that focus on activities meant to invigorate the mind, body, and soul; for example, a beach yoga class followed by a gourmet lunch, a trip to a museum, and a massage at the resort’s spa afterward.
I’ve just put my phone in my pocket when I hear a doorbell chime inside the suite. Room service must be here. I let the staff in and direct them to arrange the domed dishes on the dining table, then send them on their way just as Blair returns with armloads of shopping bags.
“Let me help you with those,” I say, reaching for the bags.
“No thank you,” she says, stalking into the bedroom and closing the door behind her.
I give her a few minutes, and then knock on the door. “Blair?”
“I don’t want to talk to you,” she says through the door.
“Will you at least eat something, then? The food is still hot. You can take a plate into the bedroom if you don’t want to sit out here with me.”
“I’m not hungry.”
I fight the urge to argue with her, to insist that she eat something. She’s had enough of other people making decisions for her and forcing her to bend to their will.
“All right. There’s plenty out here if you change your mind,” I tell her.
I fix myself a plate of the steak and lobster I ordered, but I barely eat it as I sit on the couch and watch the news. I keep the volume low, in case Blair calls out for anything, but soon enough I realize I can hear the sound of the TV in the bedroom. Judging by the laugh track, she’s watching sitcom reruns.
Just after midnight, I knock on the door again. There’s no response. I crack the door open and see that she’s asleep in the bed, the TV still blaring. When I step into the room and whisper her name, she doesn’t move. I’m sure she’s exhausted, both physically and emotionally. I do my best to not make a sound as I shower and get ready for bed. When I slide under the sheets beside her, I notice she’s wearing an old-fashioned nightgown that covers her from neck to ankle.
Message received. Not that I’d touch her without her consent anyway. But I stretch my arm across the bed toward her, just in case she changes her mind in the middle of the night and wants to grab my hand. I want her to know I’m always here for her.
The next morning, I wake up early, only to find Blair’s side of the bed empty and cold. At first, I panic. Has she left? Gone back to New York? What if I never see her again?
But when I pad into the living room, my pulse slows. She’s sitting out on the balcony with a cup of coffee in her hand, her back facing me. The breeze ruffles her hair as she looks out at thesun rising over the ocean, rays of pink and golden light spilling across the sky.
“You been up a while?” I ask, sliding open the glass doors.
She shrugs in response, but I can see she’s fully dressed and that her hair is damp.
“Breakfast?” I try.
She shakes her head no.
Okay. We’re not doing this. I’ve given her enough space.
I go back into the bedroom and brush my teeth, pull on casual clothes, and slip into my shoes. Then I go back out onto the balcony and position myself between Blair and the sunrise. Ignoring the glare she gives me, I grab her hand and gently but firmly pull her to her feet.
