I’ll be kind, I’ll be patient, I won’t let anyone get under my skin.
I paused with my hand on the handle. Took one breath. Then another.
Then I opened the door and stepped inside.
2SEBASTIAN
The contract neededmy signature in three places.
I'd read it twice already. Caught two errors legal team had missed. Sent it back for revisions that morning. Now it sat on my desk again, pristine and corrected, waiting for me to do my job.
I signed the first line. Moved to the second.
My office was quiet. It was always quiet. I'd designed it that way. Soundproofed walls, no windows facing the bullpen, a door that locked from the inside. Forty-seven floors up, Manhattan sprawled beyond the glass like a circuit board. Steel and glass and tiny people moving through their tiny lives.
I used to find the view impressive. Now it was just... there. Background noise for the never-ending parade of documents requiring my attention.
I signed the second line.
The only personal item on my desk was a photograph. It was a picture of Evie, three years ago, on a beach in the Hamptons. She'd found a hermit crab that day. Named it Sebastian Junior. That was the first time I wondered if my daughter disliked me. I believed I was more formidable than to have a crab named after me.
And then, when I explained we couldn't bring it home because it would die, she cried for an hour. Of course, Caroline had been there to console her. She always could reach her easier than I could. She knew the right things to say.
So, was it a surprise when Caroline said she wanted nothing to do with us two weeks later? If you asked me that question at nine in the morning when I was sharp and ready for work, I’d give a simple “no.” But if you asked twelve hours later, when I was alone in my study, cradling a glass of whiskey, my answer would be, well… different.
That was the last time Evie cried. I'm not sure why that stopped. Maybe I was just a sad replacement for her amazing mother.
I signed the third line and set the contract aside.
My intercom crackled. "Mr. Dubois? Your mother is here to see you."
I checked my watch. She was twenty minutes early. That meant she wanted something. My mother was never early unless she was angling for extra time to make her case.
"Send her in."
A few seconds later, the door opened, and Helena Dubois swept into the room.
My mother was sixty-two years old and looked fifty. She credited good genes and expensive skincare. I credited the small army of professionals she employed to maintain the illusion of effortless elegance.
I rose to my feet and crossed the room to her.
"Sebastian." She pressed an air kiss to my cheek. "You look tired."
"Hello, Mother."
"Have you been sleeping? You have circles under your eyes. You should see Dr. Morrison. He has wonderful supplements."
I adjusted my tie before turning back to my seat. "I'm fine."
"You always say that." She settled into the chair across from me. She paused for a moment, staring down at the document on my desk. "I won't stay long. I know you're busy conquering the world."
I leaned back in my chair. Waited for her to begin her speech.
My mother smoothed an invisible wrinkle on the dress that the company card definitely paid for. Her finger toyed with her wedding ring. Five years after my father's death, she still wore it. Xavier asked her once why she kept it on. She'd looked at him like he’d suggested she sell the family silver.
"Your grandmother's birthday dinner is on the twenty-third," she began. "I've confirmed the Pierre. It’s a small ballroom. Black tie, obviously."
I nodded and turned my attention back to the contract. "Margaret has my calendar. She'll coordinate."
