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The silence is brittle, like frost has crept over every surface. Sebastian is motionless. His face is completely blank.
“Sebastian,” I say softly, stepping toward him. “He’s wrong. The interview worked. The numbers will prove—”
“Get out.”
“What?”
He turns, and the look on his face is pure venom. Every ounce of shame his father just heaped on him, he’s pouring straight onto me.
“You heard him. Your little performance made me look weak. You think you’re so smart, with your plan and your theories, but you don’t know the first thing about how my world works. You’re a contractor. A line item. Stop acting like you have a seat at the table of my life.”
My throat tightens. My eyes sting. I don’t let him see either.
“You’re right,” I say, and my voice shakes with cold, focused fury. “I’m a contractor. And contractors don’t have to stand here and take abuse from a man who just stood there and took it from his father.”
Shock flashes across his face, then anger.
“You have a meeting with the independent auditors at ten,” I say. “It’s a good plan. It’s the only plan. If you want to be the cold, calculating businessman who loses everything because he’s too proud to be human, that’s your choice. But don’t you dare talk to me like I’m the problem.”
I walk out past the silent assistants, take the elevator down to the marble lobby, and step out into a morning that’s already sweltering.
As I hail a cab, I can’t stop thinking about the look in his eyes while his father spoke. It wasn’t arrogance.
It was pain. Old, deep, soul-crushing pain.
I hate Sebastian King.
And I’m terrified that I’m the only person who has ever seen him bleed.
9
ISABELLA
“Sticks, Izzy. Small sticks. They’re four.”
“I’m a PR exec, Nina, not a chef.” I glance over my shoulder at my sister, who’s piping black and white frosting onto a mountain of cupcakes. “I got you and Paloma through childhood. I think the carrots will be fine.”
It’s Saturday, and Nina’s tiny Queens kitchen smells like sugar and the grill heating up out back. For the first time all week, nobody is asking me for a signature.
Nina sticks out her tongue at me and goes back to her piping.
“Lovely example for your children.”
“Being a good example is mind-numbing.” She pauses, presses a hand to her stomach, and swallows hard.
“You okay?”
“Fine. Still a little queasy in the mornings.” She waves it off a little too quickly.
The back door bangs open, and Paloma waltzes in wearing last night’s makeup, a mess of blond hair, and a man’s dress shirt over her clubbing clothes.
Nina’s eyes narrow. “The walk of shame to your niece’s birthday party? Really?”
“She’s four. She doesn’t know what a walk of shame is.” Paloma snags a cupcake and dances out of slapping range. “I’ll teach her when she’s older.”
I pull a cupcake topper out of the bag, a screaming ghost nun, and hold it up. “Nina. Are you sure this won’t traumatize the other children?”
“Believe me, I tried. She wanted the Haunted Nun party, and you try saying no to Nova when she’s made up her mind.”
