Page 57 of Boss Me Dirty

“This is a work trip,” I murmur, his lips so close, my own nearly brush against them.

“The war room can wait until we land,” Sebastian says. “I’m tired of thinking about the leak and the investigation and the scandal. Tired of being the machine my father built. Right now, it’s just the coastline and us.”

His lips tentatively skim mine, a question waiting for an answer, a desire hoping for permission. I know this is a bad idea, a really bad idea. But I also know what answer I’m going to give.

“Five-minute ETA to Montauk, Mr. King.” The pilot’s voice crackles into our headsets.

Sebastian curses softly under his breath and pulls back, his eyes closing as his head hits headrest with a thunk.

We descend into Montauk, which looks so different from the city. There are no skyscrapers to catch the light, only the Atlantic, beautiful green lawns and boxwood hedges, and behind the hedges, enormous homes.

“That’s it coming up,” Sebastian says, pointing.

I follow Sebastian’s outstretched hand as the trees clear to reveal a sprawling residence with perfectly manicured lawns, multiple outbuildings, a pool, tennis and basketball courts, and, best of all, its own private beach. And that’s just what I gleaned from the air.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Sebastian chuckles. He’s hovering over my shoulder, close enough that his cologne and the warmth of his breath make it difficult to think. I’m grateful when the helicopter touches down on the grass pad.

Sebastian slides the door open. The relaxing sounds of the coast rush in: birdsong, the breeze, and the distant crash of waves. The air is sweet with the scent of grass, flowers, and salt spray. He helps me climb out and leads me toward the house, careful not to continue holding my hand once my feet hit the ground. “Come on. I’ll show you the inside.”

“But the boxes—” I stammer, looking back at the files, tablets, and laptops we brought. My words trail off as I see staff descending upon the helicopter to carry everything inside.

The sandy gravel is perfectly maintained, a proverbial red carpet leading up to the estate. I stop and stare at the coastal grandeur before me.

“Haven't you worked with high-profile clients and billionaires before?” Sebastian asks, standing beside me with his hands in his pockets.

“Of course, I have,” I reply defensively. “I’ve just never been to their homes. We meet in their offices. They most certainly never invited me to their beachfront homes.”

“You must make a decent salary yourself.”

“I do okay. But it certainly isn't billions, minus the cost of rent and supporting my mom.”

Sebastian’s smile fades. “Well, then, come on. Let me show you around.”

As Sebastian shows me through his summer palace, something unexpected happens. He starts to relax. First, he takes his blazer off, then his tie. He unbuttons the top few buttons of his shirt and rolls up his sleeves. I can see the tension in his shoulders ease; his posture grows less rigid. His smile comes more easily. It’s as though the sea air has lifted the weight that’s been crushing him.

“The east wing is that way,” he says, pointing toward a gallery. “There’s also a guesthouse, if you want to stay there. All the rooms have extra amenities, and there are clothes for you.”