Chapter 10
SEBASTIAN
Iwake up alone. That shouldn’t surprise me, but it does.
I lie there for a moment, one arm behind my head, staring at the ceiling.
Not moving. Not reaching for my phone or the coffee service menu or any of the other things that usually slot neatly into the first five minutes of my morning.
Instead, I think and assess the previous night.
How quickly did I fall asleep after we had sex? How soon did she leave?
Immediately, I bet. She bolted the second she realized I was out. Efficient about it, too.
She was halfway out the door the moment we crossed the threshold.
I sit up and drag a hand over my face. Well, that’s done. I’ve crossed that line with my best friend’s sister, and I’m never going to be able to take it back. If her leaving is any indication, I’ll never get to do it again, either.
That was always going to be the case, I suppose. Quick and dirty, devoid of any real feeling. At least on her part. Because in the cold light of day, I’m starting to realize I want much more from her than just sex.
I get out of bed and force myself into motion. I take a long shower, let the heat work through my muscles, then brew a cup of coffee and check my messages while I wait. The gala is tonight. There’s plenty to worry about without thinking about Valentina for the rest of the day.
Unfortunately, everything about today will have her signature on it. She planned and coordinated every inch of the gala. She’ll be there running it, too. No matter what I do, there’s no escaping her presence or her rejection.
I stop by my house to change into a fresh suit and grab my tux for the event. It’s going to be a marathon of a day.
I drive to the office and handle as much work as I can while finding ways to avoid Nico. Thankfully, he knows I’m in gala mode, so he’s unlikely to stop by. He’ll be there tonight, which will be a landmine in itself, but the longer I can put off seeing him, the better.
What the fuck was I thinking? I wasn’t. That’s the problem.
I let my dick lead the way while Val was apparently in complete command of her senses.
She knew exactly what she wanted out of the experience and took it effortlessly.
How can I possibly be mad at her? I’ve done the same exact thing to countless women before.
No one’s ever done it to me, though.
It makes me feel like the biggest asshole in the world.
No wonder all those event planners were pissed at me the next morning.
It’s demoralizing to feel more invested in something than the other person.
Once this gala is over, I might have some apology calls to make.
Then again, maybe I can just get away with a few Hail Marys from a priest.
By noon, I’m back at the hotel, moving through the ballroom and service corridors with three people trying to talk to me at once.
The room is nearly finished now and it’s a night-and-day difference from what I saw two days ago.
The tables are set, the florals in place.
The candles did in fact make it, staged and ready to be lit right before the doors open.
I begrudgingly admire how incredible the ballroom looks.
Valentina has done an extraordinary job pulling this together.
I cross from the ballroom into the main pre-function corridor and see her for the first time in daylight.
She’s standing near the donor check-in station with a clipboard in one hand and an earpiece curled discreetly behind one ear, talking to two of her staff while scanning the room.
She looks exactly like what she is, which is the woman holding this whole place together.
All I want to do is drag her into the nearest dark, private space and remind her what she sounded like last night. The thought arrives fast enough to be almost inconveniently physical. I force myself to think of anything else, so I don’t show any sign of how unbelievably turned on I am.
She’s in her element, which is even sexier than seeing her almost completely naked. Not a hair out of place, no sign of tension in her spine. She’s got this. Nothing is going to get in the way of her seeing this event go off without a hitch. Not even me.
She looks entirely unaffected by what happened between us last night. You’d never know the filthy mouth she has on her, or the unearthly sounds she makes when she comes.
She sees me a second later. Her gaze lands on mine, pauses, and gives me absolutely nothing useful. Hardly any reaction at all, beyond that of an event coordinator spotting the CEO she needs to wrangle. She waves me over.
“Sebastian,” she says casually, as if we didn’t see each other naked just a few hours ago.
“Valentina,” I respond, matching her tone. If she’s going to be this unaffected, I’m not going to be the one who shows emotion.
“That donor corridor stanchion needs to shift six inches left, or we’re going to bottleneck the arrivals.”
I glance at it automatically. She’s really going to pretend nothing happened and stay totally professional, isn’t she? Fine. Two can play that game.
“I’ll have it moved,” I tell her.
“Thank you.”
That is the entirety of our first post-sex interaction. She turns back to her staff and continues giving instructions while I stand there for one extra beat, feeling vaguely ridiculous that I expected anything else.
This is what she wants. Distance. Control. Professional terms restored immediately. I can respect that. More than that, I understand it. If our positions were reversed, distance would be the smart move. It is the smart move now.
So why does it bother me this much?
I move on because there’s no practical alternative, but for the next hour I keep catching sight of her across the room. She’s so coolly composed, so entirely locked into event mode, that last night starts to feel like something I made up.
A board member corners me near the bar setup to complain about her seating.
I handle that. Security wants one final review of the donor vehicle sequence.
I handle that too. The foundation photographer asks if he can shift the lighting.
I tell him absolutely not, because Valentina already made that call and I trust her more than him.
By late afternoon, I find her near the ballroom entrance reviewing the final cue sheet with the AV lead. She finishes, sends him away, and makes a note on her clipboard before I reach her.
“The stanchion was moved,” I say.
“I saw.”
“Do you need anything else?”
She glances toward the doors, then back at me. “Two of the sponsor wives showed up early to inspect the floral wall, and one of them has very loud opinions. No real authority, of course, so I’m not worried. Otherwise, we’re in good shape.”
That almost earns a smile from me. “You look thrilled.”
“I’m saving my joy for after the check presentation.”
Her mouth stays straight when she says it, but there’s dry humor underneath. Better than the frosty professionalism from earlier, but not by much.
I lower my voice slightly. “Did you get any sleep last night?”
Her expression doesn’t change. Not outwardly. But I see the pause before she answers.
“I got enough.”
She’s lying. She looks as collected as ever, but there’s a faint tightness under her eyes that I doubt anyone else here would catch.
“We’ve got everything covered,” she says before I can push further. “I’ll handle donor flow, stage transitions, board wrangling, the auction sequence. You need to go get dressed.”
There it is again. Business only. Structure and efficiency and not one inch of room for anything personal.
I study her for a second. “You’ve got everything covered, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
Her answer is immediate and certain.
Valentina built this evening the same way she builds everything else, through sheer force of competence and control. The smart move is to trust that and step back so the event can run. Instead, all I can think is that she doesn’t seem remotely affected by last night.
Unfortunately, it’s all I can think about.