CHAPTER SIX
SEBASTIAN
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“G ood morning, Mr. Remington ,” Donna in reception greets me as I stride across the lobby.
“Morning.” I nod and keep walking.
At the elevator, I push the button, grateful we have a private one for the executives. If I had to listen to a dozen good mornings every day, I’d probably go insane.
Nobody’s getting a raise because they greet me better than anyone else or have a smile in the morning. I prefer it when my employees ignore me.
Unless of course I ask them a question.
One would think, as the boss, you could ask that of your staff. Apparently, that’s “not appropriate.”
The door closes and I snort out a private laugh.
I check my email on the ride up to the top floor, grinding my teeth when I don’t see an email from Khalid or Rashid Al-Mansour.
This isn’t good.
Stepping out, I stride down the executive floor to my spacious corner office. I give the billion-dollar view of Manhattan a cursory glance, drop my bag on my chair, and tug out my laptop.
“You’re here.” Victor appears in my doorway.
“I am.” I don’t bother looking at my CFO as I connect my laptop and drop my bag on the floor.
Victor stands on the other side of my desk and slides a hand into his pocket, the other one lifts a mug to his lips.
“How did the rest of your meetings go in London?”
Victor flew home from Dubai while I traveled on to England. I’m certainly not telling him the highlight of my trip was the flight home.
“My jet is stuck over there.”
“What? So you flew commercial?” He chokes on his coffee and coughs.
“Yeah.” I laugh, and he stares at me like I spoke Russian or something.
“Those poor passengers.” Victor laughs as he coughs some more.
You have no idea, Victor.
“Yeah, anyway, it went fine. I still haven’t heard from Khalid.”
I walk down to the executive lunchroom while Victor follows me, reminding me about the report I still haven’t come back to him about.
“So what do we think about the sheikh disappearing?” he finally asks, sounding concerned.
When I mentioned it in Dubai, he’d had too much to drink and shrugged it off. Now he’s clearly catching up. I’m trying not to worry. It could be something that has nothing to do with us.
But we are expecting half a billion dollars from the sheikh. He’s the major investor, besides Remington Obsidian, and if it falls over at this point in the project, it will be our biggest failure.
I don’t fail.
We are the most successful luxury development company in the country.
“Khalid's disappearance is a concern, yes. But his silence since is even more worrying.”
Victor is quiet as I make my green tea. I toss the tea bag into the trash—I don’t like it strong—and turn, leaning my ass against the counter.
“That’s not good,” he agrees.
“It may have nothing to do with us, or it might.” I sip the hot liquid.
We are both silent for a long moment, thinking, clearly going back over the evening.
“You didn’t fuck one of his wives, did you?”
I give him a dark look, push off the counter, and make my way back to my office.
“Seb, I was joking.”
As I walk through the doorway, I don’t bother turning as I say, “Sebastian.”
I hate Seb. I hate my name shortened. I don’t know what made me tell Emily that my name was Bastian. It just fell out when I was hoping she’d ignore me during the flight. I certainly didn’t want to tell her who I was if she recognized the well-known name.
Who knew it was her mouth that I’d end up enjoying the most.
I digress...back to Victor.
We’re not friends, so it’s highly inappropriate for him to use a nickname, and yet he does it too often. Victor was a fellow Harvard graduate who came highly recommended when I was recruiting.
He’s done a great job, which is why he’s still got a job. But when it comes to boundaries? Victor has none. He crosses them like a fucking three-year-old with a pack of crayons and a coloring book.
Recently my instincts have been flaring. Just the odd comment here or there. Speaking up in partner meetings when it’s inappropriate.
I have a feeling he wants my job.
Victor was one of the shareholders who sold early—really early. A few years ago, he tried to negotiate a new share package. I said no, and he’s asked me twice since.
No.
“Buy them,” I replied. “You have the second largest salary in the organization. Buy them just like everyone else.”
“It’s about valuing your employees, Sebastian. I add an enormous amount of value to Remington Obsidian. Fucking negotiate.”
Wow.
“Curse at me again,” I warned him, with a dark look. “And you’ll be writing yourself a fucking exit check.”
“That wasn’t a no.” Victor pushed his chair back, smiled, and walked out.
It’s been playing in the back of my mind over the past six months, but he is right. He does add value. But nothing unique. Another person could do his job.
Aside from the fact I always wanted to be self-employed and had some capital to take a few risks, I knew I didn’t want to be an employee. Even I would have been replaceable.
Everyone is.
Even now, someone else could take over our market-leading position.
Being humble is as much of a strategy as any business move. Victor could learn a thing or two about that.
I have kept him on board, hoping it was just a phase he’d work through or go start his own company if he was inclined.
I’d support him doing that—not financially—and then replace him.
But replacing a CFO is an enormous job and if I don’t have to do it, I’d rather not so I can focus on our growth plans.
And the Crown Plaza development.
I drop my tea on my desk and sit down. “No, I didn’t fuck any of his wives. But...”
“Oh, Jesus.” Victor shakes his head, but there’s amusement in his eyes, which I’m confused about.
“One of his daughters grabbed my cock at dinner.”
He chokes on the sip of coffee he’s taking. “What?!”
I hold up my hand. “Uninvited.”
Victor groans. “Did anyone see?”
I lean back in my seat and consider his question. I don’t know. They may have. I reacted swiftly, grabbing her hand and moving it back to her lap, but if someone had spotted the movement, it would have looked suspicious.
You don’t touch a sheikh’s daughter or wife or any of the females.
Fuck.
What choice did I have? I couldn’t let her give me a hand job under the table.
“So, then Khalid disappears soon after?”
I nod.
Within fifteen minutes.
I hate that Victor is painting the picture I’ve been trying to ignore. The timing can’t be a coincidence, and the fact that we haven’t heard from him for a few days is not good.
“Mr. Remington,” Julie, my human resources manager, appears in the doorway.
“Hey Julie,” Victor purrs, and I see her flinch.
“Mr. Sanderson.” She smiles, but it’s fake as fuck. “Your new assistant will be here in about ten minutes, so I thought you could meet with her for a few minutes and discuss expectations.”
That’s easy enough. I expect them to do their job, read my mind, and work twelve-hour days. Just like Kristen did.
Apparently, that’s asking too much.
“Fine.” I nod, and Julie disappears while I glare at Victor.
“What? I just said hello.” He laughs. “There are no dating rules in our contracts.”
Which I regret. Julie is uncomfortable around Victor, and I don’t blame her. I have a sister, and if someone made her feel like that, I’d introduce him to my fist in a dark fucking alley.
“She’s said no to you five times,” I remind him. “Now it’s bordering on harassment.”
“Three.”
I lift a brow.
“I’m an alpha male.” Victor walks to the window, ignoring me as if there will be no consequences for his actions.
More and more, this man is irritating me.
“You’re one conversation away from being accused of workplace harassment, so give it a rest. Now go see what you can find out about the Al-Mansour’s. We need that money in the next thirty days or we’re fucked.”
“If he thinks you fondled his daughter, the agreement will be dead.” Victor shakes his head, turns, and meets me straight in the eye. “But I will try to fix this.”
I watch him work it out and think two things: One, who the fuck says fondle. Two, why does he seem a little happy about this?
Right now is not the time to fire his ass, but I’d be lying if I said the idea hadn’t crossed my mind.
The Crown Plaza development is the most important investment in my career. Not only is Khalid Al-Mansour, the major funder, now uncertain, but there’re been community protests on the site.
Which is unusual given there has been no announcement about the project. Therefore, I’ve assumed there has been a leak. One that’s hard to track given the amount of people involved.
Every new development has public resistance, but this one is louder than normal. The two-billion-dollar mixed-use tower will have apartments and retail along with a luxury boutique hotel and two clubs. Residents are unhappy about what that will mean to their neighborhood and parks.
I’m meeting with my teams this week to assess where things are, but once we get our zoning approval, we’ll proceed regardless.
This is why I had to race back to Manhattan. The approval is delayed, and the noise loud. Otherwise, I would have waited for my jet to be repaired.
I’m not sorry.
I’ve spent the past two nights thinking about Emily’s mouth and the taste of her wet pussy.
I meant what I said, we have unfinished business.
I have every intention of fucking her for an entire evening or even an entire weekend.
Let’s just say I’ve imagined her bent over a few pieces of furniture in my penthouse while stroking my hard cock. While fantasy can be much better than reality, in this instance I’ve tasted the goods and know it’s going to be worth it.
It was clear from the moment Emily appeared in a cloud of chaos in first class that we were complete opposites. And yet, within minutes, I couldn’t keep my eyes off her.
She was like a magnet.
I’ll arrange for my chef to make us dinner at my penthouse, then after, dive into the extracurricular activities.
Emily is starting her new life in New York. She’s not interested in dating a thirty-something man, and I’m not interested in a relationship. I’m interested in her pussy and, by the way her eyes lit up when she saw my cock, I know she’s keen to finish what we started.
A girl like Emily wants a ring and a white wedding. Fuck that. I’ve seen where that leads you.
Six feet under.
Or like my sister, divorced and handing over kids each weekend. Catherine’s split with her husband five years ago was another nail in the coffin for me when it came to marriage.
Jack found out the hard way. I have the luxury of being smarter.
Knock knock.
I lift my head from the email I’ve read about seventeen times while lost in my thoughts.
Julie stands in the doorway next to a young woman with red hair, seductive curves, and a pale, startled looking expression.
No.
No fucking way.
“Mr. Remington, this is Emily Harper. Your new personal assistant.”
Holy fucking shit.