CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SEBASTIAN
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M ason spurts his drink across the table and curses while the others look amused.
“So, you fucked a passenger because you were angry that your jet broke?”
Pretty much.
Although it’s not that simple. The complete mess of a girl—Emily—should never have been in first class, and my cock should’ve been fast asleep while I focused on business.
But that didn’t happen.
I don’t know what fucking happened. The little minx bewitched me with her sexy blue eyes, British charm, and all that wild hair.
God, imagine gripping it while slamming into her from behind. Like a wild lion.
“Look, she was drunk, cute, and wouldn’t shut up so I...shoved my cock in her mouth.”
Jesus. That sounds bad, even to my own ears.
Now I’m in even deeper. What was I thinking, inviting her to be my date on Sunday night?
Date? You mean your fake fiancée?
“I haven’t finished my story.” I toss back the last of my whisky.
“There’s more?” Drew lifts his brows, humored.
“Monday morning—” I start.
“Oh, god no.” Colt slaps his forehead. “She’s pregnant.”
I frown.
How the hell did he come to that conclusion? While we’re asking questions, how did he get into Harvard?
“Dude, she sucked my cock. I don’t know if you understand how babies are made...?”
“Oh. I thought you finished the job. Never mind. Carry on.” His gaze follows a slim blonde walking through his club.
“She’s suing you?” Zander spins his glass on the table.
Zander, or Alexander Sterling—lead partner at the prestigious NYC law firm, Sterling Obsidian & Associations—is a lawyer. If that wasn’t obvious by his question. He’s made his billions through strategic legal victories for some huge names and brands, and savvy investments.
“No. Turns out Emily is my PA.”
They all roar with laughter.
Idiots.
I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe some pity. Definitely some ribbing. But not for them all to enjoy my suffering to this extent.
This is a terrible situation...and they still don’t know the half of it.
“Fuck.” Drew slaps the table, his shoulders shaking as he chuckles further.
I nod to our personal server who hovers nearby, and he grabs the twelve-year-old single malt Macallan and heads over.
Zander and Colt slide their glasses forward an inch, and the server tops them up too.
“So did you let her go?” Mason asks, reaching his arm out along the sofa and taking a slow sip. “I wouldn’t complain about a sexy little Brit on my cock every day at lunchtime.”
I cringe, even though my own mind has gone there every day this week.
“Jesus, how have none of you been sued?” Zander shakes his head.
Mason rolls his eyes. “It’s not sexual harassment if it's consensual...dad.”
“Tell that to the judge and don’t expect me to visit you in prison.” Zander swirls his ice around the bottom of his glass.
“No one is going to prison, and no one is fucking anyone at lunchtime,” I say firmly. “Especially not me.”
Says the guy who couldn’t keep his hands to himself today.
“Speak for yourself.” Colt laughs.
Colt owns The Obsidian Club, a high-end bar which tailors to the elite of New York’s society. Only the very wealthy can afford the membership, and for good reason.
Through the two glossy black doors at the rear of the bar, which have a shiny O and C on them, is a whole other world. If you pay the additional four-figure entrance fee—cash only—you step into a titular environment most people would gasp at.
Clothes are optional—even frowned upon—in the sex club where adults enjoy themed shows and a space where they’re free to express their darkest desires.
Anything goes.
The consent rules are laid out, but when you step through those doors, you know what you are getting yourself into.
I have no doubt Colt is enjoying his lunchtimes with some of his employees way more than the rest of us.
It’s why he started the club, I guess. He’s always been into kinky shit.
Mason, on the other hand, started Obsidian Nexus Technologies, a cutting-edge AI and cybersecurity firm specializing in secure data solutions for both government and private organizations.
Drew is a finance tycoon—to quote the media—and is known for aggressive takeovers and high-risk investments. Obsidian Capital Partners considered the Crown Plaza during the beginning stages of the plan scoping, but Drew bowed out, saying the political challenges could impact our friendship.
We both agreed it was not the best idea.
“Christ. I swear you give me nightmares, Colt. More than once, I’ve imagined standing in a courtroom defending your ass.”
“My ass is just fine, Zander.” Colt tosses back his drink and stands, straightening his black pants. “How about joining me at the club where I will show you my cheeks, and you can check out some of the newbies.”
It’s my turn to laugh.
I don’t frequent that part of the club as often as the others.
At first it was a novelty, but NYC is a small place with a lot of people.
The number at the top of the food chain is even smaller.
The day I faced a guy across the boardroom table and recalled seeing him getting a blowjob from a Washington senator.
..yeah, that didn’t work for me anymore.
I’d rather not know.
I’m also not a voyeur and hate sharing.
“Fine. But keep your ass away from my face.” Zander tosses a napkin at me. “Fire your PA, Sebastian. Trust me on this.” Then he follows Colt through the club, and the two disappear through the OC doors.
I watch as a man I recognize follows them through with two beautiful women on his arms and wonder what Emily’s doing.
She’s twenty-five and living abroad for the first time in her life. I know exactly what she’s doing. But I want to know who she’s doing it with.
My teeth grind as I fight the urge to call her and demand she return to the office.
I’m sure I’m missing a report...
“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t do it.” Mason warns.
“I can’t fire her.” I let out a sigh. “Whether she knows it or not, she could sue me.”
I’m surprised Zander didn’t warn me.
“Exactly. So keep your dick in your pants and find another department for her.” Mason leans his arm on the table, tilting his head. “Do you like her?”
I snort.
“Jesus, Mason, she’s twenty-five. Curves for days and barely a dollar to her name.”
I feel like an asshole, but we all remember what happened to Jack. We won’t ever forget the event that’s threaded through our lives and bonded us.
It’s not that we only date wealthy women—they can be worse—but as billionaires, we have to be more aware of these things. Learning your friend was murdered by a gold digger messes with you.
Mason nods, leaning back. “How did she end up in first class?”
“Upgraded. God, Mase, she caused a scene.” I shake my head, laughing as I recall the moment champagne went flying over the flight attendant. And how Emily kept the entire cabin awake, chatting to her new plane friends .
Her words, not mine.
“Woah,” Drew says, and the two men share a glance.
My smile vanishes.
“Not woah . It was just a funny situation. Don’t read anything into it.” These guys know me well, so I backtrack. “Emily sucked my cock after we drank too much, then turned up in my office to start as my assistant on Monday morning. It’s a mess and I intend to fix it.”
By taking her out on Sunday to one of the most important business dinners of my life and introducing her as my fiancée.
Drew and Mason start laughing all over again.
“Okay, fuck this. I’m out.” I reach for my phone.
“Sebastian, you don’t do funny.” Mason holds his hand out, stopping me. “If you like Emily, find her another position and date her. It’s okay if she’s young.”
No. It’s not.
I don’t like how out of control she makes me feel.
How I want to stalk every bar in the city and find her, ripping to pieces any man who lays a hand on her.
Like I’m fucking Superman.
“I’m looking for a new assistant. Leigh resigned last week,” Mason shares.
My heckles lift.
Nope. Not happening.
“It’s fine. Emily is doing a good job. Like you said, I just need to keep my dick in my pants. Which I will.” I toss some notes onto the table. “Wednesday night, we’re having a gala. The sheikh is flying over. I need you all there.”
“I’ll clear my schedule,” Drew says.
“You don’t need to ask.” Mason shakes my hand, and I leave my friends to enjoy the rest of the night.
Fucking someone tonight would be a good move. It would relieve the tension between Emily and me, but honestly I can’t even get a twitch out of my cock at the idea of another woman.
That’s what bothers me the most.
I text my driver, and by the time I exit the club, the car is idling at the curb.
“Evening, Mr. Remington.”
“Tony,” I say, sliding into the back seat.
“Heading home?”
I grind my teeth again, wondering where Emily might be.
“Yeah,” I answer after a long pause and lay my jacket across my lap.
I have no claim on her and remind myself that while she’ll be my fiancée from Sunday night, it must remain confidential. How we do this, I’m not sure.
The plan is full of holes.
But I need this funding back on the table.
As the car pulls away and blends into the late-night traffic, I swipe open my phone and pull up Emily’s number. I stare at it the entire way home.
When I walk into my penthouse and flop down on the sofa, my finger hovers over it.
Do not do it, Sebastian.