Chapter 23 Brynn
I picked up my phone and reread the text I had received from Sebastian at six thirty.
I’m back on chauffeur duty, but only because you’ve proven you can’t be trusted on your own. See you at eight.
I hadn’t brought any of the right clothes. Not a single thing I’d packed was suitable. I groaned in frustration as I picked
through the silk blouses and chenille sweaters strung across the pink roses on the bedsheets. My boots would work. (It would
break my heart a little if I got them muddy, but only a little. A little bit of heartbreak was good for the ego.) Everything
else? Useless.
I pulled my knee-length coat on and zipped it up over the towel I had wrapped around me and expertly tucked at my chest. My hair was still loose and wet from my shower, hanging down over my shoulders in stringy ribbons.
I could not be late today. I wouldn’t give Sebastian the satisfaction.
But I also couldn’t climb a mountain in Gucci.
I opened my door a crack and peeked down the hall and back. Nothing. I tiptoed out onto the old wooden slats with the maroon
runner and followed the path it laid out like Dorothy heading to Oz. Hurrying to the staircase, I tilted my head down in every
direction to make sure no one was hanging out on the second floor either. Orly was probably already in the kitchen, eating
breakfast with Mrs. Stoddard. The scent of raspberry wafted to me, filling my head with images of muffins and scones. I wasn’t
sure what she had baked, but I would be pleased as punch with any of it.
“Orly?” I knocked on his door and stage whispered his name. “Are you still in here?” I put my ear up to the varnished wood
and heard the bed creaking. I looked at my wrist to double-check the time, but I hadn’t put my watch on yet. Regardless, I
knew it wasn’t very long until Sebastian would be there to pick us up. “Orly?” I knocked again, a little louder. “You’re not
still asleep, are you?”
Shuffling footsteps from inside approached, and I stepped back in anticipation of the door opening. But I sure didn’t anticipate
what I would see when it did.
“Hey, Brynn,” Orly said. Well, he sort of said it. It was barely above a croak and mixed together with some truly hideous
coughing. The kind that made you want to step back in case a lung was deposited at your feet.
“Oh my gosh, Orly. What happened to you?”
I had checked in with him when I got to Cassidy’s last night and offered to take him dinner, but he’d told me Mrs. Stoddard had made pozole rojo, which is this really amazing stew with pork and hominy, and that I was the one missing out.
I texted him again when Cole and Laila dropped me off, just to let him know I’d gotten back okay, and he hadn’t responded.
It had been after midnight, so I hadn’t given that a second thought—even if I briefly wanted to be hurt that he hadn’t been sitting up waiting for me like an overprotective father.
He had in no way prepared me for the ashen complexion he was now sporting—the color you only expected to see where a campfire
used to be after you let it burn all night.
“You’re sick,” I stated, quite unnecessarily.
He coughed into his elbow and shook his head. “No, I’m fine. What time is it? I’ll get ready.” He turned to head back into
his room, but he swayed and staggered to the point that I had zero confidence in his ability to make it the four feet to his
bed.
I rushed to him and climbed under his arm so he could lean on me. “Absolutely not. You’re getting back in bed.”
Orly is not a small man, so while I tried to help him sit down gently, I’m afraid I more just sort of let go of him, allowing
him to collapse back onto his pillow. “I’ll be fine. You need to film—”
“I know how to run a camera.” I did not, but I still shrugged like I didn’t have a care in the world.
“No offense, Brynn, but you’re not touching my equipment.”
“Hey! I’ve helped you... you know... put in batteries and stuff. It will be a good learning experience.”
He covered his mouth to cough, but he kept eyeing me warily and shaking his head.
“Actually, though,” I amended, “maybe I should stay with you.” I placed the back of my hand on his forehead. Not nearly as
hot as I assumed he would be based on the way he looked, but far from normal. “Yep. Let’s just settle in and...” I had
begun to unzip my coat, but thankfully about the time the zipper got to my collarbone, I remembered I was wearing only a towel
underneath. “Um... did you bring plenty of clothes?”
He tried to make sense of the words. Poor guy. “Huh?”
“I was just wondering if you had a sweatshirt or something I could borrow. I don’t have any of the right clothes.”
He lifted an arm and motioned over toward the chest of drawers in the corner. “I’m so sorry about this. I think if I can just get up and moving . . .” He tried to sit up, and I gently pushed him back down and adjusted his pillows.
“Don’t you even worry about it. Do you have stuff to drink?” I shook him softly when his eyes closed, and he didn’t respond.
Soon a hearty snore filled the room, so at least I knew he wasn’t dead.
I crossed the room and opened the top drawer, then promptly closed it while diverting my eyes. I had really expected to go
my entire life without laying eyes on Orly Hill’s tighty-whities, but some aspirations were not to be. Squinting, I slid open
the second drawer, then opened it fully with a relieved breath. The first long-sleeved T-shirt I pulled out would have been
perfect—big, baggy, and cozy. But if I accidentally did anything to his Proud Florida A&M Dad shirt, I’d never forgive myself.
I folded it back up and replaced it, then pulled out a Sunup hoodie.
Did everyone have these except for me, or had he bought it in the gift shop? Regardless, if I spilled anything on
that one, I was fairly certain I could track down another one.
I threw it over my shoulder and closed the drawer, then looked back at him again. He was still in the awkward position I had
dropped him in, and though his heavy, regulated breathing gave me the impression he wasn’t at all bothered by that, I knew
he deserved better.
I bent over his bed and attempted to straighten him out. I ended up having to go to the foot of the bed and grab one of his
legs under each of my arms to pull him down a bit, and unfortunately that’s exactly the position I was in when Sebastian appeared
at the door.
“Please tell me you didn’t murder Orly.”
I was roasting in my down coat, and as a single bead of sweat trickled down from my neck, my hand fluttered to the top of my chest to absorb it into my coat and stop the tickle.
It was like swatting at a fly in your face.
You don’t think about it before you do it, and you certainly don’t consider the consequences.
Consequences that, in most cases, would include little things like accidentally thumping the person next to you on the shoulder or causing a distraction in a serious meeting.
My consequences were more along the lines of dropping Orly’s leg onto the sweatshirt, which had fallen off my shoulder onto
the bed, and loosening the towel from around my chest and feeling it fall down in a hoop around my ankles.
Sebastian caught it all, of course, and even though he could technically see less of my skin than he could have before—since
the coat was still zipped and in place, and the towel was covering my bare feet—I felt completely exposed under the interrogation
of his eyes.
I cleared my throat and tried to keep an expression on my face that communicated everything was completely normal and as it
should be. (And that I had not murdered Orly dressed as a Burberry streaker.) “Orly’s sick. I was...” It would have been
so much easier to explain if he hadn’t been looking so amused by it all. I lowered Orly’s other leg and yanked the sweatshirt
out from underneath, stumbling backward a bit as it flew to me.
If you fall down , it’s all over, Brynn. Whatever dignity you have left... gone. I caught myself just as Sebastian rushed forward to catch me if needed. Thankfully, it wasn’t needed. Unfortunately, his
arm was looped around my waist, and my hand was on his chest before that became completely evident.
“I like your shirt,” I said, my hand absorbing the feel of the soft, worn-in cotton and the unyielding muscle beneath it.
Today he was sporting a relic from Janet Jackson’s 1990 Rhythm Nation World Tour.
“Thanks. And I like your...” He surveyed the length of me, from hood to bare legs to towel-buried feet. “Dress? Sorry.
Fashion is beyond me. But whatever this is, it works.”
I laughed and pulled my hand away. He followed my lead and took a step back. “I just came down to see if I could borrow something from Orly and found him in pretty rough shape. Flu or something, I guess.”
Sebastian stepped to the side of Orly’s bed and straightened him out with much more ease than I had exhibited. Then he pulled
the blanket up over him. “The fresh air gets people sometimes. Not to mention the elevation.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry you came out for nothing.”
“Oh.” He nodded and stepped toward the door. “You going out with Laila or something? I’m happy to still drive if you want
me to. Both of you, I mean.”
“Well, that’s nice of you, but I actually meant I should hang out here with Orly. Take care of him. You know?”
“No offense, but can you afford to give up a full day of filming?”
I had stuck around Cassidy’s until they closed down—long enough to watch middle-aged woman after middle-aged woman throw themselves
at Sebastian. I’d honestly never heard John Denver sing as many John Denver songs as I’d now heard Sebastian Sudworth perform,
but I’d enjoyed every moment of it. He was actually really good. I mean, not Radio City Music Hall or Lincoln Center good
but definitely better than half the people performing at bars in the East Village on any given Friday night.
It was fascinating to see him so relaxed. And mind-boggling that that was relaxing to him. He flirted effortlessly and harmlessly, making every woman in the room feel like he was genuinely happy
to spend time with her. I’d been dying to ask him how much he made in tips on nights like that, but that felt rude. So I’d
asked Cole. He refused to say, but Laila raised her eyebrows and silently mouthed, “A lot.”
Then Cole and Laila and I had visited a few of our old haunts. The school, the meadow, the natural amphitheater in the wall of the canyon where we used to camp. Mostly we laughed and got caught up.
As little sleep as I had gotten, I probably should have felt relieved to have been given the day off, but I didn’t.
I puffed my cheeks full of air and released it through pursed lips. “Probably not, but I can’t just leave him.”
He tilted his head and his lips parted, but no sound came out at first. He then turned, walked out of the room, and hurried
down the staircase.
Well, okay, then. At least someone is happy about the unexpected sick day.
But within seconds he was back, and Mrs. Stoddard was following him. She looked disapprovingly at what I was wearing—certainly
not for the first time—and then shifted her attention to Orly.
“You go. I’ll keep an eye on him.”
I shook my head. “Thank you, but he’s my responsibility—”
“That’s funny.” Her eyes met mine. “I thought your responsibility was saving your career. I can handle this. Go.”
I raised my arms in the air in exasperation, and then quickly realized I shouldn’t be doing anything that would hike up my
coat. “Thank you. Truly. But Orly is very protective of his equipment. I already asked, but he simply will not allow anyone
else to use his camera.”
Sebastian walked back over to Orly’s bedside and nudged his arm. “Hey, Orly... Sorry you’re sick, man.”
“Seb?” Orly mumbled.
“Yeah. So, hey, do you mind if I use your gear to film for Brynn today?”
I crossed my arms and rolled my eyes. “I’ve already told you, he—”
“Yeah, that’s fine, man. Thanks.” And then the traitor rolled over and fell back asleep.
I huffed and looked at Sebastian, who motioned his head toward the door. “Go get dressed.” A mischievous smirk spread across his lips. “Unless you’re planning to wear that.”
“She most certainly is not wearing that,” Mrs. Stoddard said, causing his smirk to deepen.
Then it softened into something... different. Sweet. Confusing. “Seriously. Go.”
Burberry needed to launch a new marketing campaign for these coats. They weren’t designed for fashion. They were designed
for survival. On bare skin, they could keep scientists in Antarctica toasty if they got locked out of the biodome. Although
even my ankles were flushed right then, so maybe it wasn’t just the coat.
“Well, okay...” I looked down at all the bags and equipment. “I’ll be back in a minute to help you carry stuff down.”
Sebastian bent down and opened the biggest of the bags. He pulled out a camera, a lapel mic, a receiver pack, and a couple
of batteries. When he looked up, he was level with my knees, causing him to get up as quickly as he could and me to hold my
coat down so he didn’t get a glimpse of anything more than he already had.
“This is all we need,” he said, holding up the equipment.
“Well, are you sure we don’t—”
“Good grief, yes ! Some of us know how to do more than show up and look pretty.”
His eyes caught mine, and my brain told me to be insulted. I was an accomplished woman who had managed to survive and thrive
in a patriarchal society and, specifically, a male-dominated industry. My brain told me not to take that from him. But instead
I huffed, “Fine,” picked up the towel from the floor, and hurried to my room. Because my brain may have wanted to be offended,
but everything else in me was fairly content.
Sebastian Sudworth thought I was pretty.