Hate To Be Mine (The Blackwell Billionaire Brothers #2)

Chapter 1

SEBASTIAN

Mom’s Sunday dinners were sacred and I would never skip out on one. However, as a professional model, it was also my right to show up fashionably late to any and all social engagements. It was almost mandatory.

I rolled into Mom’s townhouse at twenty past seven, which technically was almost on time, but my brothers’ heads snapped up from their drinks with such synchronized judgment, it felt like I was about to get jumped.

“I thought we were going to have to send out a search party,” Dash said from his perch on the leather armchair, swirling his scotch.

“Finally crawled out from beneath a pile of models in your bed?” Adrian added, not even bothering to hide his smirk behind his glass of wine.

“Please tell me you didn’t just get out of bed,” Briggs said, checking his watch. “Even for you, Sebastian, that’s ridiculous.”

My brothers had clearly been here for a while. The sitting room looked like a photoshoot, my brothers in their tailored suits and sipping drinks from the Baccarat crystal. Lucky for them, the real showstopper had finally arrived. Yours truly.

“I hit traffic,” I said, which was partially true. The other part involved me losing track of time at the gym, but they didn’t need to know that. Let them think I was at the bottom of some model cuddle puddle.

Elizabeth, Adrian’s wife, glanced up from where she sat beside him on the sofa, a knowing smile on her lips. She at least had the decency not to pile on. It spoke highly of her character.

I tipped my head at her before making my way to the bar cart to get myself a drink.

Growing up as heirs to the Blackwell Couture legacy, all of my brothers had done some modeling, but I was the only one that still did it, which meant I had to choose my drink carefully.

Empty calories were no joke after thirty, and stripping down to my underwear for the cameras meant I had to stay chiseled.

Mom swept in from the direction of the kitchen, elegant as always in a dove-gray dress that probably came from one of Blackwell’s older lines. She kissed my cheek. I caught the scent of her perfume, the same one she’d worn since I was a kid. Any time I smelled orchids, I thought of her.

“Sebastian, darling,” Mom said. “I’m so glad you could join us.”

The emphasis on “could” wasn’t lost on me.

“You know I wouldn’t miss it, Mom.” I took my drink and dropped into an open chair, letting the plush cushions embrace me.

“You could still show up on time, though,” Briggs said, his voice a low rumble. As the attorney for the family, Briggs wasn’t shy about sharing his opinions. It was great when legal issues came up but it was less great when his judgmental gaze focused on me.

My other brothers weren’t much better in that regard. Adrian was the oldest and he was CEO of Blackwell Couture, even though all four of us brothers had a say in running things now, after our father passed away over a year ago. Adrian was quick to offer guidance whether I asked for it or not.

Age-wise, I was the second oldest, followed by Briggs, and Dash was the baby of the family. He handled logistics for whatever shows or events we had coming up. Basically, he figured out how to turn our big ideas into reality.

I could practically feel my brothers’ eyes tracking my every movement, waiting for me to do something that would confirm their suspicions that I was still the irresponsible playboy they all thought I was. Tonight was starting to give me intervention vibes.

I tried to think of what I had done to deserve another one of the fun little speeches from my brothers about my life choices. Nothing immediately came to mind.

Yeah, there’d been the usual drunken debauchery, but that wasn’t anything new. They knew who I was and what to expect from me. It was their fault they were continuously disappointed, not mine.

“So,” Adrian said, setting his wine glass down and leaning forward.

Elizabeth put a loving hand on his back, a simple touch that said so much.

She was the Adrian whisperer. The guy could be a little uptight—like his underwear was a few sizes too small and squeezing his junk to the point of cutting off blood flow. “Miratoa.”

And there it was. The source of the tension I’d been sensing.

“What about it?” I asked.

“You’re leaving in a week,” Briggs said, his elbows on his knees and his lawyer face firmly in place.

I nodded. “Yes, I’m aware.”

“This is your first time being in charge of a location shoot,” Adrian said. “We just want to make sure you’re ready. This is for Elizabeth’s new line, so obviously I want to make sure everything goes well.”

“I’ve been prepping for weeks,” I said. “We’re good to go.”

“Have you been actually prepping?” Dash asked, his tone just shy of openly mocking. “Or have you been ‘prepping’ in the same way you usually do? Which is to say, not at all?”

My jaw tightened. “I know what I’m doing. I’ve been in front of the camera since I was twelve.”

“This isn’t just another photoshoot where you show up, look pretty, and go home,” Adrian said.

“We’re talking millions of dollars. Elizabeth’s first major line under the EL label.

The reputation of Blackwell Couture. Not to mention our relationship with the Miratoan government, which was hard enough to establish in the first place. ”

Elizabeth reached over and squeezed Adrian’s hand, which seemed to soften him slightly. “What Adrian means is that we’re all counting on you. This is important for all of us.”

“Oh, wow, I had no idea this was important,” I said sarcastically. “I don’t need a lecture guys. I’ve got this.”

Briggs arched an eyebrow. Just one. He had the unique ability to control every muscle in his face. “Last week you were photographed leaving that club at four in the morning with two—”

“Three,” Dash interjected helpfully.

Briggs frowned. “Three models hanging off you.”

“First of all, it was one model and her two friends, who were not models.” I stopped, realizing this wasn’t helping my case. “Look, that’s not the point. I’m focused. I’m ready.”

Mom had been quiet through this exchange. “Sebastian, darling, we’re not trying to attack you. We’re just worried. This is the first major project you’ve been in charge of since your father passed. We’re just looking for some concrete reassurance that you have this properly handled.”

Bringing up Dad was a low blow. Since it was Mom, I wouldn’t go on the attack. We were all still dealing with his death in our own way. It had been over a year since his fatal heart attack. A year since I had gotten that call that changed everything.

Adrian had thrown himself into work, becoming even more serious and controlled, determined to be the rock Dad had been.

Briggs had doubled down on the legal side, making sure every contract was airtight.

Dash had taken over the operations side of things, making sure everything continued to run smoothly while we worked on growing the company.

And me? I’d indulged in life’s pleasures.

“I can handle it,” I said quietly. “I know you all think I’m just some airhead model who can’t tie his own shoes, but trust me, I know how to do this.”

“We don’t think that,” Elizabeth said quickly.

“I’ve been on hundreds of shoots. I know how they work. And this one means something to me. I want to prove that I’m more than just…” I gestured vaguely at myself. “This. You guys need to stop acting like I’m just a pretty face with killer abs and a huge… ego.”

I glanced over at Mom. Everyone knew what I was about to say. Including her. She raised four boys. She wasn’t a newbie to our raunchy humor. But I did try to keep it clean around her. We all did.

“Then prove it,” Adrian said. “We’re trusting you, Sebastian. We’re all trying to step up, to honor what Dad built. We want to make sure we can pass this legacy on to the next generation of Blackwells. We need you to step up too.”

I swallowed a retort that burned to be free. You want me to prove I can handle this? Why don’t you prove that you trust me? “I will. I promise. No shenanigans that’ll mess things up with the Miratoans. No drama. Just good, solid work.”

“And keep it in your pants,” Dash added. “Seriously, man. We don’t need to discover a whole clan of little Sebastians running around Miratoa in twenty years.”

Despite myself, I laughed. “Sounds kind of fun.”

Mom groaned. “I’ll check on dinner.”

Everyone was laughing, but I still felt the tension. They were giving me a chance, but it was clear they weren’t entirely convinced I wouldn’t screw it up.

“There’s one more thing,” Briggs said, pulling out his phone and scrolling through something. “You have a meeting in three days with the insurance company rep.”

I frowned. “Insurance company rep?”

“The policy we had to take out for the shoot is extensive,” he explained.

“We’re talking multi-million-dollar coverage for equipment, talent, the venue, and potential liability issues.

We also had to cover our ass in case of weather events.

The insurance company is sending someone to oversee the shoot and make sure we’re following proper safety procedures, and that we’re in compliance with local laws and regulations.

Miratoa only agreed to let us shoot there if we promised to follow specific guidelines. ”

“You mean the insurance company is sending a babysitter,” I said flatly.

“It’s someone to help ensure everything goes smoothly.”

“I don’t need help,” I protested. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

“This is different,” Adrian said. “You’re not just modeling.

You’re running the entire production. There are models, photographers, lighting crews, wardrobe people, makeup artists, and equipment worth hundreds of thousands of dollars.

Not to mention we’re filming in an environmentally protected area with strict regulations.

One wrong move and the Miratoan government will shut us down entirely.

We donated a significant amount to their environmental protection agencies just to get permission for this. ”

“Which is why the insurance is so important,” Briggs added. “And why they want someone on site. It’s standard for a project of this scale. Think of her as an asset.”

“More like an asshole, am I right, guys?” I looked around hopefully. “Guys? No one? Comedy is wasted on you people.”

Elizabeth laughed, which I appreciated, but my brothers just shook their heads.

“Don’t be late to that meeting,” Briggs warned.

“I’m never late,” I muttered.

Four pairs of eyes stared at me.

“Okay, I’m sometimes late. But I’ll be there. On time. Prepared. Professional.”

“Dinner is ready,” Mom announced as she returned.

We all moved toward the dining room.

“Are you excited for the shoot?” Dash asked Elizabeth after we had all gotten our plates.

“Yes! I’ve been working on this collection for months. It’s terrifying and exciting all at once.”

“It’s going to be great,” I assured her. “I’ve got some ideas for the shoots that are going to make people lose their minds.”

“What kind of ideas?” Adrian asked, a note of concern creeping into his voice.

“Good ideas,” I said. “Creative ideas. Don’t worry, I’ll run everything by the insurance narc first.”

This shoot was going to be incredible. Unforgettable. Career defining. And yeah, maybe a little risky. But that was what made great art, right?

Blackwell Couture was known for setting the standard. We weren’t the basic bitches of fashion. That meant we had to have a campaign that stood out. Coming off of our Fashion of Love Week last fall, we had to up our game.

I was the guy for the job. I knew it. I just had to get my family to believe it.

But they were looking at my past behavior and not seeing me for the man I was. Would they ever?

I tried not to sulk as I ate my careful portions of roasted lamb, avoiding the potatoes, and doubling up on the veggies.

While I ate, I decided I was going to prep for that meeting like my life depended on it.

I was thirty-five and my body wasn’t going to be my moneymaker forever.

Not that I was in any danger of being broke, but I wanted to transition to being the guy behind the scenes and not the one getting all hot and sexy for the cameras.

I would prove to everyone that Sebastian Blackwell was more than just a pretty face.