Chapter 3
SEBASTIAN
The morning after the meeting, I woke up in my penthouse with a headache that had nothing to do with alcohol—for once—and everything to do with the ninety-page monster sitting on my coffee table.
Was I actually expected to read that thing? Wasn’t that what she was supposed to do? Why did I have to know all that crap if her busybody ass was going to be there?
I padded into the kitchen, stepping over a bra that had somehow ended up near the refrigerator.
Evidence of a wild night. Not last night but probably last week.
My entire penthouse looked like a party had died here.
I needed to call my housekeeper. I had given her the week off but now it was time. I’d tell her to bring a helper or two.
I pushed the empty bottles on the counter out of my way.
A pizza box sat surrounded by Chinese food cartons.
I opened the fridge and ignored the black panties someone had thoughtfully left.
Believe it or not, it wasn’t the first pair of panties in my fridge.
Or coffee mug. Hell, once I found a pair sitting on my spoons in my silverware drawer. The ladies were creative.
I made myself a cup of coffee with the hope the caffeine boost would help me get through that stupid binder. I made it to page four before my eyes started crossing.
I read the first sentence. Then I read it again. Then a third time.
Nothing. The words went into my eyes and just bounced off my brain like rubber balls. Nothing was sinking in. Whether it was the dry material or the way I was consuming the information, I didn’t know.
I tried the next paragraph. Something about “substrate disruption” and “native flora protection zones” and “permitted foot traffic corridors.”
What the fuck was a foot traffic corridor? A hallway? Were we supposed to build hallways on the beach?
I shook my head and kept going, forcing myself to focus. This was important. The entire future of Blackwell Couture’s relationship with Miratoa was counting on me to understand this shit.
But after twenty minutes of reading and re-reading the same two pages, I had to admit defeat. Nothing was sticking. It was like trying to grab water with my bare hands. The harder I tried to hold on to the information, the faster it slipped away.
Maybe I could hire someone to read and memorize the information and follow me around all day to tell me what it said.
Duh, that’s what the insurance lady was for. But I didn’t want her to think I was a dumbass. I had seen the way she looked at me in that meeting. Like I was nothing more than man-meat. Zero brain. All looks.
Usually, I played into that stereotype. It was easier. People left me alone and I was allowed to fuck around with no responsibility. But I didn’t want her to think that of me. If I was running things, I wanted to handle it like a professional.
I needed inspiration. Since her binder, also known as the biggest, most boring book on the planet, didn’t have an audio version, I would create my own.
I called Amber. She was a hookup. But if I remembered correctly—and there was a very good chance I was confusing Amber with Ashley or Anna—Amber was in college. She was smart.
I needed smart right now.
I sent her a quick text and invited her over. The reply was a series of emojis that made it very clear what she was looking for. And she would normally be right to expect sex. That would be the only reason I reached out.
Not long after, she walked in looking like a million dollars in a tight dress and heels that could double as weapons, her long dark hair falling in waves over her shoulders. Her smile turned predatory when she saw me in just sweatpants.
Her eyes raked over my body and she immediately reached behind her to unzip her dress.
“Hold that thought,” I said, grabbing the binder from the couch and pressing it into her hands. “I need you to read this to me.”
She blinked, looking down at the binder like I’d just handed her a dead fish. “What?”
“Read it. Out loud. I’m having trouble processing it visually. Maybe if I hear it, it’ll make more sense.”
“Sebastian, when you said you wanted me to come over, I thought—”
“I know what you thought. And we can definitely get to that. But first, this. Please? I’m desperate.”
She frowned. “What is this?”
I waved a hand. “It’s work. Stuff I need to know.”
She sighed and settled onto my couch, crossing her legs and opening the binder.
Maybe we should have sex first. I remembered those legs around my waist—and neck. A little orgasm to get the juices flowing.
No. I had to focus. She was the carrot. My reward for learning all that crap.
“Okay.” Amber began reading.
I started pacing. I couldn’t just sit still while she read. I would fall asleep or get distracted. I needed to move. I grabbed my dumbbells and started doing bicep curls while she continued.
She stopped and looked up at me. “Really?”
“Keep going,” I said, switching arms. “This is good. This is helping.”
She read for another ten minutes while I moved through my apartment like a caged animal. I had to keep moving. But it was like she was speaking a foreign language. Every sentence was technically English but assembled in a way that made no goddamn sense.
Who talked like that? No one. Why couldn’t little miss insurance lady just say “Don’t stomp the flowers” or “Don’t piss in the water?” That’s how normal people talked.
“Okay, stop,” I finally said, setting down the weights and running my hands through my hair. “What did you just read? Like, summarize it.”
She looked down at the binder, then back up at me. “Um. Something about protecting the beach?”
“Right, but how? What are we supposed to do?”
“I don’t know. There were a lot of big words. I have no idea what any of this means.”
I groaned and dropped onto the couch beside her. “This is impossible.”
“Is this about that island shoot thing?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
She laughed and slid closer, her hand moving to my thigh. “You know, I can think of better ways to relieve your stress than reading boring insurance documents.”
She was beautiful. And normally, this would be exactly how I’d spend a lazy afternoon. But all I could think about was Bernadette’s face when she’d slid that binder across the table. The challenge in her eyes. The absolute certainty that I was going to fail.
“I can’t,” I said, standing up and gently moving away. “I’m sorry. You should go.”
Her expression shifted from sultry to annoyed in about half a second. “Are you serious? You called me over here to read you insurance documents?”
“I know. I’m the worst. I’m sorry. Can I call you a car?”
“Don’t bother.” She grabbed her purse and headed for the door, pausing to look back at me. “You know, this is the weirdest foreplay I’ve ever experienced. And I once dated a guy who was really into feet.”
I picked up my phone and found the business card Bernadette had given me. I stared at it for several seconds, pride warring with practicality.
Pride lost.
I dialed.
She answered on the second ring. “Bernadette Simmons.”
“Hi. It’s Sebastian. Blackwell. We met yesterday.”
“I remember who you are, Mr. Blackwell. What can I do for you?”
Her voice was professional, with just a hint of irritation. Like I was bothering her.
“So, I’ve been reading the binder,” I started.
“And?”
“And I think it would be really helpful if we could meet up so you could walk me through it. Like, in person. Explain what I’m actually supposed to be doing.”
There was a pause. “Mr. Blackwell, the binder is quite comprehensive. Everything you need to know is in there.”
“Right, but see, the thing is…” I tried to figure out how to say this without sounding like a complete idiot.
But she already thinks I’m an idiot so, whatever.
“I don’t understand it. Any of it. I’ve been reading the same three pages all morning and nothing is penetrating my skull.
I’m not trying to be difficult. I genuinely need help. ”
Another pause, longer this time. “I’m not sure what I can do to help you.”
“Isn’t it your job to make sure I understand all this stuff?” I snapped. “I mean, what’s the point of having all these rules if the person who’s supposed to follow them can’t understand what they mean? Don’t you want me to do this right?”
I could almost hear her thinking through the phone. Finally, she sighed. “Fine. We can meet.”
“Great. When?”
“I have a few hours free this evening. Six-thirty?”
“Perfect.”
“Text me the address. And Mr. Blackwell?”
“Yeah?”
“Come prepared with specific questions. I’m not going to read the entire binder out loud to you.”
She hung up before I could respond.
Damn. She was one of those people that was immune to my charm.
By six-fifteen, I was standing outside the Italian restaurant I asked her to meet me at. I’d shown up early on purpose. I wanted to seem responsible and punctual, like a proper adult.
Except Bernadette was already there.
She stood near the entrance in another one of those conservative pantsuits.
It was a classic gray with heels that made her look taller.
Her copper hair was pulled back in a bun so severe it probably gave her a headache.
She was looking at her phone, with her plump pink lips pushed into a pout.
Whatever she was reading didn’t make her happy.
I was about to call out to her when she glanced at her watch.
The gesture was subtle, but the implication was clear. She’d been waiting. For me. Even though I was early.
“Ms. Simmons,” I said, walking up with what I hoped was a professionally friendly smile. “Thanks for meeting me.”
“Mr. Blackwell.” She tucked her phone into her bag. “Shall we?”
The smell of garlic and fresh bread made my mouth water. The hostess led us to a quiet table in the back. She didn’t wait for me to pull out the chair for her. A waiter appeared almost immediately with menus and a wine list.
“Could we start with a bottle of the Sangiovese?” I asked.
“I’m not drinking,” Bernadette said flatly.
I looked up at her. She looked back, her expression unchanged.
Killjoy.
“Right. Okay.” I turned back to the waiter. “Never mind on the wine. Just coffee. Strong coffee.”