CHAPTER 40
Sebastian
I POURED MY FIFTH GLASS OF WHISKEY AND SET IT ON the counter. The amber liquid gleamed beneath the dim lights.
My mouth watered, but I left it untouched, as I had the previous four glasses. They were lined up in a row like an army of enemy soldiers, waiting for me to break.
It would be so easy. One sip, and I’d feel better. One glass, and the endless nausea churning through my gut might go away. Five glasses? I’d sink into oblivion, my worries nothing but a distant memory.
So easy, a dangerous voice purred in my mind.
My reflection fractured in the crystal facets of the tumbler. He stared back at me, daring me to pick him up.
The drinks were a test I’d set up to torture myself, and I almost failed. I got close enough to brush my fingertips against the glass, but I caught myself in the nick of time.
I tore my hand away and closed my eyes, my jaw tight.
No. The rest of my life was falling apart, piece by miserable piece, and my impulse control was the only control I had left. If I gave that up, I’d have nothing. Be no one—although being no one might be better than being me at the moment.
It’d been five days since the catastrophic launch. The official cause of the guests’ sickness: food poisoning from the meat lasagna. Maya, Neal, and Hollis Miller had all selected the vegetarian option, which explained why they hadn’t fallen ill.
Thankfully, the guests all recovered with no long-term effects, but their subsequent reviews had been, understandably, scathing.
They’d eviscerated me, the launch, everything.
The coverage and resulting public backlash were so bad that we were on the brink of scrapping the entire line.
Months of hard work and millions of dollars down the drain—because of me.
I sank onto the couch, shame igniting in my chest.
The launch disaster had further frozen the already icy relationship between my father and Neal.
Both our companies were in full crisis mode, and when I’d talked to my mother on Sunday, she’d been distraught.
She tried to hide it, but my family’s second fall from grace had turned her into an outcast amongst her so-called friends.
Another major loss in her life—also because of me.
My fault.
My fault.
My fault.
The familiar mantra pounded through my head. Bile coated my tongue. I could weather the backlash myself, but I couldn’t stand it affecting other people too.
My family. The Singhs. Maya. They’d believed in me, or at least relied on me, and I’d let them down because I’d been delusional enough to think I could be a fucking chef.
So what if I liked cooking? So what if some people told me I was good at it? The universe wasn’t subtle, and I knew how to take a hint. Between the Le Boudoir incident and this latest catastrophe, I was done. Every time I ran a kitchen, tragedy struck.
Obviously, my deal with my father was null and void. I’d be lucky if the board didn’t force me out of the company altogether, though at this rate, it’d be safer for society if I never left the house again.
I tipped my head back and stared at the ceiling. I’d drawn the curtains so only a sliver of sunlight illuminated the den. The air reeked of whiskey, and the room was dark and depressed, just like me.
A part of me recognized I was wallowing in self-pity, but screw it. I was allowed to wallow after the absolute shit show that was the past week.
My phone buzzed with a new message. I ignored it the same way I’d ignored the dozens of other messages I’d gotten since Friday.
Margaux had left me five voicemails, and my friends had all reached out, but I didn’t feel like talking to any of them. I was too humiliated.
I couldn’t even bring myself to see Maya. She was the only person who might’ve made me feel better, but she had her own fires to extinguish. I’d fucked up, and I’d dragged her reputation through the mud with me.
She didn’t deserve that. I didn’t deserve her.
I didn’t know how long I sat there in the near-dark, staring at nothing. Minutes? Hours? It didn’t matter. My father had put me on “administrative leave” for optics reasons, which meant my deputy was handling crisis communications. I had nothing to do, so I could sit here for as long as I—
Someone rang the doorbell.
I didn’t move from my seat.
They rang the doorbell again, and when that didn’t work, they pounded on the door.
Jesus Christ. Why couldn’t people leave me alone? If I wanted company, I’d seek it out.
“Sebastian, it’s me.” Maya’s voice was muffled, but I heard her loud and clear. “Open the door.” Another knock. “I know you’re in there, so if you don’t answer, I will kick it down.”
The mental image of her kicking in my door, action movie-style, brought a small smile to my lips, but it disappeared as quickly as it’d surfaced.
Out of everyone in my life, I dreaded facing her the most. I didn’t want to look her in the eyes and see who I’d become—someone hollow and broken, my shiny facade ripped away to reveal the terrible mess of guts underneath.
I wasn’t Sebastian Laurent, the golden boy; I was Sebastian Laurent, the failure. No, I was something even worse—I was an imposter.
For most of our lives, Maya had seen me as her rival, someone worthy of beating. What must she think of me now?
The shame burned its way through my lungs and up my throat.
“Sebastian!” Her voice turned pleading. “Please open the door.”
Fuck. I couldn’t say no to her, not when she used that word. Please.
I roused myself from the couch and reluctantly made my way to the front door. I opened it, wincing at the unnatural brightness. The sunlight was piercing after days of being cooped up in a dark house.
Maya stood on the front step. She was wearing a silk blouse and tailored pants, a clear sign she’d come straight from the office. Her gold birthday locket glinted under the sun.
The sight of it brought an unexpected rush of emotion to my chest. It was a small thing, but it was a sign she hadn’t given up on me—yet.
“Hi,” she said, her voice soft, her expression even softer.
“Hi.” I swallowed past the knot clogging my throat and let her in.
She followed me silently to the den, where her eyes immediately fell on the drinks lining the bar. She picked one up and offered me another glass. “I’ll drink with you.”
I tensed. “I can’t.”
Instead of pushing the issue, Maya set the second glass down and raised a questioning brow. When I nodded, she downed her drink in one swallow.
“How bad is it?” I asked after she was done. “Be honest. Don’t sugarcoat it.”
I’d seen the headlines, but I’d successfully stopped myself from reading the comment sections or going down internet rabbit holes. I felt shitty enough without seeing how many strangers thought I was shit, too.
However, the morbid part of me needed to know. How deep was the hole I’d fallen into, and would I ever be able to dig myself out?
“It’s brutal,” Maya admitted. “There’s a leaked video of some of the guests throwing up.
We scrubbed as much as we could, but it keeps popping up online.
People are having a field day with it. Hollis Miller also uploaded a fifty-minute rant about food safety and why everyone should boycott both our companies.
” Her eye twitched. “The bastard didn’t even get sick.
I wished he had. He would’ve deserved it.
But anyway, our stocks are… not great. The board is apoplectic. That’s the bad news.”
I snorted, my tone dry. “There’s good news?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Maya said. “The good news is, all storms pass. This one will too.”
I wished I had her confidence.
“Maybe. But some storms leave so much destruction, nothing can be salvaged,” I said.
“You’ll be okay.” She has to be okay. “But this is my family’s second scandal.
Remember when I said we barely survived the first crisis, and we might not survive a second?
” My mouth twisted. “Well, here we are, sinking. Who would trust us now? Hell, I wouldn’t trust us now. ”
“Sebastian…”
“No.” She reached for me, but I pulled away before she touched me. I didn’t deserve her comfort. “I’m the problem, Maya. It’s always been me.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is,” I said with a bitter laugh. “Do you know why I won’t drink those?” I gestured at the remaining glasses on the bar.
She shook her head slowly, her expression stricken.
“I went on a bender after Wellgrew died,” I said.
“My father’s team managed to keep it out of the press.
They said I was on a ‘research trip’ to learn new cooking techniques, but in reality, I was drinking my way through Europe, trying to forget what happened.
I ended up at a dive bar in Prague, where I got absolutely plastered.
I mean, I was blackout fucking drunk. I got into it with someone, and I don’t remember what happened next.
But I do remember waking up in jail. My knuckles were bruised to hell, and…
” I exhaled, the sound shaky. “I’d nearly beaten the other guy to death.
He was in the hospital for days. I couldn’t even tell you what we’d been arguing about.
I don’t think it mattered. I had so much pent-up rage and frustration, mostly at myself, but I took it out on him. ”
Maya didn’t flinch or interject. There was no judgment on her face. She simply watched me, her eyes bright with unshed emotion.
I wasn’t an angry drunk, and I held my liquor well in most cases, but…
“I had to pretend I was okay for so long, and it was like something inside me just snapped. The other guy survived, thank God, but I’ve been terrified of losing control like that again.
I stopped drinking for a while, but my therapist said alcohol wasn’t the trigger.
I’ve been drinking my entire adult life, even blacked out a few times, but I’d never done anything remotely like that before.
It was… internal. I was repressing too much.
If I hadn’t broken in Prague, I would’ve done so elsewhere, with or without drinking.
Even so, I have to be careful. I don’t trust myself anymore. ”
I walked over and picked up one of the glasses.
The smell of whiskey was so strong, I tasted it at the back of my throat.
“I need this as proof,” I said. “I told myself that when everything goes to shit, I need to prove that I have the self-control not to snap again.” My tone was bleak. “It’s the only thing I have left.”
“That’s not true.” Maya gently took the drink from me and set it down. She stepped closer and brushed her fingers along my cheek, the featherlight touch anchoring me. “You have me.”
For how long?
“You shouldn’t have come here,” I said, my chest aching. The thought of losing her hurt more than anything else I’d faced this week. “Someone could’ve seen you.”
I might’ve already ruined her career. I didn’t want to be the reason she lost her family as well.
“I don’t care.” Maya’s voice was firm, her gaze unwavering. “We all make mistakes, Sebastian. Yours are no worse than any others.
“How can you say that when I fucked it all up for you?”
“You didn’t.” When I didn’t respond, she reached down to squeeze my hand. “Seb, what happened was not your fault.”
“They got food poisoning, Sal,” I said flatly. “I was responsible for the food. That’s the definition of ‘my fault.’”
Maya bit her lip. Her brows furrowed as if she were debating whether to respond.
The hairs on the back of my neck tingled with foreboding. “What?”
“I wasn’t going to tell you until I was sure…” She sounded wary, like she regretted broaching the subject in the first place.
“Sure about what?” The question came out sharper than I’d intended.
“I don’t think the food poisoning was because of anything you did,” Maya said. “I think we were sabotaged.”