Chapter 4
Emma
“The mansion better be on fire,” I mutter to myself as I turn the familiar corner that leads up to a winding Malibu road.
As I drive, I occupy my time thinking of innovative ways to torture my boss.
Traditional methods of waterboarding? Too mundane.
Being dangled above a shark-infested sea might work, especially since he’s obsessed with swimming with them.
Or even better—he could be dangled over a pit of his super fans after they’ve been whipped into a peak frenzy by watching his entire Rebels Academy series for twenty hours.
But knowing Sebastian, he’d enjoy the fans’ attention. And probably even the sharks.
I pull into his driveway, march up the stairs, then punch in the code that opens the mansion’s doors.
My heels click on the black-and-white checkered tiles and echo through the dark, quiet hall. I stalk past the round entry table with its massive floral display that I have a standing order for.
Even now, seven years later, I still feel awe walking into the mansion’s formal entrance with its oversized chandelier leading to a dramatic staircase that screams Old Hollywood. I can almost imagine Sebastian’s grandparents gliding down it—her in a gown, him in a tux.
I narrow my eyes and wonder if I could entice my boss to the top of the spiral stairs.
And push.
“Sebastian!” I cry, looking for my quarry.
The living room is empty, so I continue through to the kitchen.
I drop my bag onto the marble island, then scan the space.
I’m debating where to look next, when he wanders through the open French doors that lead to the pool.
He stops short.
His gaze runs over my body. I shiver as he takes in every detail. I become acutely aware that I’m not in my uniform of shirt and knee-length pencil skirt. My deep green dress exposes a lot more leg and cleavage than normal.
I swallow. He’s not the only one doing a slow perusal.
He’s only wearing low-slung board shorts.
Water droplets inch down the expanse of muscled, tanned skin.
His eyes look impossibly blue, flanked by dark, wet lashes.
He dries his hair with a white towel and gives me a smile that sets almost every woman’s heart aflutter.
Except mine.
If I tell myself that often enough, I might believe it.
“Hey.”
His casual greeting reignites my anger.
“Don’t you ‘hey’ me.” I huff. “I left a very promising date because you called and messaged multiple times saying that you had an emergency.” I wave my hand to gesture around the room. “I don’t see a fire. There’s no flood. No gang of zombies.”
“How was your date?” He slings the towel over his shoulders and moves farther into the kitchen.
“It was great until the part where you kept calling and interrupted us when things were about to get good. Do you know the odds of me meeting a nice, normal man with a job who likes kids?” And wants me and not a social media influencer or aspiring model with a stunning rack and perfect bone structure. I put my hands on my hips.
“Well, hell, Em,” Sebastian says, his smirk becoming more prominent. “You didn’t have to answer.”
My glare turns lethal. “I didn’t, as you well know. But you kept calling. And calling. And then you texted you needed me. For an emergency.”
“So what you’re saying is he didn’t get a kiss?” Sebastian asks. He seems a little too happy about the possibility that he cockblocked me.
“Oh, he got a kiss,” I lie.
The truth is, the date was just… okay. I wanted to be interested in Dr. John Winters. But I was distracted. And there was something about him that bothered me, though I couldn’t quite put my finger on what.
Maybe my perspective is so messed up that nice and normal seems boring. This is the problem with spending most of my time with Sebastian.
He’s infuriating. I never know what he’s going to say or do. Being around him is like balancing on live wires five hundred feet up. I feel fear and frustration. But it’s also exhilarating. All my senses are engaged, with every nerve ending firing.
Everything else seems bland compared to that.
Maybe I’ve become addicted to the adrenaline. Or I’m a masochist. Is it even possible for a normal guy to hold my interest? That thought is super depressing.
I was secretly relieved to have an excuse to leave. But I’ll go to my grave with that information. I also hate that Sebastian is right about something else. I didn’t have to answer his phone call. But I did.
If I could afford therapy, my lack of boundaries with my boss would be a good place to start.
“We had a make-out sesh,” I add, crossing my fingers behind my back. “Before I said good night.”
Sebastian’s smirk disappears.
“And? How was it?” he growls.
It wasn’t.
“It was hot. No thanks to you interrupting my date.” And no thanks to me being incapable of falling for a regular dude. “I’m here now. So? Where’s the emergency? And there better be one.”
Sebastian’s mouth lifts.
“You’re cute when you’re annoyed.” He reaches over to ruffle my hair like I’m some small child. Which I’m not. I may be on the short side, but everyone tells me I seem taller than I am, especially when I’m scowling, like now.
I smooth the strands of my updo back into place. “So? What do you need now that we’ve established there is no fire?”
He shrugs on a T-shirt that’s on the back of a chair and then strolls to the freezer, pulls out a pint of ice cream and grabs a spoon from a drawer. He saunters through to the living room and plops himself on the oversized sofa.
I follow him.
He picks up the remote of his television and waves it. “The remote’s not working.”
I close my eyes and count to ten. I spend those ten slow breaths meditating on how many years I’d get if I murdered my boss with the aforementioned remote control.
Then I remind myself of just how much Sebastian pays me to be available. Even for ridiculous emergencies.
Plus, a murder trial would really impact my schedule.
So, I decide not to kill him this time. Snatching the remote out of his hand, I press a series of buttons. The control is so complicated that only I—having read all three instruction manuals from cover to cover—know how to work it fully.
I grumble, “Don’t tell me—you let your idiot entourage mess with the television when they’d been drinking. They screw the TV up every time.”
He shrugs. “The boys came over earlier. Tommy wanted to play Guitar Hero.”
“Ryder’s guitar player wanted to play Guitar Hero?”
“It’s not my job to ask why. Or to deprive him of joy. He’s superb.”
I snort. “Here. It’s fixed now.” I toss the remote back to him. “And repeat after me… ‘I will never interrupt Emma’s night off again for a stupid reason.’”
Sebastian catches it with one hand and gives me a cocky grin. “I might have had another reason for interrupting your outing with Dr. Love. I know something about your perfect date. He’s not so perfect.”
“You know something? How? And why?”
“I did a background check,” he says with offhand casualness, his attention now on the remote.
He pushes a few buttons. Cars zooming around a track appear on the huge screen. He leans back in satisfaction. “There. The race is in Monaco.”
“You did a background check on my date?” I repeat, dumbfounded.
His gaze slides to mine. “You can never be too careful. He sounded shifty. You said you met him at the grocery store. That’s where creeps try to pick up na?ve wo—”
I throw my hands up in the air. “You did not just call me na?ve.”
“I didn’t mean you precisely. But your last date was an asshole, so you don’t exactly pick winners…”
This time, I don’t stifle my scream. I grab another remote from the coffee table, the one to control the house’s music, and throw it at him. It bounces off his muscular chest.
“Ow. Hell, Em. Have some respect. I’m your boss.”
“I would have more time to meet good guys if I didn’t have to deal with so many of your emergencies.”
“Well, you should be glad that I did some digging. Because Mr. Grocery Store pickup is not really a pediatrician.”
I shoot him a skeptical look.
“He is an unemployed incel. He’s apparently no stranger to that particular store. My source found his private social media account, where he brags about pretending to be a doctor to get women into bed. He’s also a disgusting misogynist, deeply in debt, and has a few catfishes going on.”
Fuck. I can tell by his demeanor that what he’s saying is true. It’s not the type of thing he would tease me about. Plus, his eyes are full of something close to… pity. Which I hate.
I flop down next to him. And with a giant sigh of defeat, my methodical brain scans over the night, and I reluctantly realize that Sebastian’s intel tracks with my intuition. My date wasn’t just boring. He seemed too good to be true. And there were things that didn’t add up.
But I ignored my niggling disquiet because I hoped I could will myself into finally liking someone.
A wave of exhaustion hits me. Suddenly, I’m shaky with it. Without a word, Sebastian passes me the ice cream he’s been holding.
It’s mint chocolate chip. My favorite and his, which is handy. Marie always keeps it stocked in the fridge.
I take a giant bite, letting it melt on my tongue. The carby goodness soothes my jagged emotions. “It’s lucky that we both share a love of mint chocolate chip.”
Sebastian is serious about his ice cream. He instructed Marie that there must be multiple cartons stocked in the freezer at all times. And he gets super pissed if any of his friends eat it. I’m the only one allowed.
He emits a sound that’s not quite a laugh, not quite a cough.
I shoot him a sharp look. “What?”
He shakes his head.
“You snorted.”
“There was no snort.”
“It was snort-adjacent. You have that look in your eye. It says you know something I don’t. Which, obviously, is wrong. Because I know everything.”
He places his arms behind his head and sinks farther into the suede couch. “You didn’t know about your date.”
I take another bite of cold, creamy perfection. It’s mellowed me enough that I’m only arguing out of habit. I kick off my shoes and pull my feet under me, thankful I’m wearing a dress that isn’t too tight to curl up in.
“I knew you were going to say that. Because I know everything. Usually.” I let out a deep sigh. “I suspected that there was something not right about the guy. I just didn’t want to admit it to myself.”
Sebastian watches my face intently as I take another long lick of ice cream. He abruptly turns his attention back to the race.
We watch cars speed around the track for a long time.
Finally, he breaks the silence. “I’m sorry, Em. I was trying to keep you safe.”
“You crossed a whole bunch of lines. Maybe you could have, I don’t know, talked to me instead of doing a background check.
” I take another spoonful. “My sister’s graduation is coming up.
I emailed you the details. There can’t be a repeat of tonight.
No emergencies, remote-control or otherwise. I have to be fully, completely off.”
I shift to get more comfortable, and my dress hikes up. His eyes flick down to my bare legs. And then move up my body. I wrap myself in a cashmere blanket that’s draped over the side of the couch to better cover the exposed skin.
He frowns and turns away, clearing his throat. “Um. Right. Graduation. Good on Sadie. I told you to buy her a gift from me, right?”
“You did. You got her a leather messenger bag that’s perfect for her first professional job. It’s beautiful and very expensive. She’ll love it.”
“Damn. I’m good at gift-giving,” he teases, since I handle all his shopping.
“I’m not going to be available,” I reiterate. “At all. I’m not on call. I’m warning you. I won’t pick up the phone. You are completely on your own.”
He waves his hand. “Yeah, yeah. No problem. You worry too much. I can survive for one night without you.”
“Like you could survive tonight?”
“This was different. You were with a liar and a con artist. He could have been an abuser. I needed to get you out of the situation. Who knows what could have happened?”
“And if I hadn’t answered your SOS?”
His handsome face settles into stark planes. He doesn’t look like a smooth, sophisticated celebrity anymore. He looks… feral. A little like when he played a mobster who turned into a killing machine to avenge the woman he loved.
Not that he’s avenging me. I’m not his love or anything.
“I would have found you and carried you out of there.”
My breath catches at his words and the intensity in his voice. I hide my confusion by forging ahead. “Next weekend, if there’s a crisis, you aren’t calling me.”
“Relax, Em. It’s just a weekend. What could happen?”
A lot. I’ve known Sebastian for the past seven years, ever since that one fateful interview my dad arranged. So I know a lot could happen.