Chapter 9
Emma
Sebastian slips out of the car and stands at the base of the stairs leading up to the mansion.
He looks tired. But the stubble gracing his jaw and fine lines of fatigue only enhance his good looks.
The expensive fabric of his slacks and shirt doesn’t show a bit of wear, despite hours in jail.
And when he runs a hand through his hair, it falls back in perfect lines, as always.
Meanwhile, I’m sweaty and my eyes are gritty.
The sleek ivory dress I wore for Sadie’s graduation is now rumpled and stained from the coffee I spilled on it while waiting at the police station.
I pray no photographer has sneaked past the gate. I don’t need pictures in this state circulating.
This is why I always try to look crisp and professional.
I work hard at it. Growing up as the poor girl, I had to get my clothes from thrift stores, and they were not always clean.
The apartments we lived in rarely had washing machines.
Once I was old enough, I’d wash out our clothes in the sink or scrape together enough money to go to the laundromat.
And the years with Aunt Grace held a different shame. Living in a hoarder’s house, I learned early how people judged you based on appearance.
Multiply that anxiety by a million because I now live in a world where a photo of me could go viral at any minute, simply because of the man I’m standing next to.
Standing out for whatever reason invites judgement. Blending in. Staying in the background. That’s safest.
“Give it up, Em,” Sebastian says, gesturing to the phone in my hand. “It’s not possible to stop the story. The fight is all over social media. And tabloids followed me to the police station. There’s no way we can squash this.”
“What the hell were you thinking?” I ask, frustrated. “You weren’t even drunk. I thought you’d left bar brawls behind you years ago. And fighting with Brett Danners?”
Sebastian narrows his eyes. “He’s a fucking snake. I’d spend a month in jail for the chance to punch him again.”
“Hollywood is made up of assholes. Yet now you decide to confront one? Now? We’ve spent years rehabbing your reputation.
You’ve been chasing the best directors in the world, proving to them that you can be trusted.
And you’ve shown them you’re still a hothead.
” I huff out an exasperated breath. “And what about Mancini? If the rumors are true, your career would be made if he chose you to work with him again.”
I detect a slight flinch at the mention of the director.
Sebastian first worked with the Hollywood icon when he was a kid.
It was a show called The Family that won more Emmys than I can count.
Mancini has also won multiple Best Picture Academy Awards and is considered by most cinephiles to be the greatest director in the world.
Everyone wants to work with him. And now, this is the last chance because he’s retiring soon.
“I don’t want to talk about it, Em.”
I follow him into the living room. He sinks onto the couch and leans his head against the rich blue suede.
“Well, we need to talk about it. You were hauled to the police station. You ruined my night.” Anger courses through me.
“And you won’t even explain why. We could get ahead of this if we could tell the world the reason you punched him out.
You might still be vulnerable to charges, but in public opinion, we could win with the right strategy. ”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Was this about Brett and Allegra? Did she… cheat on you with him?” I blurt out the questions that I’ve been dying to ask for the past several hours.
Did he interrupt my important event and trash his chance at something that means the world to him—all because of Allegra?
“I’m not saying a word about my reasons for the fight,” he says grimly. But he doesn’t deny being jealous. His sharp jaw clenches, and he looks away.
My stomach, already upset from the stale police station coffee, rolls.
I can’t keep doing this. My time is never my own. Not even for one night.
He stares at me. Then his eyes go wide. “Wait a minute, you said I ruined your night. Fuck. Tonight was Sadie’s graduation, wasn’t it?” His voice is raw, full of remorse. “I’m so damn sorry, Em. I didn’t…”
The sound of heels on marble halts our conversation.
I turn in surprise to see Allegra striding into the living room, looking gorgeous in a bright-blue bandage dress that matches her eyes and stilettos.
“I came straight from the airport to make sure you’re okay, darling,” she says.
“How did you get in?” I ask. The front door was locked. It always is. Because, stalkers. Marie is in bed, and no guards buzzed the intercom announcing her.
“The passcode, of course.”
“You know the passcode?” I ask, tightness in my voice.
I turn to my boss. His lips are in a flat line, but he doesn’t say anything.
Sebastian is careful. He does not give the passcode to his house to anyone.
I know it. And so does Marie. That’s it, besides a carefully vetted security detail.
And now, apparently, so does she.
Before her, it was rare for a woman to even sleep over. And now she has free entry to the mansion.
She throws her arms around Sebastian, stroking his back. “Poor boy. I’m here to make it all better.”
Painful knowledge, swift and certain, shoots through me.
It’s the unequivocal knowing that if I don’t get out now, I’ll be stuck in this life, following after him—purely professionally, of course—forever.
I’ll be smoothing out the wrinkles in Sebastian and Allegra’s bed and following them into their perfect future.
Or whatever girl he eventually settles down with.
I’ve been telling myself for years that I need to leave, but I’ve been putting it off.
Suddenly, I see the hours, days, and years stacking up ahead of me.
I won’t be building a life of my own. I’ll still be in this undefinable, boundaryless role in his life, not quite assistant, not quite manager, not quite friend.
With the only certainty being that he will call. And I will drop everything to answer.
If I don’t quit now, while I have white-hot urgency on my side, I’m afraid I never will.
If I don’t quit now, Sebastian will do something unexpectedly thoughtful.
Or charming. Or he’ll make me laugh. Or his absent parents will call him, and I’ll see the hurt in his eyes and remember that he’s made of flesh and blood with feelings like the rest of us.
And I’ll decide to wait for a better time. And wait.
“I quit.” At first, I think I just say it in my head.
But his blue eyes widen. His mouth pops open.
It’s Allegra’s victorious smile that makes me realize for sure that I said it out loud.
“W-what?” Sebastian stutters. He jolts to standing, almost upending the model.
I take a deep breath. Fuck being practical. Fuck getting my ducks in a row. Fuck making a pro-con list and a plan. I’ll figure it out.
“I quit.” I say it louder. More sure. More certain.
“You can’t quit.” Sebastian’s in front of me in three long strides.
“I can. And I am,” I snap.
“If this is about my being arrested… I know this makes your job harder. I fucked up and ruined your night. It won’t happen again. I promise.” He sounds sincere. His handsome face is contrite. Pleading, even.
I square my shoulders.
I will not cave. I will not cave.
“You got into trouble and blew up my phone on the one and only night I wasn’t supposed to be on call in the last year,” I growl. “You interrupted my sister’s graduation, and I left her party to help you. Again.”
“Em, I’m sorry.”
“I know you’re sorry.” I wave my hands. “But it’s not enough.
You remember nothing about me. And I get it—it’s my job to make your life easier.
It’s my job to solve all your problems in the background.
But I have a life of my own. Or at least, I want one.
And it’s become painfully clear I won’t get that life, not while I work for you. ”
He lets out a sharp exhale.
My chest squeezes painfully. “It’s always going to be what you want or what I want.” I pause, swallowing the lump in my throat. “And for once, I choose me.”
“Just let her go, Sebastian. You can replace her in a heartbeat,” Allegra says with a yawn.
He turns his head. His eyes are pale and cold. Ice is warmer.
“We need privacy, Allegra,” he bites out.
Her mouth opens, probably to argue. But something in Sebastian’s expression makes her change her mind. “Fine. I’ll be in your bedroom.” She turns and makes her way to his suite.
He turns back to me. “I’ll pay you more. Double.”
I shake my head, even as I do mental math at just how big that amount would be. It would be a lot.
“Triple,” he says.
“I-it’s not about the money.”
“You can have more days off. Longer vacations. Hell, go now. You can come back in a few weeks when you’re refreshed.”
“I already have months that I haven’t taken,” I snap in exasperation.
“That will change. I’ll change.”
“I’ll hire and train my replacement.” My voice hardens. “This won’t impact your life.” It’s what I’ve been doing the last seven years, smoothing out every rough spot in his world.
“The fuck it won’t. The assistant won’t be you.” His eyes fill with an emotion I don’t recognize.
And then, just as fast, his face changes, and the cool, care-for-nothing Hollywood prince reemerges.
“Has it been that bad? Working for me?” he asks lightly.
But there’s a tight edge to those careless words.
“You’ve traveled on private planes. Stayed in five-star hotels in the best cities in the world.
Eaten at the best restaurants. Met the biggest stars. ”
I bark out a laugh. “All those planes and hotels and restaurants you talk about—I’m the one who arranges them, makes sure they’re effortless for you.
Along with the million details that go into running your career.
It’s never-ending. I’m not sitting back and enjoying the luxury travel.
I work the entire flight, organizing logistics for your trip or running lines with you.
Yes, we stay in five-star hotels, but I never actually see the city.
Unless you’re doing a photo shoot on location, I only see the insides of fancy rooms, and they all look alike after a while.
You’re the one who eats at the restaurants, not me,” I say, my voice rising.
“I usually get interrupted by a call before my meal even arrives.”
“But I thought—”
“I can’t even have a damn night off without you calling me multiple times about some crisis, made-up or real…
or jail.” I huff out a breath. “I want to build something real. Maybe I want to date. Have hobbies. I want stability. That’s not something I can ever have in this job.
” I pause. “Sadie and I have been talking about starting our own business.”
When he looks at me as if I’ve been beamed down from another planet, speaking an unfamiliar language, my insecurity and pride kick in. Maybe he thinks I can’t make something of myself on my own.
That’s my fear as well. But he doesn’t need to know that.
I lift my chin. “Sadie and I are starting a business,” I say, more firmly this time. “My degree is in entrepreneurial studies. And I have a lot of contacts in this town.”
His eyes are flat now, shuttered. And for the first time maybe ever, I can’t figure out what he’s thinking.
“I’ll give you two weeks’ notice.”
He still doesn’t say anything.
“Fine. Two and a half weeks. Just until the big Wanderers premiere. And then I’m gone. You can’t change my mind.” The words hang in the air between us.
His stance, always so straight, so cocky, is bowed. I barely recognize him.
I’ve imagined this day for years now. I imagined it every time Sebastian asked the impossible, like when he had me throw a party for two hundred of his closest friends at the most popular club in the world on a day’s notice.
I thought I’d be red-hot angry. That my words would shoot out like bullets. And I am angry. But I’m also sad. So damn sad.
“Goodbye, Sebastian,” I say, almost gently.
And then I grab my purse and walk out of the mansion. There’s no door slam, as I always imagined. No theatrics. Just a soft click.
And for the first time, I didn’t ask him if he needed anything else before I left.
Because I’m finally leaving, whether he needs anything or not.