Chapter 23
Emma
“You’ve officially lost it. I am not your fiancée, fake or otherwise. You had your fun driving me crazy. Now it’s done,” I pronounce as I stare out the window of the black SUV heading home from the hospital a couple days later.
Sebastian has always been impulsive and given to wild ideas. But even for him, this is next level.
It doesn’t matter that I haven’t agreed to be his pretend doting fiancée. He still played the part throughout the rest of my hospital visit.
He instructed Matt to send one hundred white roses to my room, which looked like a botanical garden. Whenever a nurse checked on me, he’d take my hand and rub my palm with caressing fingers. Or he’d press a tender kiss to my forehead, looking longingly into my eyes.
The playacting has me frustrated. And maybe a little turned on.
I can’t help it; I’m only human. I was left with an ache in my center and deeply confused.
He’s a talented actor, so I shouldn’t melt into his touch.
I shouldn’t wish that those sweet brushes of skin on skin and gentle kisses were real.
I shouldn’t be so happy that he was there when I went to bed and there when I woke, continuing to bypass visiting hours in some Sebastian-like way.
It’s not like he hasn’t been busy. I know how many events he canceled during that time. I know, because I’d scheduled them. And they were important to his career. The man wasn’t missing a deep-tissue massage.
Every time I tried to convince him to leave, he ignored me, saying he liked that no one bothered him at the hospital and that if he’d discovered this cheat code to being left alone years ago, he would have scheduled some benign operation on a regular basis.
He had a standing order for our favorite coffee delivery and had Matt bring stacks of scripts. Sebastian spent hours listening to tapes from his language teacher, who is helping him perfect his upper-crust British accent for an upcoming role.
I can’t lie, that also left me turned on.
I wasn’t allowed screens, so when I wasn’t sleeping, something I did for a ridiculous amount of time, he read me his scripts in goofy accents, making me laugh so hard I cried.
He kept me entertained with all the latest industry gossip.
And he somehow got an early copy of Evie Adelade’s latest album before it was released.
We listened to it on a special device, sharing a set of wired headphones, both crowded on the small hospital bed, our bodies tight against each other, tingling awareness heating my oversensitized skin where we touched.
He didn’t even complain when I wanted to listen to it over and over.
My doctor discharged me after three nights in the hospital, with a warning that I needed someone to watch me for a few more nights. And he had a long list of dos and don’ts, explaining that symptoms like nausea, headaches, vertigo, and more would likely persist.
“You’re breaking my heart here, Em,” Sebastian says in a silky murmur that sends shivers down my spine.
“As if I ever could,” I grumble. “Besides, even with that stupid article, I’m still hoping no one will believe we’re actually engaged.”
I don’t specify which article. The Charlotte Jones profile or the one where Allegra tells the world that she didn’t sleep with Sebastian.
I’m dying to find out more, but asking my former boss about his sex life or lack thereof with his former paramour seems like an overreach. Plus, I don’t want him to know just how happy I was to learn that little tidbit.
“I’m sorry, but the world already believes it.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He clicks a few buttons and scrolls through post after post of announcements of the two of us getting engaged.
I try to grab the phone, but he pulls it away with a wagging finger. “Nuh-uh. Doctor’s orders. Complete rest is the only thing that will help Emma get her brain back.”
“I’m out of the hospital, so whatever new publicist you have this week can tell the world the truth. That we’re not engaged. I’m not even your assistant now.”
I don’t know why I’m bothering to argue with him. He’s only teasing me about being his fiancée because he finds it fun to rile me up. It’s one of his favorite pastimes. He’ll forget all about it once he drops me off at my apartment and we go our separate ways.
I avoid the thought that maybe I’m continuing the argument with him because it’s one of my favorite pastimes as well. And that I don’t want to think about how I’ll feel when I’ll no longer see him every day. I might not even see him once a month. Or once a year. My heart stutters at that thought.
His expression firms, and I look away from his blue-steel gaze that pierces me despite the shadows. I concentrate instead on the road and passing buildings.
“Wait a minute, where are we going? We missed the turn.” I shift forward in my seat. “Duncan, I’m going to my apartment.”
He holds my eyes in the mirror. “Sebastian said you wanted to go to the mansion.”
“Nope. My apartment.”
“The mansion, Duncan,” Sebastian countermands.
The bodyguard’s gaze meets mine in the mirror again, then shifts to Sebastian with a small smile. “Sorry, sir. Miss Emma’s orders take precedence.” His mouth quirks wider. “I know who’s boss. Besides, you know how important consent is.”
I grin. “Thank you, Duncan. Consent is important.”
“I know all about consent, dammit. But I’m trying to make sure she doesn’t die.”
“That’s the thing about actors. They’re so dramatic. The doctor said I’m fine.”
“He said you were still concussed and needed to be watched. The mansion is more comfortable. I’d be there to help. Plus, you know Marie would love to have any excuse to fuss.”
“Well, I want to go home.”
While we argue, I note Duncan has changed his course and is now heading away from Malibu.
For a minute, I second-guess my decision. It would be nice to luxuriate at Sebastian’s. But now that I’m no longer his assistant, I need to get used to the separation of not working for him, not having his estate be like my second home.
“Fine,” he says, as if deciding something.
“If you want me to stay with you, then that’s what we’ll do.
Even if your place sucks compared to mine,” he says.
“I can rough it for a few days. I’m tough like that.
It will be like the prison movie I did. Remember, I spent the night in jail to see what it was like. ”
“You did not just compare my apartment to a prison cell,” I snap.
He shrugs, biting his lip as if to keep from laughing.
I narrow my eyes. “And you’re not staying with me.”
“Sure I am,” he says cheerily.
“There’s no place for you to sleep. I have a one-bedroom, and I had to get rid of Sadie’s daybed to make space for my office furniture.”
“I’m sure the couch is comfortable.”
“You’re bananas. You are not sleeping on my couch.”
“Okay. Your bed. But let the record show it was your idea.” His eyes twinkle.
My traitorous heart speeds up. I’m an unwilling participant in that organ’s perfidy. I absolutely do not want him to have any effect on me.
He’s just teasing again. There’s no way Sebastian Blake, king of luxury, would sleep on my lumpy couch. I look out the window in silence, watching the scenery pass until Duncan pulls into my parking lot.
The bodyguard jumps out and walks around to open my door. I turn to say a firm goodbye to Sebastian, but he’s already out of the car. He pops the trunk, grabs my overnight bag, and leans to help me out.
“I can do it.” I point to the bag that Daisy assembled for me from my apartment on my first full day in the hospital.
Sebastian wanted to go with her, but I prevailed in that argument.
Praise the saints. Because I didn’t need him rifling through my underwear drawer or skin creams. Or bringing me tampons. I shudder at the thought.
He ignores me, swings it easily over his shoulder, and strides to my building, while Duncan waits and stands watch over the fancy car in my parking lot.
The elevator is still broken, and my former boss’s arm anchors me as I walk up the steep flight of stairs, despite my irritation at his high-handedness. I’ve barely done anything today, but the concussion has stripped me of energy and, worse, the wrong movement triggers nausea.
As we make it to my hallway, the smells from half a dozen kitchens cooking in poorly ventilated spaces assault our senses.
The couple in Apartment 408 is fighting, as usual. I like her. She’s studying to be a beautician and has given me lots of hair-care tips. I’m not as fond of him. As I’ve overheard these last few months, he doesn’t fight fair.
We stop in front of my door. I dig into my purse to find my key. A loud pounding thunders overhead, followed by high-pitched screeching.
“Damn. It sounds like the gates of hell,” Sebastian observes.
I laugh. He’s so appalled. “The kids must be playing chase.”
“That’s unacceptable. They’re screaming.”
“No louder than one of your parties. And much more wholesome.”
Giggling and more squealing filter down through the thin floorboards above. “They’re a little loud, but the family is awesome.”
“Please tell me you’re moving,” Sebastian mutters.
Not anytime soon, I think, reaching down to the bottom of my bag for my key.
And after that recent—and, I’m sure, very expensive—hospital visit, it looks like I’ll be in this apartment for the long haul, or at least until my business turns profitable.
I don’t even know what the final cost was because Sebastian had somehow taken care of that portion of the paperwork, citing fiancé privileges, which I know are not a thing.
But even if he was crazy enough to settle my medical bill, I’ll have to pay him back.
A wave of panic threatens at the thought of the money and not having a steady job.
I can do anything I set my mind to. The only way out is through. I’m smart and capable. I repeat my mantra.