ChapterEleven
Rosalia
I swirl my nearly empty glass and study the ruby liquid, pretending to read the dessert menu.
Our dinner conversation had flowed as smoothly as the wine Sebastian ordered, except now my attention keeps drifting to my phone, turned face down.
The screen is no longer visible, but the email notification from the Blackstone lawyer is in my mind’s eye.
The subject line is “Regarding Your Lease Termination.” Guilt and desperation eat at my full stomach, souring our shared wonderful meal.
Given our sudden tension, I’m surprised that Sebastian didn’t ask for the bill. Instead, he ordered us an amazing dessert sampler. “Try the chocolate one.” He points to a decadent-looking truffle cake at the edge of the plate.
And while I might be upset, chocolate is not something I’m going to pass up. I take a small bite, and the rich ganache momentarily pushes away my worries. “Oh my god,” I murmur, forgetting my situation. “That’s incredible.”
“I looked up this place. The pastry chef was trained in Paris,” he says, his smile returning. “I thought you might like it.”
He remembers my sweet tooth from our coffee date. My heart does a little skip. I take another sip of wine, letting it relax the knot between my shoulders and push away thoughts of Thorne, leases, and the precarious position of my bookstore.
“I’m sorry,” I say, not entirely sure what I’m apologizing for—my distraction, the secrets between us, or the fact that I’m enjoying his company far more than I should. “Which one are you going to try?”
“All of them.” He grins and his playfulness dissolves the rest of my tension.
“Whew,” I laugh. “I was hoping you’d say that so I could too.”
“I still can’t believe you love hiking and horseback riding,” I muse, then pause, trying the carrot cake.
“Why?” he asks.
I can’t picture him, the high-profile billionaire, doing something as simple as walking in nature for relaxation and fun. I giggle at my mental image. “Do you hike and ride in a three-piece suit?”
He laughs, straightening his already straight tie.“Of course. How else would one hike?” he jokes, exuding charm and irresistible allure.
He’s handsome, but under the formal business tycoon is a cute man, which is dangerous. I like this side of him way too much.
He holds up the nearly empty bottle of white wine. “Would you like more?”
“No. No. I’ve had more than enough.” I’ve had at least three glasses.
The crisp wine had gone down way too smoothly.
My bike ride home is going to be interesting.
Glancing outside, my heart sinks at the last bit of light bleeding from the sky.
Have we been chatting for over two hours?
“I should have water. My return trip will take a little longer because of the dark.”
Sebastian raises his hand and seconds later the waiter is next to our table. After giving his credit card, he says, “Let me give you a ride home.”
I’m tempted, and convince myself that all the wine is why I’m at ease with him. “What about my bike?”
“I’ll come back and get it after dropping you off.”
I almost agree, but hold back. Mainly because of how much I want to spend more time with him. Keeping him at arm’s length is a must, at least until I find a new store location without Thorne’s help.
“Thanks, but I’ll manage. The night ride will be lovely.” Unless I break my neck navigating in the dark while a little drunk. That thought has my heart racing like a frightened rabbit.
Sebastian’s sexy mouth presses into a thin line like he wants to argue. Instead he nods. “I’ll walk you to your bike.”
He stands and offers me his arm and I slide mine through his. My body tingles where we touch. He is solid, and his cologne is amazing, primal, and sophisticated. Stepping outside, he halts so abruptly that I stumble.
His grip tightens, and I steady myself. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
He points and my good mood deflates like the front tire of my bike. Hell, even a few spokes are dangling from the slightly bent rim. Great, another bill.
What if the nearest bike repair shop isn’t close to my apartment? Or the cost of repairs is too much. Tears burn my eyes and I wobble slightly when I walk to the rack to inspect the damage. I need my bike.
“Let me give you a ride home,” Sebastian says.
“My bike…” It’s hard to speak through the sudden thickness in my throat. “Sorry, I’m being ridiculous. The wine’s affecting my emotions.” There is no way I can share with a billionaire whose driver is idling at the curb in a freaking Bentley that my bicycle is my only transportation .
“I’ll come back and get it after dropping you off.” He slips his hands into his slacks and searches my eyes. “Do you want me to wait here while my driver drops you off?”
I raise my brows. “Um, why?”
“You seem hesitant to accept a ride. If it’s because you’re uncomfortable being alone in the car with me, I don’t mind waiting here.”
That’s thoughtful. The urge to hug him is nearly impossible to resist. “No, I’m not,” I tell him honestly.
I’m not afraid of him. My only fear is how he makes me feel.
Opening the door to the backseat, he motions for me to get inside. The supple cream seat hugs me and is cool against my bare arms. Sebastian’s car smells like him—masculine and expensive.
He comes around and gets in on the other side. “Could you give Tom your home address?” he asks, motioning to the driver.
“It’s the bookstore.”
A single brow ticks, and he tilts his head. “Really?”
I nod, studying his surprised reaction. It seems genuine. He really doesn’t know I live above the bookstore, which means he probably doesn’t know about the lease situation either. Relief floods through me, followed immediately by a sharp twist of guilt.
If he truly is clueless about his brother’s plans, then he has no idea Thorne is using me as a pawn against him. Another terrible thought creeps in: What if Sebastian actually deserves to lead Blackstone Bourbon, and I’m helping Thorne destroy someone who’s done nothing wrong?
“I didn’t realize there was an apartment in the store,” he says, unaware of my internal breakdown. “I thought…well, it doesn’t matter what I thought.” He frowns, staring at his large hands resting on his knees.
Is he embarrassed for me? Or is this a reality check on how differently we live? Although something about his posture screams guilt. I shake my head. No, that can’t be right. It’s wishful thinking .
I cross my arms and accidentally bump a serious-looking control panel in the center console.
The back of the driver’s seat hums and shifts, revealing a laptop mounted to a polished wooden tray that matches the pristine interior.
Sebastian presses a button and it returns to its hiding place.
He hits another and the chrome rectangle between us in the middle of the back seat rises, revealing a built-in cooler.
A cooler! He hands me water then twists a knob.
A wide leather armrest slides over the NASA-looking control panel as if it had never been there.
Thank sweet baby Jesus, it’s gone. I might accidentally hit another button and reveal the secret space where he hides all his little yellow Minions. I cover my mouth, but a giggle escapes.
“This is Gru’s car,” I wheeze. I’m a buzzed idiot. A man like Sebastian won’t know the cartoon Despicable Me .
He snorts. “The impression I’m making is terrible. First, I remind you of Bill—”
“Who’s Bill?” I ask, confused.
“The boss from Office Space.” Sebastian holds an imaginary coffee cup and mimics Bill’s famous line, “Yeah…that’d be great, um-kay.”
“I can’t believe you remember his name.” I laugh. Oh my, he likes old comedies and is funny. The combination is my Achilles’ heel.
I’m in trouble.
He chuckles. “Between him and Gru, it appears I’m the villain in your story.”
My smile wilts a little. No, that’s me—dating him under false pretenses. Why couldn’t he be an arrogant billionaire? Lord knows there’s enough of them.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Fine.” I remind myself it’s Sebastian Blackstone’s company that has put Novel Idea at risk. Managing to bury some of my guilt, I tap my index finger against my lips. “Hmm, if you had a black and gray scarf, you could pass for a leaner, younger version of Gru.”
His deep, melodious laughter fills the space between us, warming me in areas he absolutely should not. The car pulls in front of my store and a hollowness fills my chest. I don’t want to be alone with my self-reproach .
Plus, now what? Do I kiss him goodbye? Offer my hand to shake? Wave?
“I’d love to see you again. Can I call you this week?” he asks as his driver opens my door.
“I’d like that.” Using the last of my fading liquid courage, I lean forward, intending to kiss his cheek.
But he turns at the same time and my lips land on the firm corner of his mouth, igniting a burst of fireworks through me.
Heat rushes from the unexpected contact, and I’m certain a blush is racing up my cheeks.
Without daring to meet his gaze, I scramble from the car, closing the door with a soft click.
Standing in the narrow alley, the tall buildings loom on either side. The sleek vehicle idles at the curb, its engine purring softly. I turn to the exterior staircase that leads to my apartment. The cool night air is a stark contrast to the warmth that had enveloped me moments ago.
As I approach the stairs, I glance over my shoulder, my gaze meeting Sebastian’s through the car window. He nods, a silent acknowledgment I take to mean that he’ll give me space but will wait until I’m safely inside before leaving. The simple gesture sends a flutter through my chest.
Grasping the cool handrail, I make my way to my apartment, the metal steps clanging softly beneath my ballet flats. Halfway up, I pause, turning to look at the alley below. The car’s headlights cast a soft glow, illuminating the pavement and the base of the stairs.
I rummage through my bag, my fingers brushing against various objects—a pen, a tube of lipstick, a crumpled paper, the elusive keys playing a game of hide-and-seek amid the clutter.
My hand bumps against something unexpected, and I pull out a small box I don’t remember placing there.
Holding it, I continue my search for my keys.
Finally locating them, I unlock my door and step inside, flipping on the lights.
I drop my keys on the counter with a clatter that echoes in the quiet space.
Only then do I examine the mysterious box.
Opening it, I find a single chocolate truffle, identical to the one from dessert, wrapped in elegant paper with a note: “For your sweet tooth. — S”
Sebastian must have slipped it into my bag when I wasn’t looking. The gift is thoughtful in a way that’s both wonderful and terrible. I run my thumb over the elegant paper. The wine buzz fades, replaced by the uncomfortable clarity of what I’m really doing with him.
I place the chocolate on my nightstand, a sweet reminder of a night I shouldn’t have enjoyed nearly as much as I did. There’s something disarming about his attentiveness, not calculated but genuine, which only makes it worse.
Part of me wants to believe he’s exactly as he seems: thoughtful, funny, surprisingly normal despite his wealth. That part savors the lingering taste of chocolate and wine, the memory of almost-kisses and shared laughter.
But the other half hopes it’s all an act. If he’s playing me too, then my deception stings less. If he’s the corporate mess Thorne painted, then I’m not betraying someone good; I’m doing what’s necessary to save my store.
I change for bed, glancing at the chocolate one more time. The truth is painfully simple: the more real the connection, the more I become the villain in this story.