Seb
“How’s it going with Hallie?” I asked as I sent the tennis ball back over the net toward James.
James glared and hurled it back at me with all his might. “There’s no chance you’re letting this go, is there?”
In the last few weeks, James had found himself increasingly involved with Hallie and her assignment to date the most sought-after bachelors in New York City’s finance industry.
He acted as though he’d reluctantly volunteered himself for the job, casting himself as a martyr …
but I knew my best friend was perfectly happy with his current position.
He treated Hallie to an extravagant date every week, and she subsequently wrote about each experience for Sophisticate.
She’d even given James a cute nickname, “Mr. Old Fashioned,” to keep his identity anonymous, which she’d taken from James’s usual drink of choice.
My lips quirked into a smile and I shook my head, amused by how annoyed he was. “You’re the one doing this Mr. Old Fashioned charade with your so-called arch nemesis. You don’t just get to pretend that isn’t happening or that you don’t have feelings for her.”
He grunted, lunging for the ball. “I’m not—she’s not—Christ, Seb.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “That sentence was a work of art. Maybe leave that to Hallie, yeah? Let me guess, you guys are seeing each other but not seeing each other? Talking but not talking? Tying it up with an it’s complicated bow?”
James wiped the sweat of his brow. It was hot today. “Is there a point to this?”
“There’s always a point,” I said, casually tossing the ball up and catching it. “I just haven’t figured out what it is yet.”
It seemed James had finally realized that I was largely dedicated to the task of irritating him.
Especially when it came to his dating life.
However, that became less important after his disastrous relationship with Cassidy.
He’d already been through so much with her, I couldn’t bring myself to really pile the teasing on him.
James walked to the baseline, breathing a little heavier. He rested his racket against his hip. “Actually, there is something I wanted to talk to you about. To do with Hallie.”
“Oh no.” I shook my head. “No, I cannot help you elope to Vegas. That’s where even I draw the line.”
He gave me an incredulous look. “Didn’t you try to do that yourself once?”
“Which is exactly why that makes me the perfect person to tell you not to do it.”
James waved off my antics. “You’re not doing anything this weekend, right?”
“That depends,” I drawled. “If this is your way of roping me into third-wheeling your romantic weekend, I’m going to need a damn good bottle of scotch and a formal apology.”
James rolled his eyes and served the ball hard and fast. I barely volleyed it back.
“Her articles are about a finance guy who spoils her with extravagant dates, and I figured a Hamptons getaway would be a great idea.” James came to a halt on the court. “To ease the pressure of a weekend getaway for just the two of us, I thought I could invite you and her friend.”
I arched a brow. “So, you want me to come to the Hamptons … to be a human buffer between you and your pretend date?”
James shrugged, unapologetic. “Pretty much. I figured Hallie might feel more comfortable if her friend comes too. And I thought, why not make a weekend of it?”
I didn’t respond right away, just caught the ball mid-air and turned it over in my hand. He hadn’t used Hallie’s friend’s name, but I knew exactly who he was talking about. Or at least I hoped I did. Roxie. She was on my mind a lot these days.
“Is this the same friend who gave me the death glare at McGuire’s?” I asked lightly, hoping that he didn’t pick up on anything in my voice.
While James and I had known each other since we were kids, we’d only ever seen each other during summers in the Hamptons, where both of our families had second homes.
We joined the same summer golf and tennis leagues.
Our friendship only made its way outside the walls of the country club when we’d both gotten into Princeton, and then he’d become more like a brother I’d never had.
But when it came to Roxie, the two had never crossed paths and I couldn’t have been more grateful for it now.
“I think that’s just her face,” James replied, deadpan.
I couldn’t help but grin, even with everything else going on in my head. Roxie hadn’t replied to the last two emails I’d sent. I hadn’t even meant to send the second one—just started typing after too many drinks one night and hit send before I could stop myself. But still. Nothing.
James served again, but I didn’t move for the ball. Just let it sail past me and thud against the back fence.
“You in?” he asked.
I bent to pick up the ball, taking my time, pretending like the sun was in my eyes.
Truth was, I needed a second to think. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected when I started writing to Roxie, some kind of absolution?
Forgiveness? A second chance? Or maybe just proof that I hadn’t imagined the look in her eyes that night at McGuire’s, the one that said she still remembered everything too.
But silence had been her answer of late.
Still, the thought of being in the Hamptons, knowing she’d be there, stirred something inconvenient in me. I didn’t want to admit it even to myself, but I was hoping for another shot. Not a big one. Just a crack in the wall she’d built up between us.
“Seb?” James asked again.
I straightened up and shrugged. “Just trying to figure out if I want to spend a weekend watching you hang on Hallie’s every word.”
James smirked. “I don’t do that.”
“You absolutely do,” I said, grabbing my towel and draping it around my neck. “It’s unbearable.”
But even as I said it, the answer was already settling in my gut.
I was going. Not because I was desperate for a weekend of tennis whites and overpriced wine, but because something had shifted the night Roxie walked back into my life.
And despite her silence, I couldn’t shake the feeling that seeing her again now wasn’t just inevitable.
It was necessary.
“Are you done already?” James asked me.
I gave a half-hearted wave. “I’m out of shape.”
“You’re twenty-seven and do two-a-days with your trainer.”
I ignored him, wandering toward the bench and collapsing onto it. The sun glinted off the court, and I grabbed my water bottle, letting the silence stretch just long enough for James to stop hovering and start playing solo against the wall. He’d got the message that I needed a minute.
Honestly, I’d already forgiven Roxie. At least the rational part of me had. The part that knew we were seventeen, stupid with hormones and insecurity and too much privilege for our own good. Even if the pain never quite went away.
What she did wasn’t some world-ending betrayal. It just felt like it at the time. When you’re seventeen and already halfway in love with someone, watching them choose someone else, even for a second, can feel like the ground breaking open beneath you.
But it wasn’t the kiss that had stayed with me. It was the silence after. The way she’d vanished like none of it had meant anything. As if I’d dreamed the whole thing up in my head.
I raked my fingers through my sweat-soaked hair and wished I hadn’t had that coffee.
My mind was already spinning, imagining how it would go—stilted conversation, polite small talk, and once again pretending like we hadn’t spent half our lives together.
Even if I dreaded all of that, just simply being near her again would make it all worth it.
“If I agree to this, you have to promise one thing.”
James finished smacking balls against the far wall and walked over, tossing his towel across his shoulder. “Name it.”
“No matching outfits with Hallie. You guys already look like a walking romcom. I can’t be seen with that kind of energy.”
He rolled his eyes. “You’re ridiculous. But if you and Roxie decide to kill each other in the boathouse, I’m not intervening.”
“I’ll try to keep the bloodshed to a minimum.”
James grinned. “We leave Friday.”
“Right.” I stood, grabbing my water bottle and following him off the court. “And just so we’re clear, I’m not interested in Roxie. So if we go out to dinner, it won’t be a double date.”
James snorted. “Sure you’re not.”
I shot him a look. “I’m not.”
“Sebastian Whittaker not going for an eligible, attractive woman? I’ll believe it when hell freezes over.” Then he clapped me on the back and kept walking.
I told myself I was only going for the weekend, the sunshine, the drinks, and the escape. Roxie being there was only incidental. A minor inconvenience.
Surely nothing could happen between the two of us.
By the time I got back to the office, the sun was high and unforgiving, and my shirt clung damply to my back under my blazer. A clear indication that summer was finally making its way into the city. The elevators in Whittaker Holdings were as slow as ever.
Monica, the receptionist outside my father’s office, looked up as I entered. With long legs crossed, she leaned against the desk, her glossy lips curving into a smirk that seemed to dare anyone to approach her.
“Well,” she drawled, tapping perfectly manicured nails against the tablet in front of her, “if it isn’t New York’s most reluctant heir.”
I approached and rested an elbow on the counter. “Monica, nice to see you. Remind me, what time does your shift end?”
“That depends,” she said with a lift of her brow. “Are you asking because you’re finally going to take me to a nice dinner, or because you want to make bad decisions again?”
I gave her my best boyish grin. “Can’t we do both?”
She laughed and rolled her eyes, but deep down I knew she loved when I flirted with her. “You’re terrible.”
“I know.” I winked, then looked down the hall to my dad’s office. “Is the king in?”
“Waiting on you, actually.” She tilted her head. “He’s in a mood.”
“Isn’t he always?”