36 Seb
Seb
My tux felt like a straitjacket with its tailored lines, starched cuffs, and the faint gleam coming from the polished cufflinks I hadn’t worn since the Christmas Eve party at the Kings’—and the last time I had seen Roxie.
Over the past few months working hard on the food bank and the expansion of the philanthropic arm of Whittaker Holdings, my daily uniform had turned from dress pants and tailored shirts to jeans and button-downs, finding them easier to work in than anything I’d worn before.
But for today’s event, putting on the old uniform that said Whittaker before I even opened my mouth was necessary. Today wasn’t about the pomp and circumstance. It was for the families who now relied on the food bank.
The gala was taking place in the ballroom at The Nest, one of New York’s more exclusive private clubs that my family were long-time members of.
The ballroom shimmered under a canopy of crystal chandeliers, the low hum of polite conversation swelling as more guests arrived.
Photographers hovered near the entrance, lenses snapping at every sequin, silk tie, and diamond bracelet that drifted through the doors.
Those pictures were sure to end up splashed across Page Six, which was fine in my mind.
The more people aware of the food bank, the better.
I slipped past them without a smile, the practiced aloofness of my father’s son still second nature despite the months since I’d last attended an event like this.
My father was already in the thick of it, it seemed.
He was shaking hands with donors; his charm as polished as the marble floor beneath us.
When his eyes found mine across the room, he gave a sharp nod.
This one full of approval I wasn’t used to.
When he mentioned the opportunity for me to build up the vision for the company that I wanted, I took it with both hands and didn’t look back. I’d never felt more excited to wake up every day to go to work and really do something that fulfilled my life while changing those of others.
I took a glass of champagne from a waiter passing with a tray.
I still hadn’t had a sip of alcohol in months but wanted to keep up appearances for the evening.
The East Side Food Bank wasn’t just a headline project or bullet point for Whittaker Holdings.
It had become the thing that kept me tethered when everything else had felt so uncertain in my life.
Following my father’s lead, I made the rounds—thanking donors, answering questions, letting the photographs happen when they needed to. Every conversation echoed the next.
You’ve really surprised us, Sebastian. Never thought I’d see you leading a cause like this.
I knew they all meant it as a compliment.
So instead of taking offense, I simply smiled and nodded, letting their surprise fuel me.
Many of these people had witnessed me as a rambunctious child who grew into a reckless teenager and then a trust fund playboy.
But I didn’t view tonight as some sort of redemption arc for the old versions of me. Tonight’s focus was on the work alone.
A tap on my shoulder pulled me out of the noise.
“Sebastian.”
I turned. Kirsten King stood in front of me, elegant as ever in a floor-length gown the color of midnight. She gave me a quick, measured smile and leaned in, lowering her voice so only I could hear.
“You’ve really outdone yourself tonight, Sebastian,” she said, her eyes scanning the room with a kind of appraisal only someone like her could pull off. “It’s quite impressive. The East Side Food Bank is an exceptional venture.”
I nodded, keeping my expression neutral, though the faintest edge of pride tugged at my chest. “Thank you, Mrs. King. I just wanted tonight to show everyone how far the food bank has come and how many lives it has already touched. That’s all that matters.”
She hummed softly, a smile tugging at her lips. “It’s not just that it’s touched lives, Sebastian. It’s how it’s touched them. You’ve made something meaningful, and people notice that. Trust me, they’re seeing what you can do, the impact you’ve made, and they’re impressed.”
Before I could respond, she tilted her head toward the far side of the room, her expression softening. “Speaking of noticing, it appears your friends are here.”
I followed her gaze. James and Hallie were standing near one of the towering floral arrangements, their heads bent in conversation. Hallie’s hand was resting lightly on James’s arm, her posture animated as they took in the result and hard work of Hallie’s imagination for this event.
“I will let you make your rounds,” Kirsten spoke once more. “I just wanted to let you know how proud I am of you, Sebastian, truly.”
Then Kirsten faded into the crowd, only to be replaced a few seconds later by James and Hallie, who had made their way across the room to me.
James’s smile was bright as he clapped a hand on my shoulder. “This place looks amazing, Seb.”
“I think we owe all of that to your girlfriend, she’s the one with the eye for aesthetics,” I told him, sending a grateful wink in Hallie’s direction.
She blushed a deep crimson as she looked around the room with satisfaction in her eyes.
James pulled her in closer to his side, squeezing her tightly.
“We made a good team, the three of us,” Hallie said with a grin. “This place looks like a dream, and everyone’s talking about it.”
I let out a low laugh, some of the tightness in my chest easing. “I just wrote the checks, Hallie.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” James said, giving me a knowing look, having watched me write myself off since we were teenagers.
“It takes more than checks to do what you’ve done these past months.
This entire thing was your idea. You’ve not only changed the lives of others, but you’ve changed your own. We’re really proud of you.”
I arched a brow, though there was no sting to his words. “You’re sounding like everyone else in the room, James. Careful, or I’ll start believing what people are saying.”
James’s smirk softened. “Maybe you should.”
Hallie nudged him lightly with her elbow. “What he’s trying to say is that you’ve grown into this. And we’re proud of you. But you know the night isn’t only about the donors or the food bank, right?”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, her eyes flicked toward the entrance of the ballroom, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips.
James followed her gaze, the corners of his lips pulling upward.
I turned to follow their sightline until my own landed on the most striking woman in the entire place.
Roxie.
The air left my lungs all at once. She stepped into the room in a gown the color of deep sapphire, her camera hanging from a delicate leather strap at her side as though it was a natural extension of her.
The perfect accessory. Her long blonde hair swept up into a slick updo which allowed her sharp cheekbones to steal the spotlight.
I watched her scan the room with a purpose, looking for someone, until her eyes landed on me.
The noise of the gala dimmed, as if someone had lowered the volume on the entire world. All I could hear was the sudden rush of blood in my ears. Even so, months apart, just the sight of her unraveled something inside me I hadn’t even realized was still wound so tightly.
Hallie leaned closer, her voice a whisper. “Play nice, Sebastian. She’s here so we can finish our review of your food bank, and she still doesn’t know that you’re the director.”
I didn’t look away from Roxie. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. My chest tightened as I watched the slight part of her lips, the way her shoulders squared like she was bracing herself for a collision.
James nudged me slightly, sending me a reassuring nod as he pushed me in Roxie’s direction.
I hesitated at first as every moment since we’d come back into each other’s lives over the last year played through my mind.
Every interaction ended in heartbreak or a fight.
Part of me wanted to spare myself, and her, from that tonight.
But then Roxie started walking toward me.
Every step she took felt like a countdown.
Three. Her camera bumped off her hip as she moved through the crowd.
Two. Her eyes scanned over to James and Hallie, and I got the chance to see my favorite smile in the entire world stretch across her face.
One. She stopped in front of me, close enough that I could catch the familiar hint of Chanel No. 5.
“Hallie,” she said, completely ignoring me despite standing right in front of me. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic was backed up to get in here. I feel like everyone who’s anyone is here tonight.”
Hallie lit up and reached for her, polite enough to ignore how Roxie had just brushed me off. “You’re here. That’s what matters. And you look incredible.”
“Thank you,” Roxie murmured with a small smile, pulling back, her hand still resting lightly on Hallie’s arm as if touching her best friend grounded her. She hadn’t so much as flicked her gaze toward me again, though I was standing inches away.
My pulse was hammering in my throat.
James stepped in, ever the steady anchor. “We were just saying how well tonight has come together. You’ll want to get some shots before it gets too crowded.”
“Come together?” Roxie asked curiously. “You act as if you’ve had a hand in this, James.”
Hallie looked almost sheepish now as she glanced nervously between Roxie, James, and me. “Well, now that you mention it …”
“Hallie, is there something you’re not telling me? Are you and James a part of this venture?” Roxie asked, her eyes now bouncing from Hallie’s to James’s. But still avoiding mine.
“Well,” James said slowly, stepping in to rescue Hallie, who was floundering hopelessly next to him. “Our friend is the director, and we were only helping him.”
Roxie’s brows knitted together, her lips parted slightly as she processed James’s words. “Your friend?” Her gaze flickered between them again, expectant, as if she was waiting for a name to be dropped.
Hallie shifted on her heels, her blush deepening, the guilt practically written across her face. “Yes,” she blurted. “He’s been working really hard to make tonight possible. We just supported the vision.”
Roxie tilted her head, her photographer’s eye clearly sharpening, like a hawk homing in on its prey. “I see,” she murmured. Her voice was soft, but the edge in it was undeniable. “And this mysterious director, he doesn’t want to be named?”
Her camera hung against her hip, forgotten, as she glanced once more at James—then finally, her eyes cut to mine. The room seemed to fold in around us, the chandelier light catching in her sapphire dress, her stare locking me in place.
“Doesn’t want to be named,” Roxie repeated, as if she were putting the pieces together, and now her words were aimed directly at me.
The air between us stretched taut, a wire pulled to its breaking point.
I forced my grip to loosen on the champagne flute I still had done nothing with and forced my voice to stay steady. “Maybe he doesn’t want to be the story,” I said evenly, holding her gaze. “Maybe he wants the focus to stay on the people the food bank and restaurant serve.”
Roxie’s chin lifted a fraction, her eyes narrowing.
That was always her superpower with me—seeing the cracks in the armor, even when no one else could.
I might have been standing there in my tuxedo, every inch the Whittaker heir, but she looked at me like she knew exactly who was underneath, the new version of myself.
Hallie cleared her throat softly, trying to ease the pressure. “Rox, why don’t I show you the donor wall before the speeches start? You’ll want to get a shot of it. I think it’s my best work.”
But Roxie didn’t move right away. Her gaze lingered on me, sharp and unflinching, before she finally shifted back to Hallie. “Sure,” she said smoothly.
As she let Hallie guide her away, her camera swinging, I caught one last glimpse of her expression. It wasn’t indifference anymore. It was curiosity. And somehow that might have been the most exciting part of the entire night so far.