Page 119 of Scoring Eden

“I’m close. Just gotta find parking.”

She huffs in frustration. “There’s no time for parking, Alex. Just abandon it somewhere and run. You can afford the ticket.”

I don’t like it, but I do it anyway. I mount a yellow curb, praying that I won’t find my car booted when I come back, and charge across the street to Sebastian’s building.

“I’ll hold him for as long as I can. Call me when you’re in the clear,” I pant, hanging up. I fiddle with my phone for another few moments, doing my best to act nonchalant when I’m feeling anything but, then shove it into my pocket.

Because the prick himself has arrived.

He’s wearing the same suit as he was the day I met him. Navy. Versace, if I know my designers well enough. Sebastian may not be the only ostentatious fucker between us, but he is the only one who uses it to make up for his absolute shit stain of a personality.

His eyes narrow on me before a slow smirk laced with contempt curls a single corner of his mouth. “Alex Water, is it?”

He holds a hand out between us for me to shake, and I leave it there.

“Wolfe,” I correct, “which I suspect you know well enough already, considering the article you sold.”

He doesn’t even try to feign remorse. “It was just one of those things. No hard feelings.”

I definitely have hard feelings. Very hard feelings. And not in the fun way that I have them toward Eden. These hard feelings have me hoping that Aspen packed her hatchet so that I can use it to split his fucking smirk in half.

God, Aspen, hurry up.

“I wouldn’t say that.” I let my stare deaden to match his. “I may not be acting on them right now, but you can trust that I will. I’m just biding my time.”

If only he knew how true that statement is.

At the thought, my gaze strays to the building behind me, and Sebastian’s forehead creases in suspicion.

“What are you doing here, Wolfe?” March wind whips against Sebastian’s hair, disrupting his part and revealing the balding skin at the back of his head. He takes a step closer to the building.

“Macon left a few things behind that I figured he might need. Just dropped by to hand them over, since he’ll be living with you from now on.” I offer him a smile that looks sweet but holds a hearty dose of hatred.

He squints at the bag containing Macon’s phone and Mr. Snuggles, but he makes no move to take it. “He doesn’t need that stupid stuffed—”

My phone rings, and I hold my finger up to silence him. Thank Jesus. It’s about fucking time. “Sorry, could you hold that thought for a sec?”

“Hello?”

“Alex, I’ve got it.” Aspen’s voice has taken on a manic edge and is at least three octaves too high to listen comfortably. “I’ve fucking got it! Oh, that motherfucker is going down.” She delivers that last bit in a bad imitation of an NYPD interrogator.

Sebastian moves to walk around me, but I stop him with a hand to his chest. He bats me away immediately but, thankfully, stays where he is.

“Could you get to the point faster please?” I grit through my teeth to Aspen.

I battle to keep my expression neutral as she relays everything she’s found. Every new piece of information is a new spike of rage in my soul, a new blade of loathing I wish I could sever him with, but I listen to it all with an almost eerie sense of calm.

“So, Sebastian…” I grin, slipping my phone away. “Since you’re here, I was hoping to ask you a few questions.”

“No, I’m not going to withdraw the petition for custody. No, I’m not going to withdraw the emergency motion. No, I’m not going to allow Eden visitation rights until the court has made a decision. Does that answer your questions?”

Much to his confusion, I laugh. “Not really, no. You’re taking a child away from his mother for, from what I understand, no other reason than simply because you believe that you can.”

“I already have, haven’t I?” That nauseating smugness returns. “And contrary to what you believe, I’m doing it for Macon. I can offer him a much better life than what his mother can. A family, for one thing, that I didn’t have to trade myself for. A house that I own. Money that I didn’t earn from lying on my back.”

“You sonofa—” I stop myself, sucking in a long breath through my nose.

He’s goading me. I know he is. In fact, I’d wager that he wants me to hit him. And I’d do it too—I’m only a man after all—but if I let my fist eat his face, then he’s won.