Page 7 of Hate To Be Mine

But after twenty minutes of reading and re-reading the same two pages, I had to admit defeat. Nothing was sticking. It was like trying to grab water with my bare hands. The harder I tried to hold on to the information, the faster it slipped away.

Maybe I could hire someone to read and memorize the information and follow me around all day to tell me what it said.

Duh, that’s what the insurance lady was for. But I didn’t want her to think I was a dumbass. I had seen the way she looked at me in that meeting. Like I was nothing more than man-meat. Zero brain. All looks.

Usually, I played into that stereotype. It was easier. People left me alone and I was allowed to fuck around with no responsibility. But I didn’t want her to think that of me. If I was running things, I wanted to handle it like a professional.

I needed inspiration. Since her binder, also known as the biggest, most boring book on the planet, didn’t have an audio version, I would create my own.

I called Amber. She was a hookup. But if I remembered correctly—and there was a very good chance I was confusing Amber with Ashley or Anna—Amber was in college. She was smart.

I needed smart right now.

I sent her a quick text and invited her over. The reply was a series of emojis that made it very clear what she was looking for. And she would normally be right to expect sex. That would be the only reason I reached out.

Not long after, she walked in looking like a million dollars in a tight dress and heels that could double as weapons, her long dark hair falling in waves over her shoulders. Her smile turned predatory when she saw me in just sweatpants.

Her eyes raked over my body and she immediately reached behind her to unzip her dress.

“Hold that thought,” I said, grabbing the binder from the couch and pressing it into her hands. “I need you to read this to me.”

She blinked, looking down at the binder like I’d just handed her a dead fish. “What?”

“Read it. Out loud. I’m having trouble processing it visually. Maybe if I hear it, it’ll make more sense.”

“Sebastian, when you said you wanted me to come over, I thought⁠—”

“I know what you thought. And we can definitely get to that. But first, this. Please? I’m desperate.”

She frowned. “What is this?”

I waved a hand. “It’s work. Stuff I need to know.”

She sighed and settled onto my couch, crossing her legs and opening the binder.

Maybe we should have sex first. I remembered those legs around my waist—and neck. A little orgasm to get the juices flowing.

No. I had to focus. She was the carrot. My reward for learning all that crap.

“Okay.” Amber began reading.

I started pacing. I couldn’t just sit still while she read. I would fall asleep or get distracted. I needed to move. I grabbed my dumbbells and started doing bicep curls while she continued.

She stopped and looked up at me. “Really?”

“Keep going,” I said, switching arms. “This is good. This is helping.”

She read for another ten minutes while I moved through my apartment like a caged animal. I had to keep moving. But it was like she was speaking a foreign language. Every sentence was technically English but assembled in a way that made no goddamn sense.

Who talked like that? No one. Why couldn’t little miss insurance lady just say “Don’t stomp the flowers” or “Don’t piss in the water?” That’s how normal people talked.

“Okay, stop,” I finally said, setting down the weights and running my hands through my hair. “What did you just read? Like, summarize it.”

She looked down at the binder, then back up at me. “Um. Something about protecting the beach?”

“Right, but how? What are we supposed to do?”

“I don’t know. There were a lot of big words. I have no idea what any of this means.”