Page 8 of Hate To Be Mine

I groaned and dropped onto the couch beside her. “This is impossible.”

“Is this about that island shoot thing?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

She laughed and slid closer, her hand moving to my thigh. “You know, I can think of better ways to relieve your stress than reading boring insurance documents.”

She was beautiful. And normally, this would be exactly how I’d spend a lazy afternoon. But all I could think about was Bernadette’s face when she’d slid that binder across the table. The challenge in her eyes. The absolute certainty that I was going to fail.

“I can’t,” I said, standing up and gently moving away. “I’m sorry. You should go.”

Her expression shifted from sultry to annoyed in about half a second. “Are you serious? You called me over here to read you insurance documents?”

“I know. I’m the worst. I’m sorry. Can I call you a car?”

“Don’t bother.” She grabbed her purse and headed for the door, pausing to look back at me. “You know, this is the weirdest foreplay I’ve ever experienced. And I once dated a guy who was really into feet.”

I picked up my phone and found the business card Bernadette had given me. I stared at it for several seconds, pride warring with practicality.

Pride lost.

I dialed.

She answered on the second ring. “Bernadette Simmons.”

“Hi. It’s Sebastian. Blackwell. We met yesterday.”

“I remember who you are, Mr. Blackwell. What can I do for you?”

Her voice was professional, with just a hint of irritation. Like I was bothering her.

“So, I’ve been reading the binder,” I started.

“And?”

“And I think it would be really helpful if we could meet up so you could walk me through it. Like, in person. Explain what I’m actually supposed to be doing.”

There was a pause. “Mr. Blackwell, the binder is quite comprehensive. Everything you need to know is in there.”

“Right, but see, the thing is…” I tried to figure out how to say this without sounding like a complete idiot. But she already thinks I’m an idiot so, whatever. “I don’t understand it. Any of it. I’ve been reading the same three pages all morning and nothing is penetrating my skull. I’m not trying to be difficult. I genuinely need help.”

Another pause, longer this time. “I’m not sure what I can do to help you.”

“Isn’t it your job to make sure I understand all this stuff?” I snapped. “I mean, what’s the point of having all these rules if the person who’s supposed to follow them can’t understand what they mean? Don’t you want me to do this right?”

I could almost hear her thinking through the phone. Finally, she sighed. “Fine. We can meet.”

“Great. When?”

“I have a few hours free this evening. Six-thirty?”

“Perfect.”

“Text me the address. And Mr. Blackwell?”

“Yeah?”

“Come prepared with specific questions. I’m not going to read the entire binder out loud to you.”