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I get a vision of myself pouring it over his head.
"Goodbye, Sebastian." I walk back toward my room. "Have a nice day, dear." I smile sweetly.
"Don’t give me that condescending fucking tone, April." He growls. "I'm not in the mood for your shit today."
I turn stare at him in the doorway, trying to understand what's happening right now.
He wants a fight. He's goading me. He wants me to push him away.
This is him being fucked up.
Hell.
Ignore it, ignore it, ignore it.
Without saying a word, I let the connecting door shut behind me, and I walk into my bathroom to turn the shower on. Moments later, I hear his door slam. He's gone.
I get under the hot water as the adrenaline pumps through my body. Maybe I want to fight, too.
Asshole.
"I don’t care what it takes. Find a way." Sebastian growls before marching off.
"Jesus. What the fuck is wrong with him today?" Bart sighs.
I widen my eyes as I stare at the computer screen in front of me.
If only you knew.
We've just finished lunch at our hotel, and we are about to hit the road again.
After this morning's hour-long drilling at his press conference, Sebastian wants Gerhard taken off of all political reporting. The thing is, we can't control who the media choose for their stories, and neither can he. Sebastian knows that, too, but today he has decided that he can. And who are we mere lawyers to know anything about the law?
Sebastian has been in a mood all day, snapping and snarling at anyone who dares to challenge his opinion, which has been a lot of people. The last press conference tipped him over the edge, and now he's in full rage mode.
"Kellan," we hear him snap as he walks toward the elevator. "I don’t have all day."
"I'm coming," she mutters, rushing after him to make the elevator.
I bite my lip to hide my smile.
I hate to admit it, but I do love that he's being a prick to her as well.
He steps into the elevator and turns to face the doors. His eyes meet mine and he remains emotionless as we stare at each other.
The doors close.
"What the hell got under his skin today?" Evan says from behind us.
I smirk as I go back to my work.
That would be me.
It's late—around 10:00 p.m. We didn’t get back to the hotel until two hours ago, and then we had dinner in the restaurant. Everyone is now having drinks in the bar and trying to relax before retiring to bed for another full-on day tomorrow.
Sebastian is sitting in the armchair by the fire with a scotch and a cigar. His legs are wide, and his demeanor is all male. From my place at the bar, I watch him lift the cigar to his lips, inhale, and then blow out a thin stream of smoke. He's deep in conversation with four men, and in the ultimate act of fucked-up-ness, I want him.
Him raging around today, snapping and snarling at everything that moved has awoken my libido, taking it to fever pitch.
I want him to release all that anger on my body.
I want him to punish me for upsetting him.
I take out my phone and text him.
Will you be paying cash or card tonight, Sir?
I see him dig his phone out of his pocket and read the text. His eyebrow rises and he slowly sips his scotch.
Cash.
I reply.
Your date will be waiting in the suite for you in thirty minutes.
His tongue darts out and in slow motion it sweeps over his bottom lip. His eyes rise to meet mine, and he gives me the best ‘come fuck me’ look I've ever seen.
It’s dark, dangerous, and hot as fucking hell.
I'm going to get it.
Nerves dance in my stomach. Another text arrives from Sebastian.
I'll have a full service. And make that ten minutes.
I drain my glass, and without looking up, I stand and leave. I need a two-minute shower, six minutes to prepare myself, and then another two minutes spare to freak out. I really should be more clued up on hooker talk before I make a booking.
Full service. What the hell does that mean?
I’m sitting on the end of the bed, freshly showered, wearing the hotels oversized, white bath robe.
I drag my hand down my face, wondering what the hell I’m doing?
Every fiber inside of me is screaming that this is wrong, and yet, like a sacrificial lamb, I sit here waiting for him to come and pay me for sex.
Sebastian Garcia is all kinds of fucked up. He doesn’t want sex unless it’s with a prostitute.
And what does it say about me that I’ll take his money.
I’d take his last damn cent if it means I get to hold him for the night.
I’ve never been so disgusted with myself in my life. Why does it have to be him?
