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“Yes, sir.” I begin to Google the number of the facility.
The doors bust open, and Sebastian marches in flanked by security guards. He’s still wearing his dinner suit from last night. His black bow tie is undone and hanging around his neck. He’s disheveled, and it’s obvious he’s been asleep.
His eyes find mine across the room. He glares at me. I glare right back.
You. Fucking. Asshole.
19
April
I drop my head. My furious heartbeat hammers in my ears.
I have no words for this man.
How could he?
What the hell is going on? I know he has feelings for me. I fucking know it.
Coward.
My cheeks heat with anger, and I try to focus on what I’m supposed to be doing. Sebastian tears off his bowtie and throws it onto the desk as he sits down. I pretend not to look at him as he dials a number on his phone. He holds it to his ear and waits.
“Pick up.” He hangs up and then dials another number.
I stare at my phone, pretending to Google whatever crap it is that I’m supposed to be searching for, but there is no searching going on. There’s only dread and red rage fury.
He slept with someone else last night, it’s obvious.
I know we aren’t Romeo and Juliet or anything, but fuck, I thought we were more than that.
“April, how are we going with the surveillance?” Bart calls, making me jump.
“Coming.” I fumble with my phone. I’m completely flustered and on the edge of control.
Fuck… focus.
With shaky hands, I type into Google:
Number for Aletta Rehab.
“You all right?” someone whispers. I turn to see Jeremy.
“Yep,” I snap, outraged that I’m even being asked this question.
“Can someone please explain to me how a person escapes from a maximum-security rehabilitation facility?” Sebastian growls. “What the fuck kind of establishment is this place?”
Jeremy glares at Sebastian. “He’s fucked,” he whispers.
I bite my bottom lip so hard that I nearly draw blood. “I don’t care,” I lie.
“Yeah, sure, I believe you.”
Not helping.
“Will you stop? I don’t have time for this crap, and I don’t care what he fucking does. He’s an asshole.”
Jeremy rubs my shoulder sympathetically and walks back over to his desk.
“Has anyone spoken to Leona?” Sebastian calls.
“No,” Bart replies.
“Wouldn’t calling his wife be the obvious fucking thing to do?”
“We’ve been trying. She isn’t answering.”
“Is she in the country? April, get her on the phone.”
“I’m doing something else,” I reply.
His eyes rise to meet mine. “Well, stop what you’re doing and get Leona on the phone.”
I glare at him, and he glares right back.
I keep doing what I was doing.
Don’t push me, asshole. I am not in the fucking mood for you today.
“Did you get her?” I hear him ask.
I keep Googling.
“April!” he shouts. “Did you get her?”
“No, I did not,” I growl. “I am doing something else, and I don’t appreciate your tone, Mr. Garcia. Do not raise your voice at me again.”
The room falls silent, and he narrows his eyes. “I asked you to do a task.”
“And I am already doing something else. Perhaps you could ask one of the twenty other people in the room to do it. I am not your secretary, Mr. Garcia. I am a lawyer. Stop insulting my intelligence.” I turn my back on him and march from the room.
My heart is hammering.
How dare he?
He makes me fall for him, fucks with my head, and then when I ask him about it, he ends it. Then he goes and sleeps with someone else to get over me.
That’s it. We are finished.
Done.
“Good Evening, Aletta Private Facility,” the receptionist answers.
“Hello, this is April Bennet. I’m a lawyer who represents Theodore Holsworthy. I need to speak to the head of security, please.”
“Yes, of course. One moment, please.”
I hear Sebastian’s voice bellowing from the conference room behind me as he directs his anger at someone else. I roll my eyes.
Fucking hell. I need a new job.
Stat.
Sebastian
I walk into the café at 7:00 a.m.
Masters and Spence are already in our regular seat at the back. “Hi.”
“Hey,” they both reply.
I take off my jacket and fall into my seat.
Julian is reading the morning paper and, as usual, Spence is smiling up at me.
I exhale heavily. Has there ever been a more faithful friend?
Spencer Jones, my biggest cheerleader, and the sweetest man on Earth.
Masters flicks his paper in the air before turning the page. “This time next week, we’ll be on a plane.”
“Fuck, yeah. Five days in paradise.” Spencer smiles as he raises his coffee cup in the air. “Good thinking getting married in the Maldives, Ricco. Just what I fucking need.”
I roll my eyes. “I doubt I’ll even be able to go.”
“Can I get your usual?” the waitress interrupts me.
“Yes, please.”
“What do you mean, you won’t be able to go?” Spencer asks. “We have had this trip planned for twelve months.”
“Yeah, don’t fucking start,” Julian agrees. “You’re coming.”
