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“The past is relevant?” he asked. “Tell me. What relevance does our encounter have on this moment? On future moments? We both agreed it meant nothing. We moved on.”
Because I’m pregnant, asshole. For about the tenth time, I nearly told him, but a motherly instinct I didn’t know I already had stopped me from doing it. Besides, there were other ways to attack his argument. I didn’t even need the biggest gun in my arsenal.
“If the past wasn’t relevant, then it wouldn’t matter if Mr. Meatball usually got treated a certain way. We could just make it up as we go.” I gestured to the calamity in the kitchen. “Clearly, the past and Mr. Meatball disagree with your claim.”
He snorted. “Let me guess. You took philosophy in college?”
“I didn’t go to college,” I said, hating that I was admitting as much to him.
Sebastian’s expression fell.
He wouldn’t ask, but I decided to tell him anyway. “All I’ve ever wanted to do was be an author. I knew I’d be poor enough as it was trying to reach my goal. I didn’t need student loans, too.”
Something in his expression shifted, though I couldn’t quite say what. “That speech I gave at the convention… I was thinking more about pissing off my publisher than how the people in the room would react.”
I squinted. “Sebastian St. James… Did you just apologize?”
“No,” he said. “And to get back to the point, next time you forget my instructions, you will come ask me.”
“Last time I went to your room, I walked in on you undressing, eavesdropped, and found myself up to my neck in your bush.” I frowned. Why couldn’t I talk without making it weird? Probably because waking up so early was certifiably insane and caused brain damage. “The bush in your garden.”
Sebastian’s jaw flexed, and once again I wondered what the hell was going on behind those impossible to read eyes of his. “The oven should be set to two hundred and fifty degrees. Sparkling water is in the wine cellar downstairs. Three walks a day. Six meals a day.” He paused, then opened a drawer and pulled out a pad and pen, which he slid my way. “This time, write it on something that doesn’t sweat when it’s aroused.”
I wanted to stick my tongue out at him, but pretended to be more mature than that and kept my face neutral. I scribbled the instructions down and he read over them when I was finished. “You know, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Writer’s block, I mean. If you’re having trouble writing the next book, I could help you brainstorm some ideas or—”
Sebastian’s expressions were hard for me to read, but at that moment it looked like a shadow suddenly passed over his face. His features went dark, and his posture became rigid. “I have to get ready for my trip. Oh. Take this,” he tossed me a phone charger that was still in the packaging. “These chargers are so old I had to get it on Ebay.”
As if that was a normal way to end a conversation, he turned and left.
“Where are you going again?” I asked. “And do you eat breakfast? I can get out of your way once I clean this up—”
But he didn’t stop walking or even acknowledge I’d spoken.
Once he was gone, I sighed to myself. “Note to self,” I muttered. “Writer’s block is a sore subject for him.”
Mr. Meatball meowed.
“You hold your horses, Mister. I apparently have to travel to the ‘wine cellar’ to get your drink. Do you even realize how ridiculous that is? Oh, and don’t worry. I’ll start the oven preheating for you again while I find out wherever the hell that wine cellar is.”
I still needed to squeeze in a trip to my place to gather my things, eventually. But from the sounds of it, I wouldn’t need to worry about running into Mr. Moody for the next two days, at least. Maybe I could come to some kind of decision about the baby news and figure out the right way to tell him when he came back in two days. That, or I could miraculously get some real progress made on my book.
I’d settle for one out of two.
13
Kenzie
Trinity and Lance met me at my place to help me pack up. I lived in a cheap little rental house outside Winston-Salem maybe forty minutes from Sebastian’s secluded mansion in the hills. My place was in a pretty, bustling college town with a nice suburban sprawl in most directions. I’d managed to snag a cheap place not far from where I’d grown up as a kid. The rent was fair, and my landlord was a sweet old man who didn’t mind if I was occasionally a few weeks late with the payments. But my lease was up in a month. I’d been considering not renewing it to find something even cheaper, but with my new cat sitting gig, it looked like I was going to be technically homeless for a bit. In a good way?
