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CHAPTER FOUR
Sebastian
ICAN’TBELIEVEI fell for the twin switch. When I made it to my parents’ place that night, I was met with stony looks and snide remarks. What’s the better option—letting them think I was going to bail or confessing that I helped my stepbrother’s bride get away?
I went with the first option. Better to be disrespectful than an accomplice.
Only the problem is now I’m on my father’s bad side...again. Mike isn’t exactly singing my praises, although most of his fire and brimstone is currently being directed at his ex-fiancée. And Dad thinks I can’t uphold a commitment. Not a good thing considering I want him to name me as the next CEO of the family business—Foster & Co.
No, not Fosters the beer, unfortunately. Foster & Co. is an integrated services company. Think cleaning and laundry services, catering and hospitality, electrical maintenance, facilities management, small-scale freight and physical security. We partner with the biggest businesses in Australia and New Zealand, and service almost half of the top one hundred companies on the ASX.
I’m not really that interested in the family business because ofwhatwe do. Frankly, facilities management doesn’t exactly get me jazzed.
But I’m trying to save my family’s business from ruin, which is absolutely what’s going to happen if Mike steps into the top position. He knowsnothingabout how to run a business, and my grandfather—God rest his soul—would turn in his grave if he knew what Mike had planned. He wants to “transform” it into something different. In other words, he’s going to sell if off piece by piece and put the money into somethinghedeems worthy, thereby dismantling my family legacy.
All of that is to say... I need to convince Dad to give me the CEO position so I can prevent Mike from burning Foster & Co. to the ground.
And Presley is exactly the right person to give me dirt on my stepbrother. Dirt I’m hoping will knock him out of the running.
I wait outside 21 Love Street, contemplating my next move. I haven’t been able to get hold of Presley’s number but I’m hoping I might be able to convince the building concierge to call her. Or her sister, Drew. Whoever actually lives in this building.
But it seems Lady Fate is smiling on me tonight, because a woman swiftly exits the building, heading away from me. I catch a glimpse of her face as she turns and then, from behind, I see the strands of white-gold hair swishing freely above theveryshort hem of a leopard-print miniskirt. Shapely legs are encased in a pair of sheer black stockings with a seam up the back that’s doing unspeakable things to me. The heels of her boots click against the pavement. It’s crisp outside—not cold, but the air has that damp chill, which is something I don’t miss about Melbourne’s spring weather. She sidesteps a puddle, hips swaying a little.
Is it Drew or Presley?
“Presley!” I call the name, hoping for the best.
She stills and then turns around, eyes widening as they land on me. She’s a little pink in the face, lashes rimmed with dark smudgy liner and lips slick with a shimmering gloss. “Uh...”
“I know it’s you.” I step forward, jamming my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “And I figured out what happened.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She bites down on her lip. “You must be mixing me up with my sister.”
The lie tells me that she knowsexactlywho I am. We’re standing outside 21 Love Street, the golden warmth from the foyer spilling out into the drizzly grey evening. Somehow, wearing way more than the last time I saw her, Presley looks even sexier. Her hair is a little wild, her eyes even wilder.
“Why did you respond when I called out Presley, then?”
“We’re identical twins. People mix us up all the time, so we always respond to each other’s names.” There’s a challenge in her tone, as if she’s daring me to call her a liar.
Too bad for Presley, I don’t plan on going home empty handed.
“I’m not mixing you up,” I continue. “You see, I waited out here for you for a good while after I dropped you off. Long enough that I got a raging call from my father, who’s now not speaking to me because he thinks I bailed on my stepbrother’s wedding.”
Guilt streaks across her face. This woman is the runaway bride, no doubt in my mind.
“I don’t know what you’re talking—”
“Don’t insult me,” I say, taking a step forward. “I’ll admit, you got me good the day of the wedding. It didn’t even occur to me that you might be pulling a bait-and-switch.”
She looks at me, her eyes tracking my face as if searching for something. But she doesn’t say a word. A few metres away, a tram whizzes along Clarendon Street, bells dinging. Music from a nearby beer garden floats along the air, and the evening is alive with life. I let the silence stretch on for a few beats longer than is comfortable.
“What do you want?” she asks eventually, wrapping her arms around herself. On top, she’s wearing a leather jacket and it hugs her slim shoulders perfectly.
“How about that drink ‘we’ were going to have at the wedding?” I’m not going to launch into my demands in the middle of the street, and I figure getting her to let her guard down first will give me a better chance of convincing her to dish the dirt.
Presley considers me, her expression telling me she trusts me as much as a dog with a Beware sign hanging above its head. She’s right not to trust me. I absolutely came here with a personal agenda and I plan on executing it.
“Why the hell not?” She tosses her hands up in the air with a frustrated huff. “I was planning on drowning my sorrows anyway.”
