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And I’ve got to get back to reality.
Chapter 13
Elianna
I, a woman with a post-graduate degree in Theater History, have had an eventful two weeks. I’ve messed up some data entry Sebastian asked me to do—twice. I forgot to enter an appointment into The Almighty Calendar, but only because I received four phone calls in a row, leaving me zero time to fill in Sebastian’s precious time slots properly. And I’ve spilled an energy drink—Sebastian’s—all over the boardroom table that we’re sitting around now.
The energy drink spillage? That happened yesterday. But the table is made from wood that is so light that I can still see a faint stain of orange. Or maybe it’s my imagination, mocking me with thoughts that even though I wrote a two-hundred-page thesis on the impact that Western expansion had on nineteenth century theater arts in Europe and the Americas, I may not be the best person to sit next to at a meeting, with my clumsy elbows and all.
And those mistakes I mentioned are just a reminder that I’ve only made a few. Think of all the things you’ve gottenright,I tell myself. A record of 1,000 to four? That’s pretty darn good.
Maybe there have been more than those four mistakes—time will tell if there are some I don’t know about yet—but I’m getting the hang of it. And ever since I flew off that cozy, secluded swing straight into the arms of the man who’s now sitting on my left, I have to say there have even been some enjoyable moments.
Okay, so I didn’t fly like a charming bird. I slipped after an embarrassing display of self-grandiosity. Why did I have to take my blazer off? Either way, there was something about that experience that has made things less formal between us.
And I can’t get out of my head the way Sebastian laughed. It filters into my memory at the oddest times throughout the workday, and I’m Lewis and Clark traversing mountains and streams for that elusive thing: Sebastian’s laughter. I haven’t heard it since, but I will soon. If it’s the last thing I do, I will make that man laugh again.
He’s done his fake chuckle a few times when we’ve been in meetings with others. But I, Miss Lewis and Clark, know the difference because I heard it on the swing, and I’ll never forget the richness of it, the unexpected freedom of sound.
“Is there anything else that needs to be discussed?” Sebastian asks, in his decidedly un-laughing voice. He peers around the table at all in attendance, and I shoot my finger up the touch screen of my laptop to scroll and recheck what I wrote. Taking notes in a board meeting isn’t for the faint of heart.
“We’re having a Fall party for the guests,” Alec says. He’s in a golf polo and skinny slacks, not a suit like most of the others, but he still somehow looks like he fits in. Probably because he was blessed with the Tate genes, which command respect any way they’re displayed. I really need to meet these parents to see the origin story of this particular gene pool.
Oliver nods. “Yes, we are. It’s being put on by you, Alec, and some of the other staff. And there will be a few different nights so that as many guests as possible can participate, right?”
“I was talking with Oakley and Sophie about it and they wanted us to name the party ‘It’s Fall, Ya’ll’,” Alec says, and the people in the room laugh and shake their heads.
“It’s not such a bad name for it. I think it’s catchy,” I say. I probably shouldn’t be saying anything in these meetings, and I usually don’t. Two weeks into the job and I’ve been to plenty now. But sometimes a person just needs to speak their mind, and I didn’t want people disparaging Oakley and Sophie’s idea. I’ve only met them a couple of times, but they were lovely, both of them. Sophie even gave me a huge hug when she realized I was the same person who came to the book sale at the Farmer’s Market my first weekend here.
Sebastian eyes me and then turns to Alec. “Ask Sophie and Oakley to come up with some other options if they’d like. This is a Tate International resort, not a booth at the county fair.”
There’s a hesitant chuckle at that comment, but Sebastian doesn’t so much as smile. What’s got him wound so tight all the time? He must have some tragic backstory, and the more time I spend with him the more I want to suss it out, if for no other reason than to satisfy my curiosity.
And because I care about the ogre.
I’m grown up enough to admit it.
Alec fills us in on some of the details, and I type like mad, hoping I’m not missing anything crucial.
Especially because every time Sebastian shifts in his chair or picks up his stylus, I catch a whiff of his woodsy cologne, and I find myself being distracted by thoughts of leaning over and nuzzling my nose into that place where his collarbone meets his neck.
Sebastian is wrapping up the meeting and my fingers are aching for a break. “I have some lofty financial goals for the company this last quarter.” He blinks rapidly as he focuses on the table.
Is he just thinking hard about something, or does he also see ghosts of the orange drink disaster from yesterday?
“I’ve hired a business coach who will be here in a couple of weeks, and I know she’ll help. I’ve put in a lot of time researching the right person, and I think she’s it.” His gaze travels along the table. “But I need everyone else’s help, too. We have to maximize profits in every way we can. Our recent acquisitions of properties domestically and overseas have increased our bottom line, but there have been high costs associated with the renovations of these properties and I’m wondering if I overextended myself, or, ah, the company.” His mouth is a tight line as a storm rolls over his eyes.
“Sebastian, the company is in good financial standing. You haven’t jeopardized anything by these acquisitions,” Oliver says, and several board members nod their agreement.
“I know our margins are still good. And there’s another acquisition I’m excited about. It’s for a couple of resorts in Maine. If all goes well, we’ll be signing on that soon.” He offers a tight smile, but then his gaze goes back to the stylus in his hand. He’s rotating it like a drumstick, rolling it between his fingers. “It’s just that I had some long-term milestones I was hoping to reach by this year, and I don’t know if we’re going to make it. So, I welcome any and all suggestions before we wrap up.”
“Care to fill us in on these milestones?” Oliver’s staring at Sebastian, his brows raised.
I’m pretty sure he’s referring to his Deca Arete goal, but I’m not about to mention that. It seems like something he’s wanting to keep close to the chest.
“No need.” He leans back in his chair, steepling his hands together in front of him. “They’re not that important.”
I can tell he’s lying through his teeth with that statement, and Serena, one of the regional managers calls his bluff on that, too. “Obviously they are. If you share them with us, that can only help us figure out a direction of how to get there. We can’t get there if we don’t know where we’re going.”
