AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Sebastian and I spun around the dance floor. I bumped him with my hip, “Grind with me,” I whispered deviously.
“I don’t dance!” he insisted.
“You don’t have to actually know how to dance.”
I ground myself against his pelvis and felt him harden beneath me. He rested his hands on my waist and started grooving to the rhythm. I reveled in the power I held over him.
“Hot, Sebastian!” Simon yelled from the dance floor. Emboldened, I ground harder against him, and he grinned, kissing my neck. It was wonderful to be able to have fun away from the prying eyes of high-society crones. Sebastian spun me around and dipped me low, capturing my lips with a kiss.
Finally, we came up for air. I grinned. If someone had told me that two months later, I would be having the time of my life with Sebastian Steele at the Delphi Lounge, I wouldn’t have believed them.
Chapter 11
Sebastian
I’dnevergoneoutof my way for a woman before.
Mostly, I waited for women to come to me. It wasn’t like I’d ever visit Taylor at whatever strip club she crawled out of. I didn’t beg for someone’s attention.
After Simon’s party, planning the minutiae of the Tulip Festival consumed Becca’s schedule like a snake swallowing an animal in one gulp. Our communication stalled to the occasional text message. I offered to bring her food when she was pulling late nights in Dover, but she always declined, stating that she didn’t want to make me go out of my way. The weird thing was I wanted to do this. Even weirder still, I missed her as the week progressed.
Tim’s call worked, and I finally pinned down a meeting with Mr. Quinn on Friday afternoon. I entered the boardroom precisely at four, but my mind kept drifting to Becca as I sat down and rearranged the contract for the umpteenth time. I knew most people preferred digital documentation, but I always liked to have a paper copy on hand for big jobs like this.
I clicked my pens anxiously as I waited for Mr. Quinn and wondered what Becca was doing. Last I checked, she was grabbing lunch for Eugenia and the rest of the girls. Apparently, once you reach your early eighties, your appetite for egg salad increases tenfold. I sighed, checked my watch again, and fished my phone out of my pocket to text Becca.
Sebastian: I’m waiting on Mr. Quinn to finally sign that fucking contract.
Becca: No way! That’s awesome! I’m explaining to Eugenia that you can’t fax an Instagram post.
Sebastian: I don’t envy you.
Becca: I don’t envy you either. Let me know if Mr. Quinn’s gaze turns you to stone.
Sebastian: He’s that bad, huh?
Becca: It’s what I’ve heard from Eloise. Also!! Wait for him to shake your hand, don’t go first.
Sebastian: Oddly specific, but I’ll keep that in mind.
How Becca managed to maintain an encyclopedic knowledge of Boston business owners and their various quirks was beyond me. I could barely keep everyone’s names straight. My mind flashed back to our conversation on the plane.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized Becca would make a wonderful business owner. She was personable yet discerning. She never gave more than she could take.
I wanted to talk to her about starting a bakery, but I had no idea how to bring it up without feeling like a blundering idiot. How was I supposed to tell Becca that I was wrong and keep my dignity intact? Hey, sorry for being a sexist asshole. Most of the women I’d dated didn’t have two brain cells to rub together, let alone the focus and discipline to develop a business plan. Please forgive me, Becca? Also, could you make me some oatmeal scotchies?
While I was plenty business-savvy, my burgeoning relationship with Becca was showing me time and time again that my interpersonal skills needed some work. I guess forty wasn’t too old to finally gain a modicum of self-awareness.
I heard the elevator ding and held my breath.
“And it’ll be up on your left here, Mr. Quinn,” Olive instructed.
Mr. Quinn walked into my office, and I remained seated, remembering what Rebecca had told me. He was a portly old man with thoughtful brown eyes and a shiny, bald head. Each one of his chubby pinkies sported gold rings.
“Sebastian Steele. It’s about time we finally meet face-to-face,” he hooted. He took a seat across the table from me and paused, waiting to see what I would do. I shuffled the papers in front of me into a neat pile.
“Indeed. This meeting is long overdue. You’re a busy man,” I noted coolly.
“So are you. This mall project is ambitious, if I do say so myself. Now, I did go ahead and update the contract.” He slid a fresh contract across the table to me. It was still warm. I perused it quickly; my breath hitched when I noticed the new clause.
