Z was the least romantic, most impersonal place I could think of when I texted Sebastian. It’s one of the most popular clubs in the city.
The air inside always throbs with pounding music. Expensive liquor flows freely. Drugs not as much, because the owner doesn’t tolerate people doing stupid things at his establishment.
But tonight, the speakers are silent, the bars and the dance floor dark. I almost stop and turn back, wondering if the club is closed and the bouncer let me in by mistake. I pull out my phone to see if there’s a message from Sebastian, but before I can check, a tall man in a black suit and shirt walks over. “Are you here for Sebastian Lasker?”
“Yes,” I say.
“This way.” He leads me to the upper level and down a darkish corridor, where the VIP lounges are. He takes me to the one in the middle and opens the door with a flourish.
Sebastian is inside with a half-full whiskey glass.
My heart picks up speed with a hint of apprehension that this might not unfold the way I envisioned. He must’ve rented out the entire club for the night. I don’t know how he managed to pull that off, but it’s not entirely surprising. He’s thorough and exacting about what he wants. My keeping him at arm’s length must’ve conflicted with his desires, even if he agreed to the impersonal venue.
I turn to the man in black. “Can I get a dirty martini, please?”
“Of course.” He disappears back into the shadowed corridor.
I walk inside and sit on the couch opposite Sebastian, then study him in the dim light. He’s in a white dress shirt, no tie, and dark slacks. His jaw line seems sharper, his cheekbones more prominent. Are there circles under his eyes? It’s hard to tell.
He takes the moment to scrutinize me too. His eyes roam over my long, curled hair, my face, then down my body in its off-shoulder teal dress and golden heels. When his eyes stop at the diamond anklet on my left ankle, I go still as a mixture of dismay and annoyance cuts through me.
I dressed for him. The outfit, the shoes, the anklet… I was thinking of him, hoping he would regret betraying me.
It was foolish to think I was over him. I’m nowhere near over him. But that doesn’t mean I’m willing to pretend he didn’t hurt me and go back to the way we were before the shareholders’ meeting.
When my drink arrives, I down it quickly, then eat the olive from the bottom of the glass. His face twists with something that vaguely looks like pain. What did I do? I follow his gaze and see that he’s realized my ring finger is barren.
But why should I wear those rings? They’re meaningless.
“You look good,” he says finally.
“I’ve been resting.” My response is stiff. Awkward.
“Good.”
“I’ve had a lot of free time recently.” Catty.
He shuts up.
Pain pulses through my heart. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to rehash how we’ve wronged each other. All I want to do is close the awful chapter in my life and move on. Take stock of what I do have and try to muster some gratitude. “What are you doing, Sebastian? Bianca nearly broke into my place to confront me about your lawsuit.”
His eyes darken ominously. “She’s supposed to call Highsmith if she has a problem with me.”
“Like John’s going to tolerate her behavior?” He’s a notorious dick in court, and old-fashioned about manners outside of it. He would never put up with her shrieking or temper tantrums.
Sebastian’s jaw tightens. “She should’ve thought of all that before backstabbing you.”
“You’re going after Roderick and Darren too. Is this your apology?”
He nods and takes a healthy swallow of whiskey.
“Are you going to sue yourself, too?” How far does he plan to go?
He chokes, then laughs dryly. “Obviously not. But I want to do what I can to clean up Peery Diamonds.”
“The company does not concern you.”
“Doesn’t it?” He sips his whiskey. “It’s my partner for the Sebastian Peery launch in Korea. I don’t want anyone who can undermine you there.”
“I’m not there,” I point out. “Thanks to you.”
He closes his eyes briefly. “Believe me, I’m fully aware of that. But things will change soon. I’m going to bring you back. Peery Diamonds is your kingdom.”
“Is that all?” I ask, trying to wrap up the conversation so I can leave. Seeing him is re-damaging the wall around my heart, whose cracks I’ve done my best to seal.
“No. I want to call in the favor you promised after I agreed to the post-wedding reception,” he says.
“But you refused my offer.”
“And you didn’t accept my refusal. So I have a right to collect.”
I don’t know what he’s going for. He swirls the ice in his glass, and the wedding band on his finger twinkles dully under the light. “If you’re trying to fight the divorce—”
“I’m not. I’ll sign whatever papers you want.”
I should be glad he’s going to cooperate. But I’m inexplicably sad. Do I secretly want him to fight the dissolution of our marriage?
Maybe I do. I want to see that I wasn’t alone in my feelings, although his maneuvers against me clearly proved he felt nothing for me. “If you want to pretend you didn’t hurt me—”
“I just want a little bit of your time,” he says.
“I don’t have any time to spare, not for you.”
He smiles. “You need to eat.”
“Stop throwing my words back at me!” It’s an effort to contain rising frustration.
“It’s difficult when the words were so wise. And I’m only asking for three dates.”
I open my mouth to say no. What will three dates prove? That I haven’t gotten over him? That he’s trying hard to make up for what happened so he can assuage his guilty conscience?
Then I notice the tight set of his shoulders. The white knuckles around his glass. Under the smile is a hint of strain, the desperate intensity in his gaze. He looks at me like the fate of the universe is riding on my answer.
And the no gets stuck in my throat.
“Fine.” My response is curt and ungracious.
However, the tension in his shoulders and hands eases. His smile becomes more relaxed. “Thanks. You won’t regret it.”
“Oh, I don’t plan to spend any more time on regret. And what are three dinners? I do need to eat. I might as well make you feed me something expensive.”
