Page 49 of Release Me

“Sebastian and I work together,” I say, turning in my seat slightly to bring Preston’s attention back to me. I’m not desperate for it, but I am desperate to get him and Sebastian away from each other before whatever is happening between them explodes all over this restaurant.

Surprise lights the corners of Preston’s honey brown eyes. “Really? And what is it you do when you’re not dazzling the men lucky enough to haunt the halls of Ludus?”

Something about the way he phrases the question doesn’t sit right with me, but I shrug it off, contributing it to the tension in the air between the three of us.

“Oh, I don’t work at Ludus anymore.”

“She manages the restaurant on the Cerros rooftop.” There’s no mistaking the pride in Sebastian’s voice when he chimes in. I know it’s probably shining in his eyes as well, but I don’t allow myself to look at him to find out. I don’t think I could take it.

“That’s amazing,” Preston says, looking like he genuinely means it. “Maybe you can tell me all about it when you finally let me take you out to dinner.”

Sebastian stands, causing Preston and me to look his way. Tension laces the hard line of his jaw as he excuses himself, leaving us with some excuse about going to take care of the bill. I watch him go with a weighted ball of anxiety in the pit of my stomach. I haven’t done anything wrong, but I feel like I have. I stand too, and Preston backs up.

“Preston, it was so nice to see you.” My attention is split between being polite to the man in front of me and being concerned about the man who just walked away. I can see the wide span of Sebastian’s shoulders cutting an urgent line through the tables and chairs in the restaurant to the front where our server is talking to the hostess. Preston clears his throat, and my eyes snap back to his face. I give him a thin smile. “I’ll have to give you a call about dinner.”

“Or, if you give me your number, I could give you one,” he says, reminding me that the last time we ran into each other—when Desiree accepted his dinner invitation on my behalf—I took his number but didn’t give him mine.

The idea was that having his number would give me some semblance of control over this whole date situation. That I’d have the time and space I needed to be brave enough to step out on this limb with Preston. The courage never came. Probably because I’ve been over thinking it, doubting whether I can have a normal introduction into the dating world. Apparently, if it’s left up to me, I’ll never find out, so I make a split second decision to leave it up to someone who already knows what they want, to put the ball in the court of a man I chose and see how it all plays out because it can’t be any worse than what I’ve already lived through.

Preston watches my internal battle with patient eyes that light up when I hold my hand out to him.

“Give me your phone, and I’ll put it in.”

I’ve never seen a man move so quickly. Within seconds, his phone is unlocked and waiting in my open palm. I type my number in and save my contact, then give it back to him.

“My schedule is pretty busy, but I’m usually able to make evenings work,” I tell him, grabbing my purse so I can finally follow Sebastian. Before I walk away, I give him a smile that’s completely genuine, followed by words I’m surprised to find I mean. “I can’t wait to hear from you.”

“I hope you mean that, beautiful, because I’m going to be reaching out real soon,” Preston calls out as I walk away.

Tossing my purse over my shoulder, I head toward the front of the restaurant in search of my disappearing companion. By the time I make it to the hostess stand, he’s nowhere to be found, so I go outside, hoping to find him there. Sure enough, he’s standing on the sidewalk next to his car with the door on the passenger side already open for me.

“Done?” he asks, his tone all censure and quiet disapproval.

“Yep.”

I don’t know what to do with him in this mood, so I just slide into the buttery leather of the seat and latch my seat belt. Once I’m secure, Sebastian closes the door and rounds the car, slipping into the driver’s seat with what can only be described as a grimace on his face. I allow him the chance to merge into oncoming traffic before I ask the question burning a hole in the back of my throat.

“Are you mad at me?”

He’s in the middle of switching lanes, but he glances at me. “Why would I be mad at you?”

Every answer to that question sounds valid in my mind, but I know it will sound ridiculous coming out of my mouth. In the end, I go with the facts and leave all of my assumptions about jealousy to fester and die in the same place they were born: my head.

“I don’t know. The way you got up and left made me think something was wrong.”

“I went to pay the bill.”

“You could have waited for our server to come back and given her your card like any normal person.”

He takes the hand not currently on the steering wheel and scrubs it down his face. A sign of annoyance if I’ve ever seen one before. “I was trying to give you privacy, Nadia. I didn’t think you’d want to set up a dinner date in front of your boss.”

Your boss.

The words, while an apt description of his only clearly defined place in my life, slice me open. Cutting through skin and muscle to hit bone. Making me feel foolish for thinking of him as a friend, a source of support and safety that has nothing to do with the financial security I’ve gained from my job.

“Is that all you are? My boss?”

What I mean to ask is if that’s still how he sees us after working so hard to make me think of him as something more. Employer and employee. Supervisor and subordinate. Two people who, outside the confines of professional boundaries, don’t mean anything to each other. That he would even suggest that’s all we are to each other feels like a slap in the face.

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