Page 18 of Release Me

I blink at Sebastian, forcing the thoughts to the back of my mind. “Yes?”

“Albert wants to know if we’d like to order wine.”

Heat creeps up my neck as I look up into Albert’s patient eyes. “Yeah, sure.”

“Any suggestions?” Sebastian asks. His brows raised like he’s surprised I haven’t already rattled off the name of some vintage bottle that costs more than what I make in a month at the grocery store.

“Oh, uh.” I glance at the wine list Albert has just placed in front of me. It’s extensive, longer than the one downstairs, which is saying something because that one is pretty long. “What are you planning to eat?”

He doesn’t glance at the menu, choosing to hold my gaze instead. “Brown butter lobster with blistered cherry tomatoes.”

Just hearing the name of the dish makes my stomach growl, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since early this afternoon. “That sounds delicious.”

Sebastian seems pleased that I approve of his choice. “We could share if you’d like.”

The warmth that spreads through my stomach at his words has no place at this table, no place in my body, no place between me and the man who just recently learned that I’ve been abused more than I’ve ever been loved or cherished.

I wave my hand at him, dismissing the offer that’s far more generous than I deserve after accusing him of being a predator. “No, that’s okay. I can just order my own.”

Sebastian leans forward, placing his elbows on the table. “Or, you could get the steak frites, you’ve been eyeing. The Bearnaise sauce it comes with is incredible.”

I don’t know how he knows the steak dish has caught my attention. As a meat and potatoes kind of girl, I’m always interested when I see steak frites on the menu, but I rarely order it. Most men expect women to live off of salads and chicken breasts, and when I was with a client it was my job to maintain that illusion. Eat like a bird and fuck like a porn star. That’s what Bianca used to whisper to the other girls before their dates. I came up with the phrase, using it as a bitter one-liner that encapsulated what clients wanted from us, but she was the one who made it a motto, a motivating reminder to put on a show because the show was the only thing that mattered.

Sebastian is still watching me, so he sees when I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, torturing the soft flesh to keep myself from voicing my refusal. To give my brain enough time to remember that I’m not an escort right now and Sebastian isn’t a client, so I can eat whatever the fuck I want.

“You know what? I think I will do the steak frites with a glass of the 2020 Louis Jadot.”

Albert nods approvingly. “Excellent choice, Miss. Hendrix. How would you like your steak cooked?”

“Medium, please.” I smile and hand him back the menu, aware that Sebastian’s eyes are still on me. “And Mr. Adler will have a glass of the 2015 La Comtesse to go with his pasta.”

“Very well,” Albert says, taking our menus and backing away to make room for the server who is carrying a basket of fresh rolls in one hand and a carafe filled with water in the other. Neither Sebastian nor I speak until she’s gone and our water glasses are filled.

“So,” I begin, plucking a roll from the basket and sitting it on the small plate in front of me. “This is awkward.”

His brows pull together. “Is it?”

“Yes, Sebastian. It is.”

“Why?” He crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. His posture is rigid but also relaxed. A fitting contradiction for a man who confuses the hell out of me.

“Because of what just happened in your office.”

I refuse to mince words. We both know that sitting down for dinner after I just bared my skin and soul to him is weird. He pulls in a deep breath, and the movement causes the fabric across his chest to strain.

“Nadia, I’m not holding any of the things you said or did against you, so you shouldn’t hold them against yourself. I wasn’t aware of how triggering the setting and the language I used during the conversation would be for you. I should have been more considerate.”

His features have crumpled into a grimace that tells me I’m not the only one giving myself a silent lashing about how things happened downstairs.

I shake my head. “It wasn’t you. It was me. I overreacted. I let my fear and anxiety run rampant and didn’t stop to check the facts of the situation.”

That’s perhaps the most embarrassing thing of all. My reaction to the things he said made no sense. He asked me to come work for him, made mention of skills he felt I wasn’t utilizing, and I immediately jumped to the darkest conclusion. Accusing not only him, but also Desiree, of being underhanded liars who prey on vulnerable people because life under Beau’s reign of terror had taught me not to expect anything else. Every act of kindness came with strings and handcuffs attached, and for every real smile or laugh there were a thousand tears. That was my life for a really long time, and even though that’s not the case anymore, my brain doesn’t always remember.

Sebastian stares at me, and it’s a long and thorough look, like he’s seeing past what I’ve just said and right into my brain, into that dark space where the person Beau made me cowers in the corner, waiting for the next shoe to drop or, with the way my life has gone, the next punch to be delivered.

“Let’s just agree that we both made mistakes in how we approached the conversation and agree to do better in the future.”

Humor and the desperate need to lean into the positive energy he’s infusing into the conversation has a smile pulling at the corners of my mouth. “I guess that could work.”

---