Page 28 of Bastian

Bored with the app, I open my email and scroll to the most recent messages. I work on answering them until the last woman walks into the interviewing room.

Thylane Bruna.

The one who was with him before me or during? Or who the fucks know anymore. Locking my phone and placing it on the table before me, I lean back in my seat and give all my attention to Nessa and Sebastian’s French fling.

I have to at least give this one props, even if it irks me. Unlike the other six, she has the decency to be polite to the journalist. Also, just like the rest, she’s dressed to the nines. Hair and makeup are done as if the interview is being televised.

She’s stunning. That can’t be denied. You have to be blind or jealous to do so, and I’m neither.

“Take a seat, Miss Bruna. Thank you for coming in and agreeing to be interviewed by me.”

“Is no problem, really,” Thylane says in perfect English with a hint of her French accent, making her sound not only charming but exotic with a perfect smile on her equally perfect face. “Anything for my dear Bastian.”

Barf.

I feel what I had for breakfast rising back up my throat, threatening to spill out of my mouth. Then Nessa starts with easy and routine questions to make the person being interviewed feel more comfortable.

I zone out during the boring details, taking a glance at her outfit and shoes. For someone who makes all her income from modeling, she has horrible taste.

Besides, who matches a blood-red tube dress with strappy bright yellow heels?

Sebastian’s ex-hook-up, that’s who.

“Will Bastian be stopping by?” Thylane’s voice breaks through my thoughts. Of course, she would look for the first opportunity to ask about him. Then I wonder if they still keep in touch. Are they estranged? What’s the situation? And I hate myself for caring.

“I’m afraid the president has more important things to attend to.” Nessa responds.

“That’s for sure.” She laughs. Acting snarky toward Nessa and my company.

Asshole.

And to think the media thinks of this woman as a sweetheart. Please. She’s as sweet as I am a saint.

Nessa clears her throat, the class act that she is, and carries on with the interview. “Can you share how your dynamic was with the president?”

Good girl, Nessa.

Most would start slowly and ease them into it, but the bitch acted as if she were better than us. She would get no special treatment or sympathy from me.

And for the looks of it, Nessa feels the same way.

“Mon amour and I had a very special relationship.” Bullshit. Just the fact that she calls him Bastian and not his full name like he allows the people close to him to do, disproves her assessment of their relationship to be one-sided and way off.

“How so?” Nessa leans forward in a strategic move to make Thylane feel as if she’s having a normal conversation with a friend. “Were you two together for a long time?” I scoff at that. It’s obvious to me that Nessa is playing Thylane, and the woman is so self-centered that she has no clue that she is being played. The parade of women in Sebastian’s life only sustains the argument that nothing lasts long for him.

Women are disposable to him.

I am living proof of that.

“We were casual lovers. Whenever one of us felt lonely, we sought each other out.” Thylane flips her hair and laughs as if there’s an invisible camera in front of her. Oh God, kill me now. “He was the one who always called when he needed… company.” I have to give it to her. She might not be the brightest in the bunch, but she’s not terribly stupid either. She signed a non-disclosure agreement, and I’m sure her lawyer briefed her on what she was and wasn’t allowed to share with us.

The country knows he’s a dog, and they overlooked that tidbit, but will they turn their eyes when the real him is exposed little by little? I didn’t think so.

Nessa keeps asking questions, and I listen intently to her every answer, wanting, no, needing to know more.

“Did you ever want more?” Nessa asks the more invasive questions.

I study Thylane as she takes a second to think about the question. She’s clearly irritated by the question, but she holds her composure even though I see through her. She throws her hair over her shoulder and smiles at Nessa as if she isn’t fazed by her. “Not really, no. We both agreed we were just having fun and enjoying each other’s company.”

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