Page 57 of Bastian

You would go to prison.

Orange might look good on me.

If he dies, then he doesn’t suffer, not really…

Hmm, that is true.

Too deep in a conversation with the little devilish bitch on my shoulder, I forgot America’s nuisance is in front of me, looking at me like Ellaiza looks at cupcakes.

The bastard.

“I already had my coffee, and I have no desire for sweets. You can leave now.” I look away from him, suddenly finding the tedious papers on my desk very interesting.

Then the asshole laughs.

He laughs in that melodic way he used to that made my heart skip in my chest, but this time around, it only makes my stomach coiled. I remember the sound vividly. The sound used to keep me up at night the first few weeks, hell, the first year after I fled Chicago.

Ignoring me, he moves the coffee cup my way and takes out chocolate cake pops from the bag. “You wouldn’t want to break a little girl’s heart, would you?” His eyes twinkle with the usual evil glint.

“What are you talking about?”

“Ellaiza specifically asked me to bring you your favorites because, and I quote, “Mommy needs a little bit of sweetness in her life.”

Thud.

Fucking.

Thud.

My heart flips at the mention of my girl. This motherfucker is using Ellaiza to get to me, and I am defenseless against it. Contrary to him, I do have a conscience.

“If I drink your fucking coffee, will you leave?” I snatch the treat from his hand and take the lid off the coffee cup while Sebastian sits there brushing an invisible lint from his suit, the picture of arrogance and classic beauty. The years only made him more handsome and more of an asshole too.

“You look breathtakingly beautiful when you’re angry.” He lifts his head, and those blue grays clash with my painfully obvious annoyed ones.

Rolling my eyes, I snap at him. “Cut the corny bullshit.”

“Watch your mouth and smile.” He replies with a small smile of his own and before I have a chance to react, he is snapping a photo of me. Has he lost his mind?

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Ellaiza wanted proof that I kept my promise.” He shrugs as if it is nothing. Like taking a photo without my consent is no big deal.

It is a big fucking deal, but again… he’s using Ella against me.

Damn you, tyrant.

Damn you straight to hell.

Furious and unnerved by the audacity of him being here, in my space and in my world where he’s not welcome–not anymore–I ignore him and I take a sip of the coffee, and I’m surprised that he brought me my usual order.

My favorite.

The moment the flavor hits my taste buds, I find myself moaning aloud. “I don’t even want to know how you managed to find out my usual order…” My coffee order is quite unique. An iced chocolate, almond milk, shaken espresso with ristretto in place of regular espresso. A pump of chai, toffee nut syrup, and a drizzle of caramel sauce.

I learned from Oliver that most people, mostly him, hate the taste, but I find it not only comforting but delicious. Sebastian grins while pocketing his phone inside his suit jacket. His eyes never leave mine. “I have my ways. You know this, darling…”

“Don’t call me that.” I snap, and he rolls his eyes. The condescending ass. “And what you have is Benjamin.” I deadpan.

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