Page 82 of The Arrangement

Georgia

Ihadn't spoken to Sebastian in over three weeks. I would find myself checking my phone randomly throughout the day whenever I thought to look up into the loft above the bookstore. The lights were still strung around the exposed rafters, the bookcases still arranged with the same novels, and the weatherbeaten old rug in its usual place. But it had been irrevocably changed by me, by him. By the way his body felt over mine as he drove into me and how his fingers dug into my hips like he wanted to keep me.

"Let me keep you."I clenched my fists as the sleepy whisper flitted through my mind while I rearranged the children's book section. Swallowing hard, I forced myself to remember that even though we hadn't spoken, over ten thousand dollars had been deposited remotely into my account weekly; one time, it was nearly twelve thousand, and I broke down on my bed at the alert.

Not because of the amount of money but because every time my phone tone went off, I grabbed it with a racing heart, hoping to see his name pop up.

Deep down, I knew I should stop being a coward and just call him. Or, you know, just go across the hall to his door and knock. I left every morning hoping to bump into him, hoping to see him getting his mailor picking up groceries. But nothing. It was like he hadn't left his apartment these last few weeks.

The night we tried to film again broke me. It made me realize that I couldn’t go back to the way we were, and that this whole thing was a mess from the start. I just needed to forget it ever happened.

Emma had taken down the For Sale sign in the window but refused to talk about it, just saying it was still up in the air and she didn't want to give me any false hope. I had seen the news—hell, everyone had—about The Quinn Foundation's epic and very public downfall. Emma shook her head, clucking her tongue, and simply said, "That kind of greed can only go unchecked for so long."

My heart ached for Seb, wondering how his sister was dealing with it. But still, I was a coward. It was like if I ignored something long enough, it would go away; if I stuffed it down deep enough, I could pretend it didn't happen. Like I hadn’t felt anything when he’d finally kissed me and didn’t miss the way he felt and sounded and tasted.

"How's the novel coming?" Emma piqued, breaking my morose train of thought as the elderly woman came around the corner with a box of books.

That brought a smile to my face and an undeniable sense of satisfaction filled me. "I sent it off to my friend from college; she's an editor, and she's looking over it for me. I'm going to send it to querying." I paused, shaking my head and tucking a piece of hair behind my ear as I quickly tampered with my expectations. "You know, obviously, if it passes some checks through my peer group."

Emma just grinned, box balancing on her hip as she took me in. "Honey, I am so proud of you. That is a huge accomplishment."

Drawing a deep shuddering breath, I forced a smile so I wouldn't burst into tears. "Thanks, Emma, really." She patted my shoulder as she passed me, leaving me again to my thoughts.

The bell above the door rang, and I shut my eyes. Yes, I was at work, but to be honest, talking to customers was the last thing I wanted to do right now.

"Welcome in. Let me know if you need any help!" I called regardless;my best customer service tone was always an octave higher than my normal tone.

Silence.

I stood, my knees aching from kneeling so long in front of the lower shelf of books, and turned to see who had so silently entered.

I stood motionless as all the breath left my body, and I swallowed hard against all the words that I had rehearsed in my head for when I would see Sebastian Wolfe Quinn once again. But there he was, standing in front of me, and all I could do was stare.

Then I got irritated; how dare he stand here at my job, looking gorgeous. With his stupid black curly hair and a stupid Roman nose that he obviously stole off a marble statue somewhere. With his stupid golden skin and a stupid black shirt that seemed to strain around the muscles of his biceps, even under the jacket he wore against the cold. I nearly did a double take as I noticed the way he had rolled his jacket up, his tattoos visible to the world.

Clearing my throat, I adjusted my cardigan, knowing it was one of my older ones, something I had just thrown on over the t-shirt I now regretted tossing on. Had I even brushed my hair? Did I sleep in this braid?

All of this and more ran through my head, but when I opened my mouth, all I could manage was, "What are you doing here?" It was softer than I wanted it to be; I should be angry, shouldn't I? I wasn't sure why I was furious, why I was hurt when I was the one who wanted to say it was a mistake.

It hit me all at once while he stared at me, amber eyes wide and nervous. I wasn't angry at him. I was angry at myself for not allowing myself to keep him. To let him keep me, to let him wrap his arms around me and drag me back to bed that perfect morning before I let my fear ruin it all for me.

Sebastian shook his head, like he was clearing it before responding, "I wanted to see you. In person." Silence. I was more thankful than ever for the fact that there were no customers yet today; it was still early for the Sunday crowd.

Picking at my thumbnail, I forced my hands to still and said, "Well,I'm here." The tension rose until it was unbearable. "What do you want, Quinn?"

That had his face twisting, and he took a step towards me, "Don't do that."

Throwing out my arms, I sighed in exasperation, "Do what?"

My indignation masked my fear and my self-hatred for a moment, but obviously not well enough because Quinn had a knowing look on his face.

He was directly in front of me now, close enough that I could smell the familiar scent of his aftershave, and it twisted my stomach.

"Don't call me that, don't you dare. Not after everything." His voice was deadly serious. His jaw was clenched almost painfully.

"What should I call you?" I goaded, even though I wished I would stop and just say I was sorry. But if I let those words pass my lips, there would be no going back.

"By my name,Clark," he shot back, agitated as his eyes searched my face. "I didn't come to trade barbs, I came because I missed you, goddammit."

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