Page 13 of Treasure and Tarot

“Don’t you dare call me a liar again! I had to do this—and everyone was awful to me! You fuck right off!”

Xander burst through the door, a butcher knife in hand, yodeling. “Bastian?”

“Jesus.” Was he about to get stabbed? “Did I call you a liar? I just stated the fact that I never signed anything.”

“Just leave it. You don’t have to prove anything, buddy.”

“Someone did.” There was a wealth of pain in Sebastian’s eyes. “It’s been notarized. It came from a lawyer with a check to buy me off that’s sitting in my desk drawer.”

“A check?” What the actual fuck. He took in a deep breath, then let it out. Loosened his hold on Sebastian. He leveled a look at the cook, Xander. “I do have something to prove, but I have no intention of hurting Sebastian. This is a private conversation.”

“Bastian? Honey? I’ll take you out of here, right now.”

“I’m okay. Seriously. I’ll kick him in the knee, and he’ll collapse like a push puppet.” Sebastian smiled at the cook. “You rock, Xander. Thank you.”

The guy shrugged. “We have to stick together, right?”

“You know it.” Sebastian gave the guy a little wave, and when he left, he glared at Colton. “Sit, before you fall.”

“Fair enough, but no running off. I’m like a fainting goat. You don’t want to leave me all stressed and falling over.” He let go and sank into his chair.

“If I have to, I’ll get one of your crew to help you. I’m not worried.” Sebastian took a seat as far away from him as possible. “Now, the house. What are your intentions?”

“Bastian—”

“The house.”

He knew that stubborn look, and he decided on a tactical retreat. For now. He needed to call his folks and have hard words, he thought, before he moved on with the other discussion. Colton gripped his cane, which he still held, until his knuckles were white. “My intention is two-fold. Film a good show, which means I’ll need some night hours to do the night-vision shit. People love that, but it’s also to get to the bottom of your sudden increase in activity. Which means you and I will need to sit down and do the intake interview.”

“Both of those things are fair. I will do the intake interview and behave myself. My child will not appear on camera. You need a week, correct? I’ll find somewhere for us to stay.”

“You can stay here. I won’t eat you. Or her. And of course she doesn’t need to be on camera. Neither do you, come to that. The interview is all paperwork. Lots of Q and A about the house and the activity there.” For all that Sebastian had lied to him, was lying to him still, he felt ferociously protective of the guy.

“Not a problem. I’ve kept extensive notes. I’ll get you the file. It’s always been an active house. This is just extreme.”

“Okay.” He burned to blurt out more questions. More accusations, too, he knew. But he didn’t. He just tried to tell himself that this was a client situation, that the personal stuff could wait. “So that was some intense activity today.”

“Maybe they didn’t like strangers coming in.” Sebastian shrugged, then almost grinned. “I wasn’t expecting you. Maybe they felt that.”

“Maybe.” Except they’d seemed oddly responsive to him. But that wasn’t something they needed to chat about right now, either.

A high-school-aged kid brought Sebastian an iced tea and him another glass of water. “Did either of you want salads?”

“Please,” Colton said. “Do you have blue cheese?” This was so fucking inane.

“Of course. House made. So good, and I don’t like blue cheese. Alexander says that he made you a wedge with ranch.”

“Thanks, Laney. I appreciate it.” Sebastian had a smile for everyone but him.

The kid left, and he looked at Bastian. “I really do want to help.” That was his thing, really. Helping people in exactly this situation. The TV gig was just an excuse. It funded the work.

“I’ll take the help.” Sebastian opened his hands. “Just tell me what you want, and I’ll get out of your hair for a week. Who knows, maybe it’s all me.”

“No, it kept on today until I got the message it was sending, I think.” He wasn’t going to push Sebastian again. Yet. He was too damn confused and tired. And hungry. “But we can discuss it, for sure.”

“Okay.” Sebastian rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. “This is the most awkward supper ever.”

“I know. I would apologize, but I’m not ready to let us out of it. I want to talk with you. See you.” He had a lot to say, but he could do this. He could be patient. That was something he’d learned a lot about in fucking physical rehab.

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