Page 32 of The Bourbon Bet
“You’re the one who didn’t bother to get important terms and conditions of your lease in writing,” he scoffs.
His words twist like a knife in my gut. I can’t argue with him, and the truth burns like cheap bourbon. I should have been smarter in my business. So much for proving myself. I wanted to show everyone I could adult, but instead, I’m drowning in my failures.
“Do you want my help?” he asks, his eyebrow arching in a perfect, calculated curve.
I swallow hard, my pride crumbling under the weight of my desperation. “Yes,” I whisper.
“Sebastian is a vain man who is proud of all he’s amassed. When you’re at his place, compliment his wealth. He’s especially fond of his horses and house.He loves to show them off. I’m sure that’s why he invited you over. Be sure to compliment him. He’ll eat it up like caviar.”
My stomach roils, bile rising in my throat. The thought of fawning over Sebastian’s obscene wealth, of stroking his ego to get what I need makes me feel dirty.
Thorne’s hand rests on top of mine. “I’m looking out for you. I want to make sure you protect your heart and your business.” His words are smooth as silk, but I can sense the venom lurking beneath the surface.
Or maybe I’m projecting because Iamcharmed by Sebastian. And even though Thorne’s motives are murky as the Ohio River, I have had to consider the suggestion.
I nod. “I’ll think about it, but right now, I have a local author coming in shortly for a book signing. I need to get her table ready.”
His face twists into a mask of contempt, his perfect features momentarily distorted by the ugliness of his true nature. He obviously doesn’t like being dismissed. I should take care around such a powerful and ruthless man, but I am too raw with worry and guilt.
“Follow my advice and think carefully about whose side you’re on,” he warns before turning and leaving.
The bell chimes as he leaves, but his presence lingers, his words echoing. I lean against the counter, my fingers gripping the edge until my knuckles strain against my skin. I focus on the familiar scent of books and the soft murmur of conversations, but my mind keeps drifting to my upcoming date with Sebastian.
Thorne’s advice plays on a loop in my head, each repetition making my stomach tighten. Sebastian had seemed so charming, so down-to-earth at the restaurant—heck, during all his past visits to my store. He’s nothing like the egotistical billionaire his brother paints.
I walk to a table stacked with books. Sitting on top of the pile is a high school reading list. I’d been the poor kid at my prestigious school, surrounded by classmates who judged worth by designer labels and trust funds. Had that been Sebastian as a teenager? Will the opulent trappings of his estate bring out a different side of him, one that craves validation and admiration above all else?
Having to stroke Sebastian’s ego and pretend to be impressed by his wealth is gross. The very idea tastes bitter as if I’d bitten into something rotten. It goes against everything I believe in and everything I stand for.
How did I end up here?
The idea of fawning over Sebastian’s wealth, playing some shallow role I’d despised in high school, makes my skin crawl. It’s made worse because I’m already selling pieces of myself to Thorne.
A customer approaches me with a question about a fantasy novel. I answer automatically, slipping into my familiar role as the cheerful, helpful bookseller.
When she leaves, I practice a different tone under my breath. “Your house is stunning,” I whisper, then cringe at my words. I grab a cloth and scrub at an invisible stain on the counter as if the act could somehow erase my compromised integrity.
ChapterFourteen
Rosalia
I press my forehead against the cool glass of the Bentley’s window, tracing the lines of the vibrant green hills that roll through pastures like waves. The view pulls me into childhood nostalgia of summer days at my grandparents’ house, riding horses and exploring the forest half a mile down their gravel road.
A ringing from my purse pulls me into the present. Checking the caller ID, I grunt in surprise. Had thinking of my dad’s parents summoned him? My thumb hovers over the “Decline” button as I debate the wisdom of avoidinghis questions versus the guilt of lying to him. Keeping quiet about going to Sebastian’s house is the best option. Mentioning it would only open the door to questions better left unanswered.
Sighing, I press “Accept,” bracing myself for the conversation. “Hi, Dad.”
“Rosalia, what in the world is going on?” he demands. “Why is your grandma showing me pictures on social media of you with Sebastian Blackstone?”
I tighten my grip on the phone and stare at the black fencing along the road. I want to confide in him, but I need to deflect his worry more. “It’s nothing.”
There’s a muffled conversation between my dad and someone. Then I hear Grandma Rose declare, “My granddaughter is in the social paper.”
Unlike her son, she sounds delighted. And it solves the mystery of how my dad, who is nearly allergic to the internet, found out about my dates with Sebastian. Grandma loves her socials, especially when it comes to gossip about Kentucky’s elite—almost as much as baking and gardening.
“It’s nothing, Dad,” I repeat, not sure what else to say.
“Are you sure? Is that slimy asshole blackmailing you?”
