Page 96 of The Bourbon Bet
The spring air does little to calm my plummeting thoughts. The Bentley pulls up next to me, but before Tom gets out, I open my door and slide inside. Sinking into the leather seat, I can't shake the feeling that my silence is a ticking time bomb.
Tom pulls away from the curb. I drift back to Rosalia in that storage room, to the desperation in her kiss and the way she clung to me like I was an anchor in a storm. She turned to me for comfort.
I’ll find another moment to tell her about the bet before it’s too late.
But even as I think it, I know it’s bullshit. The bet ends in less than twenty-four hours. I’ve run out of chances. I’ve placed my bet on secrets and silence. Tomorrow I’ll learn if I’ve gambled away everything that matters.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Rosalia
Derby Day. The culmination of everything Louisville holds dear. Surveying the Mansion, I struggle to comprehend the existence of a place even more exclusive than Millionaires Row. And here I stand in a vintage scarlet dress worth more than a month of my bookstore’s rent, contemplating an act that goes against everything I believe in.
I run a hand from the flat of my stomach down to the waist of the dress where it bells out around me, then reach up, running my fingers alongthe brim of my Derby hat, though it doesn’t need adjusting. My heart aches at what I’m about to lose.
Across the room, I spot Sebastian. He looks handsome in black slacks, a light brown tweed vest, and a blue and white striped shirt. His red leather portfolio is tucked under his arm, the Blackstone emblem embossed in gold on its surface. Inside are the company’s supposed plans that he’ll reveal to shareholders today.
“Just take it,” says a man behind me, his bourbon breath reaching me seconds after he speaks.
I gasp and jerk forward on my stilettos. Whirling around, I shuffle back to face Thorne. He invades my personal space, and a wicked grin spreads across his face like a villain’s.
Masking my distress, I retort, “If you’re so worried about Sebastian’s plans for the company, why don’t you take it yourself? He’ll set it down eventually.”
“I can’t be caught near it. You see that guy?” He points to a short man with massive shoulders and a neck as wide as a Greek pillar. “He’s security. My brother’s paranoid. He knows some of the board members want him removed. If I’m caught with that portfolio, I’ll never get the support I need.”
Sebastian sits on one of the camel-colored leather sofas, still holding his portfolio as he talks with an older gentleman in a seersucker suit sporting white wingtips with horses painted on them.
I face Thorne, my lips part, but no words emerge. I think of my bookstore, of the children who come for story hour, of the book clubs that have formed lifelong friendships, of my father’s house that’s been in his family for generations. All of it hanging by a thread.
But then I hear Sebastian laugh. I look over, taking in the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, and I know I can’t do this to him. “I… I can’t,” I whisper. “I’ll find another way to save what matters.”
Surprise flashes in his eyes. “Your lease ends at the end of the month. There’s nothing you can do in such a short amount of time.”
“I can’t do it,” I repeat.
Thorne takes a heavy swallow of his drink. Looking at me over the crystal rim, he asks, “Why not?”
“I’m falling for him.” The admission scares and thrills me in equal measure.
Thorne lets out a low, mean chuckle. “Rosalia, darling, Sebastian’s not quite the prince charming you believe him to be.”
The hostility coating him like sweat makes the need to escape nearly visceral. I turn away, frantically scanning the room for Sebastian. I need to find him, to warn him about his brother’s plans for a corporate takeover.
“Where are you going?” Thorne calls after me, but I’m already moving through the crowd, my heart hammering against my ribs.
I push through groups of derby elite, ignoring their annoyed glances. A flash of blue and white striped fabric catches my eye. Sebastian is moving through the crowd. He disappears behind an ornate divider. I follow him into the private alcove.
He’s standing by a tall window, his back to me, staring out at the track below with the red leather portfolio in his hands. At the sound of my approach, he turns, his eyes widening before his face transforms—warmth mingled with unmistakable determination. I recognize that look immediately; it’s the face of someone who’s made a difficult decision. I’m probably wearing the same expression
“Rosalia,” he says.
“Sebastian, I—”
He crosses the alcove with purposeful strides, holding the portfolio out to me. “Take it.”
I stare between his face and the leather folder. My hands lock at my sides. “What? Why are you giving this to me?”
There’s movement behind me, and then, “What are you doing?” Thorne demands.
