Page 28 of The Bourbon Bet
His grip tightens, and I steady myself. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
He points and my good mood deflates like the front tire of my bike. Hell, even a few spokes are dangling from the slightly bent rim. Great, another bill.
What if the nearest bike repair shop isn’t close to my apartment? Or the cost of repairs is too much. Tears burn my eyes and I wobble slightly when I walk to the rack to inspect the damage. I need my bike.
“Let me give you a ride home,” Sebastian says.
“My bike…” It’s hard to speak through the sudden thickness in my throat. “Sorry, I’m being ridiculous. The wine’s affecting my emotions.” There is no way I can share with a billionaire whose driver is idling at the curb in a freaking Bentley that my bicycle is my only transportation.
“I’ll come back and get it after dropping you off.” He slips his hands into his slacks and searches my eyes. “Do you want me to wait here while my driver drops you off?”
I raise my brows. “Um, why?”
“You seem hesitant to accept a ride. If it’s because you’re uncomfortable being alone in the car with me, I don’t mind waiting here.”
That’s thoughtful. The urge to hug him is nearly impossible to resist. “No, I’m not,” I tell him honestly.
I’m not afraid of him. My only fear is how he makes me feel.
Opening the door to the backseat, he motions for me to get inside. The supple cream seat hugs me and is cool against my bare arms. Sebastian’s car smells like him—masculine and expensive.
He comes around and gets in on the other side. “Could you give Tom your home address?” he asks, motioning to the driver.
“It’s the bookstore.”
A single brow ticks, and he tilts his head. “Really?”
I nod, studying his surprised reaction. It seems genuine. He really doesn’t know I live above the bookstore, which means he probably doesn’t know about the lease situation either. Relief floods through me, followed immediately by a sharp twist of guilt.
If he truly is clueless about his brother’s plans, then he has no idea Thorne is using me as a pawn against him. Another terrible thought creeps in: What if Sebastian actually deserves to lead Blackstone Bourbon, and I’m helping Thorne destroy someone who’s done nothing wrong?
“I didn’t realize there was an apartment in the store,” he says, unaware of my internal breakdown. “I thought…well, it doesn’t matter what I thought.” He frowns, staring at his large hands resting on his knees.
Is he embarrassed for me? Or is this a reality check on how differently we live? Although something about his posture screams guilt. I shake my head. No, that can’t be right. It’s wishful thinking.
I cross my arms and accidentally bump a serious-looking control panel in the center console. The back of the driver’s seat hums and shifts, revealing a laptop mounted to a polished wooden tray that matches the pristine interior. Sebastian presses a button and it returns to its hiding place. He hits another and the chrome rectangle between us in the middle of the back seat rises, revealing a built-in cooler. A cooler! He hands me water then twists a knob. A wide leather armrest slides over the NASA-looking control panel as if it had never been there.
Thank sweet baby Jesus, it’s gone. I might accidentally hit another button and reveal the secret space where he hides all his little yellow Minions. I cover my mouth, but a giggle escapes.
“This is Gru’s car,” I wheeze. I’m a buzzed idiot. A man like Sebastian won’t know the cartoonDespicable Me.
He snorts. “The impression I’m making is terrible. First, I remind you of Bill—”
“Who’s Bill?” I ask, confused.
“The boss from Office Space.” Sebastian holds an imaginary coffee cup and mimics Bill’s famous line, “Yeah…that’d be great, um-kay.”
“I can’t believe you remember his name.” I laugh. Oh my, he likes old comediesandis funny. The combination is my Achilles’ heel.
I’m in trouble.
He chuckles. “Between him and Gru, it appears I’m the villain in your story.”
My smile wilts a little. No, that’s me—dating him under false pretenses. Why couldn’t he be an arrogant billionaire? Lord knows there’s enough of them.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Fine.” I remind myself it’s Sebastian Blackstone’s company that has put Novel Idea at risk. Managing to bury some of my guilt, I tap my index finger against my lips. “Hmm, if you had a black and gray scarf, you could pass for a leaner, younger version of Gru.”
