Page 137 of Worth Every Moment
“Dude, what? I’m a paying customer. I just got here,” Michael replies.
“You’re in my seat,” Seb says with calm determination.
Michael’s mouth opens a fraction, features twisting with a sneer as he crosses his arms over his broad chest. “Your seat?”
“That’s what I said.” Seb gestures to Michael’s chair. “My seat.” He raises both hands to take in our surroundings. “This is a Hawkston Hotel. My fucking name on the door.” He gestures to me. “No one brings my woman here but me.”
My woman?
Michael glances at me. “Babe, what?”
I have no idea what’s going on, but hearing Seb refer to me that way doesn’t make me mad. I know it should, becausehow dare he, but it sets my soul alight and butterflies fluttering in my stomach. Michael calling mebabe, on the other hand, has no such effect.
“Don’t call me babe,” I tell him, and he rolls his eyes.
A muscle twitches in Seb’s jaw and he directs himself to Michael. “My brother broke your nose once. Let’s not make it twice. I need to speak to Erica, alone.”
Michael raises both hands. “Nah, man. We’re on a date.”
A cool, violent expression descends over Seb’s face. “If you’re genuinely interested in Erica, tell her now, and she can choose between us. But if you’re in this for the PR, for the movie, because you look good together, then get the fuck out before I have you dragged out.”
Michael glares at Seb and the moment crystallizes, ready to shatter. My heart pounds and I look around, noting that the other diners are watching the interaction and whispering.
Michael throws his napkin on the table, lifts his wine glass, and swallows the contents before he stands. “Fine. She’s all yours.”
I feel nothing as he walks away, even though every head in the room turns to watch him. He might be the most gorgeous man in Hollywood, the Brad Pitt of our generation, but he’s not the one for me. In a world where Seb Hawkston exists, Michael could never be the one for me.
Seb doesn’t sit in the vacated chair, but continues to stand at the side of the table, perfectly attired in his tailored black tie suit. It’s only been a few weeks since I saw his face, but my memory of it holds nothing to the real thing. His jaw is so strong it looks like someone carved it from stone, and there’s a softness in his eyes that makes me want to cry.
He slides one hand into his pocket, and although the gesture is casual, tension lines his shoulders.
“Hey, Lefroy,” he purrs, and a pressure grows at the base of my throat as though all the tears I haven’t shed are waiting right there for me to let them out as soon as he says another word.
“Hey.” My voice is barely a whisper.
“Are you with Michael Drayton?”
“If I was, I’m not anymore.” Seb’s jaw clenches at my response, and I swallow to clear the lump in my throat before I continue. “What’s going on? Weren’t you with your fiancée outside?”
“She’s not my fiancée.”
I briefly close my eyes to tamp down the swell of emotion that’s crashing, wave after wave, against my ribcage. When I open them, Seb is still staring at me. “She’s not?”
“Not anymore. It’s over. That’s what we were celebrating. That’s what you saw out there. That’s why I was hugging her.”
“It’s over?”
“Yes. It’s over. It was never real to begin with, but it’s over now.”
My upper body slumps, and I prop my elbow on the table to catch it, hand cupping my mouth. “How? Why?”
“There’s a lot to explain. But ever since the engagement was announced, and you left the island, I’ve spent every waking moment trying to work out how to get out of it, so I could choose you. You are, and always will be, my only choice. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you at the time, but my father threatened to have me charged with soliciting underage women.”
My pulse beats faster. “What?”
“It was all false, but he’d had photos made up, grotesque images of me and a girl I didn’t know, and he had people ready to act as witnesses and testify against me. She was ready to give evidence too. And I really thought he’d do it. He was draining money from my accounts. I’m pretty sure he had peoplewatching me. Watchingus. He was responsible for our stuff being stolen from the photo shoot.”
I can’t process everything he’s telling me. It’s too much, and I have a million questions, but I settle on the most obvious. “Why?”
