Page 2 of Worth Every Moment
“I rememberyou.” He doesn’t echo my playful tone, and the emphasis he puts on the final word sends those flutters in my stomach spiraling like confetti caught in an updraft.
The air feels loaded, and while I’m breaking into a sweat and trying not to gawk at him, Seb casually takes a packet of chewing gum from his pocket, offers me a piece, which I refuse, and pops one in his mouth before pocketing the packet again.
He glances at his watch. “Damn. I missed my gym session. I never miss the gym.”
That explains why his shoulders and upper arms fill out that expensive suit to perfection. My mind conjures a perfect sculpted male body beneath, golden skin smooth over taut abs that ripple right down to—
“Am I the only one here?” He takes in the empty flat.
“Yeah.” I smooth my skirt with one hand, hoping he can’t tell what I was thinking about. “Everyone else left last night.”
“Nico?” he says, asking for his brother who brought him. I met Nico at a fashion show afterparty a few months ago, and Mum hounded him until he agreed to accompany me to a charity eventwhere we would be seen together publicly. I guess you could say it was a date, but it was never sexual. I never felt anything for him, as handsome as he is. It was more about Nico Hawkston being good for the brand. Aseriousbusinessman. Discreet with the women he dates. Elegant, sophisticated.Powerful. Different to Seb, who’s more flirtatious and fun-loving, but nonetheless, there’s a gravity to him that reels me in. I’ve never felt a magnetic pull to another person the way I do with Seb. He’s attractive, but also easy-going, which makes it seem like he’s not trying to be anything other than he is. No pretenses. No phoney charm. Not that I really know. I can’t judge him on one drunken night, and today, in sobriety, his gorgeous smile and the dimple that usually pops on one cheek have yet to make an appearance.
“He left around midnight,” I respond, remembering that he asked me a question. “You refused to leave.”
He curses under his breath. “Sorry.” His brow furrows as he waves a finger between us. “And we definitely didn’t… do anything? Nothing happened?”
I should probably be insulted that a guy thinks he could have no memory of something happening between us, but the edge of devastation in Seb’s voice checks the impulse. I pick up my coffee again and take a sip, trying to appear way cooler about this than I feel. “No. You tried, though.”
A smile pulls at his mouth. “Obviously.”
His tone is all amused, with not a hint of sleaze, but I gasp in mock horror anyway. "Are you objectifying me?"
He hums a laugh and scratches at his throat, fingertips rasping over the stubble. “No. Just admiring.”
I bite my lip to stop the goofy grin that wants to spread across my face. When he was drunk, he told me over and over that he thought I was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. People are always telling me things like that—it comes with the job—and while it’s lovely to be complimented, most of the time Isuspect they’re running a calculation in their heads at the same time. How can we leverage this face? How can we make it work for us? What can we use it for? How much money can we make here?
But the way Seb said it was different. Awe lit up the edges of his words, like I’d sprung fully formed from his dreams, and he wanted nothing more than to be in my presence. I know it’s silly, but I’d love to hear him say it again. Sadly, he doesn’t seem inclined to repeat himself the way he did last night.
He glances around the messy apartment. “Why didn’t you kick me out?”
I put my mug on the coffee table between the sofas. “You’re a cute drunk. Plus, someone out there could have taken advantage of you.” I nod at him. “That pretty face has to have got you in trouble before.”
“I hopedyoumight be the trouble.” The lopsided smile he gives me makes his dimple pop.There it is.
Sparks burst against my skin. “Drunk guys are not my thing,” I say, hoping that my voice doesn’t reveal the fact that his proximity is causing a myriad of physical reactions I can’t control, and his every gesture is internally unravelling me. I don’t think I’ve ever been this attracted to someone,ever.
“I’m sober more often than I’m drunk.” He levels a serious look my way. “I’d like to get to know you in sobriety.”
An ember of warmth flares in my chest, but a chill of fear quickly snuffs it out. Mum always told me men are animals, who are only interested in sex and food, and as Seb sits there watching my reaction to his words, I can’t help wondering if he’s nothing more than a well-dressed, handsome animal.
But if he is, I’m not sure I mind as much as I’m supposed to.
“The thing is,” I say with caution, “I already told you my life story last night, and if you can’t remember it—”
He tips his chin. “I remember that you hate your mother.”
I gape. “I didn’t say that.”
“Maybe not exactly. I’m paraphrasing. If I remember correctly, she’s effectively your agent and manager. You’re very grateful for everything she’s done for you, but she’s got greater control over your life than you’d like. You’re resentful, but you feel guilty about it because now you’re on the cusp of super-stardom, and it’s because of everything your mother pushed you to do.”
I’m speechless. He’s recalled everything I said to him last night when he was slumped on the sofa, the last one here. I didn’t think he was even conscious, let alone paying attention to every word I said.
“You listened,” I blurt.
He pushes off the sofa and stands, running both hands through his hair before he adjusts the knot of his tie. "Yeah, it stuck in my head because my dad’s a raging narcissist too."
This brings me up short, and the nonchalant way he announces it only amplifies my confusion. I’d never thought of Mum as a narcissist. Ambitious? Absolutely. Bitter because Dad left her for another woman when he found out she was pregnant with me? Definitely. But a narcissist? I’m not even sure what it means, and there’s something about the word that sounds almost evil. I don’t want to expose my ignorance so I say, “Is he?"
