Page 33 of Bared Betrayal
There it is. The mention of‘the’wedding like it’s nothing more than a PR gig. Like it’s more about the press than it is about us. I’m convincing myself more and more that he’s only marrying me so he and the press stay engaged.
A car horn blares outside, and Sebastian checks his wristwatch. “That’s probably my cab. I have to go.” He presses his lips to mine in a chaste kiss. “I love you. I’ll call you as soon as I land in New York.”
“Okay, but—”
He rushes down the hall, and I don’t even get a chance to ask him when he’ll be back. But relief drapes over me when the door clicks shut behind him, and I have no idea why. I don’t know what’s happening between us, but this wedding is not bringing us closer together. In fact, it’s pushing us farther apart. There’s been this weight on my shoulders ever since he slipped a ring on my finger. Our lives changed direction that day, and we’re in a tailspin. Add Gabriel King to the mix, and I’m certain I’m headed to hell.
Despite knowing I shouldn’t, I type Gabriel King in the Google search bar. There’s not a ton of information on him, apart from him being the CEO and founder of Sterling Shipping, a multi-billion-dollar company.
And Sebastian thinks Gabriel wants a slice of the fame pie? I snort.
Sterling Shipping operates from all the major ports in North America. New York. New Jersey. Norfolk Port. Baltimore. Charleston. This company is just about everywhere, but the office is right here in Chicago, no more than an hour’s drive.
I let the cursor hover over the address on the screen. There’s this itch along my spine—more like Satan’s tickle urging me to do something really fucking stupid.
If I see him, I might be able to make him understand why I went to Myth that night. Make him see that I’m not this slimy cheat he thinks I am. That the night at Myth was the first time in my life I had ever done something like that, and that it was only this one-time effort to quiet my demons. I never plan on going back there or doing something like that again. Hurting Sebastian is not a motivator here. This isn’t even about Sebastian at all. It’s about me. About my baggage. Baggage I don’t want to saddle on Sebastian’s back for the rest of his life, so I did what I did to hopefully get rid of it.
Somehow, I have to make Gabriel understand I am not a bad person.
Armed with bravado, I slip on a pair of black skinny jeans, a gray sweater, and matching flats. I grab my coat and black scarf and hurry out the door before I get a chance to lose my last nerve.
I’ll probably regret this. But it seems like doing shit I regret is becoming part of my daily routine. Like brushing my teeth.
What was supposed to be an hour’s drive turned into two since I backed out and had the cab driver turn around and head back to my place twice, only to tell him to turn around again and go to the address I gave him.
I crane my neck and look at the building in front of me. It’s large. Tall. Intimidating. And after several deep breaths and three pep talks, I brave the revolving door, entering what my mind now refers to as the foyer of hell.
The interior looks just like I imagined it would. Sleek, sophisticated, all modern angles and curves, chiseled steel. It’s all him put together in one office building.
Light reflects off the glass panes in the lobby, scattering across the white-tiled floors. Two women are seated at the reception desk, eyeing me as I walk up. I don’t like how they look at me as if I’m competition they have to fight to keep their domain.
I step up and muster up the sincerest smile. “Hi. My name is—”
“Kallie Sawyer,” a voice booms behind me, and my stomach does twenty somersaults in two heartbeats.
I lick my lips as I turn, feeling my confidence drain out of me. Gabriel is standing a few feet away. Handsome. Imposing. A mountain of power. You don’t have to know him to know he’s the boss. He dominates the room by demanding respect and instilling fear simply by breathing.
“Mr. King,” I start, but he stomps toward me and pretends to lightly touch my elbow when he’s actually burying his fingers in my flesh. At least he’s not dragging me like he did last night. I’d say that’s progress.
The elevator opens as we approach, and we don’t even have to slow down our pace to get in it. It’s like it knows.
The steel door closes, trapping me inside a small space with a man whose confidence and authority are visible and tangible. I can practically hear it ripple around us.
“You should have been halfway to China by now.” His tone is as firm as his grip on my arm.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“That wasn’t the deal.”
“What deal?” I say, snapping my gaze up to him. “There was no deal. Only you throwing threats around like I’m the villain here.”
“Aren’t you?”
“No. I’m not.”
The elevator dings, and the door opens to a vast, luxury office space. So, the man has his own private elevator. Why does that not surprise me?
Expensive oil paintings are on the walls. Leather couches, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, and big television screens displaying the daily stock markets. It’s all high-end, high-life poshness.
