Sebastian winks at me and goes up to play, and I shake my head again, confused. I need to go to the washroom and splash my face with cold water, and wonder what the heck is going on.
12
Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear.
Ambrose Redmoon
Bailey:
Juliette’s waiting for me when I get out of the stall, her expression thunderous. Shit. Is this about Sebastian’s kiss? They aren’t dating, are they? “Is something wrong?”
“Is something wrong?” she repeats. Her voice rises with frustration. “Yes, Bailey, I’d say something’s fucking wrong. Do you know that Sebastian blew off a really important business meeting tonight to come hang out with you?” Her fists are clenched at her side.
“Sort of,” I reply. “He mentioned something.”
“Well, good for him,” she drawls the words out, sarcasm oozing out of every syllable. “Isn’t that nice that Sebastian mentioned blowing off a meeting I’ve been working on for months to put together?”
I’m not sure why I’m the target of her ire. Sebastian’s a big boy, and I’m not responsible for his behavior. “Why are you getting pissy with me?” I ask directly, refusing to pussy-foot around the fact that she’s being a bitch right now. “I don’t control Sebastian.”
“Listen to me, Bailey.” She steps close to me, and I fight the urge to take a step back. “There’s a narrow window of opportunity here. Sebastian knows it, even if he’s ignoring it at the moment. Seb New York was just awarded a second Michelin star, and we have to strike when the iron’s hot.” She glares at me. “If there’s ever a time for Sebastian not to lose focus, it is now. The last thing he needs is a distraction.”
Me. I’m the distraction.
Here’s the deal. All my life, I’ve had to fight the redhead stereotype. Everyone always assumes that redheads are prone to anger and rage, but I’ve never been that person. I’m pretty even-tempered. I avoid conflict. I don’t call people out on their bullshit.
Until now. “No,” I tell her. “You listen to me. Sebastian is an adult who can make his own decisions. If you have a problem with him, you can talk to him. But you don’t get to hurl accusations.” I meet her eyes evenly, though I’m quaking inside, wondering how she’s going to react to my speech. “Are we clear?”
The Thursday Drinking Pack will be so proud of me.
Juliette doesn’t reply. She just glares at me for a few long seconds, then she spins on her heel and walks away without saying another word.
* * *
I wash my hands, somewhat shaken by the whole confrontation. As I calm myself, a surge of sympathy for Sebastian flows through me. He’s a two-star Michelin chef, and he’s in his early thirties. He must have worked incredibly hard to achieve everything he has. I can’t believe that his own business adviser is acting like he’s slacking off for playing pool with his friends. Poor Sebastian.
All of those thoughts flee my brain when I push the door open and walk out, because standing in the dim passageway, waiting for me, is Daniel.
My heart jumps in my throat at the gleam in his eyes. Amused, heated, dark. The instant I absorb that look, I swallow, unable to conceal my own desire. These guys are like some kind of Bailey catnip.
“Unlike Sebastian, I didn’t get a chance to congratulate you on your win,” he says, his voice smooth as velvet. I watch his head dip toward mine, his body nearing, then his lips are on mine, and I stop thinking and just feel.
His kiss is slowly sensual. Sebastian’s kiss could have been passed off as a gesture of celebration, but the message in Daniel’s kiss is clear. This is a prelude to sex. I whimper as his tongue slides into my mouth, hot and insistent. His fingers slide through my hair, wrapping around the strands and tugging my head back so my neck is exposed. His lips press butterfly-soft kisses against my throat, my jaw. His teeth graze my skin and I shift, restless with longing.
Then he pulls away and I blink pressing my fingers to my swollen lips. Some of my lipstick is on his mouth. I move to wipe it away, but his mouth captures my fingers and he sucks, and my knees almost buckle as liquid, molten heat runs through my entire body. “Daniel,” I whisper. “What are you doing?”