The Publicist's Plight (Book I in The Harrison Inc. Series) | ✓

Chapter Sixty Three: Two to Tango

"Oh, and I almost forgot. There's a reason I called you. Did you see online about Sebastian meeting his father at the Hillcrest Country Club yesterday?"

At this point, I'm in front of Sebastian's gated property. The security inside their control room see me and laugh, remembering that I was the woman that was refused access to the home a month ago. I smile cheekily; a smile they return back sarcastically before letting me in.

I slowly drive up the small hill that leads to the driveway in front of Sebastian's house. I park behind his car, hoping he won't mind.

"Wait, what do you mean?" I ask Darcy when I turn off my car. "Why was he at the Hillcrest?"

"I'm unsure. I thought that you would know."

Her reply wasn't meant to sound condescending, but it makes me feel that way—why was Sebastian meeting with his father? There's no way Sebastian would enjoy the luxuries of a country club, nor would he go as a family social visit to Garrett. God, I hate when this happens; my curiosity is beyond peaked.

"I'm unsure. I'll ask Sebastian when I can, but for now I'm a little...busy."

Coincidentally, I adjust my blouse in an attempt to hopefully make me look like less of a tramp.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't know. I'll call you tomorrow, then."

"Yes, that's perfect. Have a good night, Darcy."

"You too, Leslie."

I hang up, and oddly, turn my phone completely off. Tonight, I aim to detach myself from my job and enjoy Sebastian's company. He's invited me over for dinner—an invitation I'm sure he doesn't give out often—so I am determined to enjoy the night.

And besides, I'm curious to see what he's decided we'll have as our meal.

I step out of my car and onto the stone driveway. For the first time, I'm able to gather a good look at Sebastian's property, and to say that I'm completely blown away is an understatement.

His house—or mansion, rather—is inspired heavily by Spanish architecture, with curved archways in front, painted tiled steps leading up to the front door, terracotta roof tops and gorgeous woodwork on the windows and doors. The home is around three stories, closely built together to resemble the architecture of a Madrid Villa. The palm trees surrounding his driveway sway in the breeze, making me feel like I took a flight out to Spain instead of a drive up to Beverly Hills.

"Wow," is the only thing I can manage to say as I near the front door. Clutching my purse close to my side, I walk up the steps and through the arches until I'm standing by the main door. The window on the door is a bit frosted, but inside I can faintly see a large and very spacious central passage, illuminated by dim lighting and home to a tall winding staircase with a beautifully carved metal railing.

I ring the doorbell and shift nervously in my shoes. I hear an older woman's voice inside, speaking broken English.

"I get door, Mister Sebastian?!" she shouts askingly.

"No, Viv," I hear Sebastian answer; my heart beat quickens. "I've got it."

"No, I get door."

And before Sebastian can protest, the door opens, and my eyes level down to a short, puffy woman, staring at me with small beady eyes.

And like she remembers something, she suddenly smiles.

"Ah, come in, come in!" she turns to the side and shouts: "Mister Sebastian! Lady friend!"

"Yeah, I know, Viv."

When Viv steps aside, Sebastian turns the corner and wears a simper at the sight of me in his house, but then the amusement on his face is replaced with an unreadable, blank expression.