**
I drive over to Harrison Inc. I didn't call ahead to ask if Sebastian was in, but if he isn't, I'm willing to wait for him in his new luxurious waiting room until he decides to stroll in, wearing his stupid designer suit with his stupid ensemble that hangs on to his stupid words and demands.
As I'm speed walking over to Harrison Inc., I can't help but read over that damn article repeatedly in my mind. Him and I both know the only reason she's in the picture is because of my backstabbing mom and his slut-of-an-ex-girlfriend, Felicity Felix. Felicity-Fucking-Felix! That blonde conniving bitch!
I walk into the main lobby, meanuvering my way through the endless bodies walking around. The intercom above the giant glass ceilings talks about the glory and success of Harrison Inc., but it only heightens my frustration; I'm fuming right now, almost certain that my face is as red as the bottom of my Louboutin shoes.
"You okay?" someone asks.
"No," I answer in my head, but opt for a silent reply and head to the elevators.
**
"Is Sebastian in his office?"
Ava stares at me from over her desk. I look over to her left, only to see the spot where Paul usually is, empty.
"Sorry, Leslie. Mr. Harrison is in a meeting right now and can't be disturbed."
"So, he is in his office?"
Ava looks conflicted. Once, we were very close when I used to work in here. But now, it seems Sebastian's new "rules and regulations" he's probably implemented include seeing me as an enemy.
When Ava doesn't reply, I take matters into my own hands and welcome myself into his office myself. Ava yells after me, obviously scared to tell me not to do something but obligated to Sebastian as his secretary at the same time. The security and Ava follow swiftly behind me, but I'm quicker; I burst into Sebastian's new office before the security guard can lay a finger on me.
"First a blonde, then a brunette, now a redhead? Boy you must really love switching it up like a deck of freaking cards!" I shout ahead.
Ava wasn't wrong—Sebastian is in a meeting with Claude, Mia, an unnamed female and two unnamed males that sit quite relaxed on the couches. None of them are dressed in suits apart from Claude and Sebastian—suit jacket unbuttoned, casually sitting on his throne at the head of the table with his left ankle propped up on his right knee.
Exactly how Garrett sits.
The room turns quiet at my entrance, but I'm too infuriated to care. Maybe it has to do with my mom threatening me, the decisions I've made in favor of Sebastian's well-being, or Sebastian deliberately taking Claire out to breakfast to cause a media shitstorm.
Sebastian sits up slowly, like a lion who has spotted his prey. I'm lying if I tell you that he doesn't look ridiculously sexy right now, especially in his business suit. But being attracted to him upon first sight only fuels my anger towards him even more.
Everyone's eyes land on me, then Sebastian, then me again. Sebastian stands up and raises his eyebrows at me, like I've lost my mind.
"What?" is all he can manage to say at me, drawled out from the depths of his lungs.
I approach him, and his unmoving figure intimidates me a bit. His retinue, I assume, all scoot back in their spots on the couches to let me though, and smile amusingly at what's going on.
"Going out to breakfast and kissing Claire without notifying me first? Do you understand what you've done?" I pull out my phone and read the article title aloud. "'Sebastian Harrison and Mysterious Red Head Share Intimate Kiss Over Early Morning Breakfast?' Gee, that will cause some unnecessary gossip!"
He just laughs, like this is a joke to him; like six pairs of eyes aren't watching him. I envy his nonchalance.
"This is funny to you?"
"Yes, it really is," he answers; hearing his hateful tone gives me shivers. "You burst into my office and come at me with this bullshit?"
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Claude rubbing his eyes; he's tired of watching me continually do everything he tells me not to do.
"It isn't bullshit. I'm your publicist. It's my job to represent you and your name in a good light to the public! And the fact that you're putting yourself out there in this way just to make me mad is absolutely immature and disgusting." I narrow my eyes up at him. "I expected better from you."
Sebastian laughs again. "God, you really are as self-centered and egotistical as I thought you were."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Maybe we should leave—"
"No!" Sebastian shouts at the people on the couches, who are stunned into silence and stillness. He looks back down at me and replies:
"Claire and I are going out, Leslie. And I didn't kiss her to 'make you mad.' I kissed her because it's true."
Fuck.
I'm shrouded in embarrassment, humiliation, shock and denial. No one says a word, like they can feel the second-hand embarrassment from my accusation quickly being debunked.
"C-Claire?" I finally drawl out, like her name is poison. "You're going out with Claire? The red-headed groupie whom you've met two times? One of them being when she was on top of you in a cloud of marijuana smoke!?"
"Yes." He replies plainly. "That Claire."
I can't help but cackle to hide what I'm really feeling. "That is ridiculous. You can't possibly be going out with her. That's impossible. This is just a publicity stunt, orchestrated by...unnamed forces, that I was not aware about."
"This isn't a publicity stunt," he tells me. "And I don't understand why you're so upset. Your job as my publicist is to maintain my image, not stamp off who I should and shouldn't be dating!"
"You literally met her once! Twice, at the most! One of these times with you being too coked up to even remember what her name was. So you want me to believe that you're dating her because you 'like' her?"
"Yes," he answers plainly. And I'm rendered speechless.
The two minutes I've been in this room, I've manage to endure blow after blow while surrounded by the last people I'd ever want to be humiliated in front of. Sebastian wants to dominate his power over me, giving off the impression that our discord isn't impacting him in anyway. And I can see it in his eyes; he's finding amusement with telling me that him and Claire are a thing.
"You know what I think?" he asks, smiling. "I think you're jealous."
My jaw drops, "J-jealous? You think I'm jealous? God, you are so full of yourself! I'm just doing my job, which is to be informed of everything you tell the press. The fact that you get 'jealousy' out of that is—"
"You're right, you're right. You aren't jealous. You're envious. Because jealousy is when you're afraid of losing something that's already yours. Envy is when you want something that you can't, don't, and will most likely never have," Sebastian looks down at everyone and continues with: "Envy seems like a more suitable word then, right?"
They all nod, like subjects agreeing to a king's words. I'm so mortified and humiliated that I'm shaking, my lip is quivering, and I can't look Sebastian in the eye.
"I have absolutely no reason to be envious of you and Claire," I reply, almost making it into a growl.
"Why not?" he says. I try to think of a viable comeback, but nothing comes to mind. At least nothing logical; nothing that wouldn't dig a deeper hole than the one I'm already in. But the most cynical, diabolical idea enters my mind and by God, I know it's going to make him furious. My judgment has been terrible in the past, but I've tried to make better decisions; decisions that would benefit everyone else except for me. Yet seeing him so content with making me upset just prompts me to go with my gut.
And that's what I do, by pulling out my phone, scrolling until I see Alejandro's contact, and dialing his number.
"Buenas," Alejandro answers after the second ring, but to everyone else, it's a mystery of who I'm speaking to, so to help them out a bit, I put it on speaker.
Stop it, Leslie. You're going to make Sebastian upset!
"Hi, it's Leslie," I reply. My heart is pounding so hard in my chest that I feel it through my ears. Sebastian is still unaware of who I'm speaking to, but the shift in his features is enough for me to believe that he's gathering an idea.
"Oh, Leslie. Good to hear from you. Have you thought over the offer? The Quintanilla's would love to work with you. I hope you know that."
In the couple of months that I have known Sebastian, I have never, and I mean never, seen a smile disappear from his face as quickly as it has now. That voice—that dark, sexy, mysterious, charming, heart-stopping voice sends ice through Sebastian's heart; the look on Sebastian's face is worth more than mere words could describe.
"Actually, I have. But I have a couple of questions and concerns that I'd like to go over before I give a definitive answer. Is 'coffee' still on the table?"
For the first time (at least sober) Alejandro cracks a laugh. "I was planning on waiting until you said 'yes.'"
"Great. I will text you later in the afternoon for the details; I'm sure your busy right now."
"Trust me, I can always make time for you. But text message is perfectly fine."
"Okay, sounds good."
And then the conversation ends. The room is quiet, minus snickers coming from the unknown woman on the couch. Claude, on the other hand, has his hands over his mouth, trying to hide the fact that he wants to laugh at how bold yet stupid I was to do that. But Sebastian? God, I wish I could take a picture of the face he's making right now. In thirty seconds, his pride has shriveled down to nothing but dust.
"Alejandro asked me out for coffee earlier this morning. At first I said no, because I figured that looking out for everyone else's wellbeing besides my own was the priority. But now? I think you got your answer as to why I don't have a reason to be envious of you."
Sebastian shakes his head, his nostrils flaring like an agitated bull. "No."
"What?"
"No. You're not going out with him."
I laugh at him, but not as a defense mechanism like before. "Are you serious—"
"You're not seeing him!" He screams at me. I freeze.
Claude stands up and tries to regulate, "Sebastian—"
"Claude, don't." Sebastian looks back at me. "Leslie, you aren't seeing him."
"And what if I do?" I reply. God, I've never felt this much adrenaline coursing through me.
Sebastian stutters, starts a sentence, doesn't finish, then repeats the cycle again. I know he detests me for making him look foolish in front of his retinue.
"When your romance with Claire blows over, I'll be the one to cover it instead of clean it up, since you want me to 'do my job.'"
That's my cue to leave. And I do, waiting for Sebastian to yell back a smart remark, but nothing follows. Everyone's eyes follow me through the door and outside of the office is when I can finally breathe. But breath isn't the only thing that overcomes me: liberation, exhilaration. After weeks—years of being scrutinized by people who I gave everything to, I had the courage to hold my ground. And in this moment, as I walk down the hall, smile teasing my lips, I realize I don't want to be the 'me' that everyone is so used to seeing, using, passing over. I feel the urge to be the 'me' that I've always wanted to be: a bitch who doesn't give a fuck.
And it feels so freaking fantastic, that I don't want to stop here. Why limit myself to just one encounter where I stood my ground? I wonder what it feels like to say "yes" when I want to and "no" when I want to? I've cried and held everything in for years and years, beating myself up for mistakes that were double-sided, or trying to prove myself to people who don't care. But now? What's the point? I'll tell you: there is no point. None. And it took me decades for me to realize this.
It took Sebastian Harrison for me to realize this—to realize that doing anything for "me" should be my priority now.
**