CHAPTER 9

**

My mother feels powerful, and it's dangerous.

Sebastian and I have a lot in common, believe it or not. Maybe that's why we're at such an impasse—we're more alike than we'd openly admit. But one thing that we have in common that overpowers all is the undoubtable evil in our parents.

As I become older, the reason for my mother's animosity towards me makes me curious beyond compare. When I was younger, I just assumed it was something I did; I assumed that I was just unlikeable in her eyes. But now I see that it's more than that. She's willing to blackmail me to keep me away from her schemes, and to make sure I'm miserable. And the only reason I have is because of a woman, and her involvement in my mother's life; my mother went as far as to tango with Garrett Harrison to ruin me.

When my mother disappears up the staircase, I rush out of the house. I feel as if I'm suffocating in my own ignorance; how could I be so dumb and clueless to think she would compromise?

I get into my car, tightening my hands around the steering wheel. My frustration causes me to slam my hands on it until my palms are red.

"I need to call Claude," I tell myself, and that's exactly what I do. He picks up on the fourth ring.

"Hello?"

"Claude," I start with staggered breaths. "You were right. I think I really fucked up."

He sighs, followed by silence, then speaks. "What did you say to your mom?"

"I confronted her about Claire and Felicity, and she denied it until I caught her in her lie. But before I left, she threatened to...expose me if I got in her way."

"Expose what?"

I don't reply, but deep down I have a feeling that Claude knows what it already is. He's rather ominous.

"Claude," I continue. "If she tells everyone what she's holding against me, I-I really don't know what I'm going to do. I...I really don't know—"

"Alright, just calm down." His tone reminds me of when I fainted in his arms after Sebastian's journal leaked; like a concerned parent. "What did she say exactly?"

"Not to get involved in Sebastian's personal life 'or else.'"

I imagine Claude rubbing his eyes. "See what happens when you go off without listening to me?"

"Well, what do I do now? For all I know, she'll expose me even if I go by her demands! And its bad enough Garrett has her in his pocket! She's so fucking evil!"

"You're going to do what she says. You're going to keep your distance until we can figure something out."

I half expected Claude to propose something irrational, but better than obeying her; bowing to her. I almost laugh at his suggestion.

"So, you want me to give in?"

"Until we can figure something out," he repeats. "You trust me, right?"

"What choice do I have?"

Claude laughs, genuinely for once, then hangs up.

**

I arrive at my office early in the morning to get a head start at answering emails. I didn't get any sleep the night before, so my eyes are suffering against the bright screen of my laptop.

"Coffee for you," Darcy announces once she enters my office. I thank her like she's given me water in the middle of a scorching desert.

"Have you checked your answering machine?"

I sip my coffee slowly. "No. I'm dreading it."

Darcy laughs before leaving my office to go back to her quaint little desk around the corner. Reluctantly, I motivate myself to listen to the messages on the answering machine.

"Hello, Ms. King, this is Debra Tresvant, editor of GQ. I spoke to your client, Sebastian Harrison's manager about the shoot that we had arranged for him. We would like to arrange a meeting to further discuss the de—"

I'll call her back later.

"Hi, Leslie King, this is Robert York of Impact Magazine. We wanted to inquire about getting an interview with Sebastian Harrison, mainly centered around—"

I'll call him back soon.

"Yes, hi, Ms. King, my name is Heather Ross, journalist from The New York Times. I just wanted to see about possibly sitting down with you because I am writing a piece about Sebastian Harrison and his transition into the CEO position at Harrison Incorporated, and before I continue with the piece, I—"

I save the message and quit listening to them altogether. My head in my hands, I sit in the quiet of my office and try not to think of all the obligations I have; all the obligations I have to him. I know this is my job, but it has inched its way into all aspects of my life. And it's bad enough we don't talk like we used to talk; it makes me angry thinking about it.

"Leslie."

Darcy slowly walks into my office again. There's a smile planted on her face, paired with crimson on her cheeks.

"What's wrong?" I ask her.

"There's a man by the name Alejandro Quintanilla. He's here to see you."

Immediately, my posture straightens out. What is Alejandro doing here? Fuck—I didn't get back to his message about working together. That must be what he's here for, right?

Right?

When I tell Darcy to let him in, I try to make myself decent (the bags under my eyes are not a good look) before his arrival. But his entrance is quicker than expected. Darcy and him share a word that is followed by Darcy's flustered giggling. I can't help but roll my eyes.

I stand up respectfully in his presence when he enters the room. This time, he's a bit more casual—jeans and a black button-up. But despite the dress-down, it's impossible not to stare or do a double-take when he passes.

"Alejandro," I croak; how embarrassing. "I-I didn't expect you to be here, especially so early."

My eyes flicker to the tall, bulky man standing outside my office door, hands in front of him and eyes covered with sun glasses. Alejandro sees where my eyes are, but doesn't pay it too much attention.

"I wanted to meet you before I didn't have time," he explains as he shakes my hand firmly. I have to crane my neck to meet his eyes.

"Oh, I understand."

When our hands break free, I sit back down at my desk while Alejandro sits across from me; his tall frame can barely fit in the chair, but when he does, he takes in my office with narrow eyes. I don't know what he's thinking; his eyes are unreadable. Somehow, I think that I can read him like I read Sebastian; once I cracked his code, it became easier to track his behavior. But Alejandro? He's an enigma. At the promotional signing with Han Sin, he was very flirtatious. Now? I don't see that vibe from him. Maybe this is a good thing; Sarah didn't approve of our encounter, and wouldn't approve of the same type of encounter in my personal office space.

"So, what can I do for you?" I ask him, but I know why he's here.

"Our secretary gave your office a call, but we never received a call back. I just wanted to make sure that we didn't give off a wrong impression."

"No! Not at all!" I almost spill my coffee onto my desk, and Alejandro smirks slightly at my clumsiness. "I just...I was going to call you back, but I had to take a little time to think it over."

"Is this about Sebastian?" he asks plainly. "You don't feel comfortable working with my family while having him as your client, yes?"

His bluntness is staggering. I stutter on my words—how do I explain this to him without coming off as Sebastian's little puppy dog?

"That's...it's hard to explain."

"It would only be one event that we would want you to put together," Alejandro explains, "My family is trying to make more friends here in the states. Harrison Inc. is a great start, but we were thinking that hosting something where other officials could attend could get our name out there easier."

That's it? Just one event? Of course, putting events together for clients is no easy task, but I expected something more long term. But despite the surprising request, I just can't seem to say yes—what would Sebastian and Sarah think if I worked with the Quintanilla's on my own terms?

Alejandro sees my hesitance, so he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper.

"My uncle thinks that this is a good amount to pay you now. The other half would be given to you after the event is finished."

When I see the number of zeroes on the paper, I lose the ability to breathe for a moment. It isn't as much as Garrett's two-million-dollar check, but way more than I would charge. Plus, they want to give me more after the event, too?

"Alejandro, I—"

"Just think on it," he says. "Take a few days, and if you still are reluctant, we won't bother you again."

"Alright. I'll think about it."

"Gracias," he replies. The Spanish slipping off his tongue gives me goosebumps.

We both stand at the same time, but he doesn't leave immediately. He stares at my coffee cup, then looks up at me with this dark, cold eyes.

"I meant to ask you this when we last met, but I didn't think it was appropriate," he says.

"Ask me what?"

"To let me take you out somewhere. Your assistant told me that you drink coffee often, so I think you'd enjoy fresh, authentic Colombian coffee instead of what you drink every day."

I hate myself for staring at this man with the dumbest look on my face. When I try to speak, my words only get caught in my throat; he seriously wants to take me out for coffee? Me?

"It's my way of apologizing," he adds, easing the initial question a bit. "For the way I treated you at the club on Friday. I was a drunken idiot; I'm not like that every day. Let me show you."

Honestly, I want to say yes. I really, really want to say yes. Though my default reaction to a man—any man—asking me out is to believe he's joking or only looking for one thing in return, Alejandro seems sincere. But this is Alejandro Quintanilla—Sebastian would give me and maybe is retinue hell if I went out with him.

Alejandro sees the look on my face and pieces the conclusion together himself.

"Right," he begins. "That would be weird for you because..."

"Yeah," I reply regretfully. "I don't think it's a good idea."

"I understand." He nods before stepping out of my office. "Thank you for your time."

And then he's gone. I sit back down, trying to convince myself that turning him down was a good idea. I go over the reasons in my head, the pros and cons, but in the end, the pros outweigh the cons—in a selfish sense. But in the professional sense? It was the "right" thing to say no.

"Let it go, Leslie. Just read your e***ls," I coach myself. I open my computer, but still manage to drift off even when my e***l is open in front of me, the word "Sebastian" popping up back to back; I drift off and wonder what coffee with Alejandro Quintanilla would be like. He's mysterious, closed-off, but charming at the same time; he's dark and completely unreadable, so what would coffee be like with him?

"Leslie! Emergency!"

Darcy, yet again, comes back into my office. But this time, she runs straight into my office with a look of shock and horror on her face. And right when she's by my side, by phone starts buzzing crazily.

"What the hell is going on?" I ask her when I pick up my phone.

"Look!"

She pulls out her own cell phone and shows me a photo posted literally one minute ago on TMZ. And when I see who's in the photo, my heart almost explodes in my chest:

"Sebastian Harrison and Mysterious Red-Head Share Intimate Kiss Over Early Morning Breakfast."

I know that's Sebastian and Claire. There's no doubt. And they are indeed kissing—making out, if I may add. The picture isn't lying, and neither was my mother. My hands clench into fists, my face tingles, and I feel as if I'm going to scream—both as a publicist and as the one he said he cared for.

"Watch my office," I tell Darcy. "I'll be right back."

**