Since Sundays were normally reserved for laundry, my underwear selection was down to special-occasion lingerie or gag gifts. While my “doggy style” briefs and their matching paw-print bra had been tempting, I’d gone for some lacy boyshorts instead. Still, I shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out once we’re on the wall.”
Sebastian swallowed as a look I couldn’t quite decipher crossed his face. It could’ve been disgust . . . could’ve been lust. Perhaps there was a fine line between those too.
Sebastian glanced over when I adjusted the tote on my shoulder. “What’ve you got in there, a year’s supply of poop bags?” he asked. “You make fun of my desk, but that pocketbook is the same size as you. Doesn’t your back hurt?”
“Bruno and I need everything in here—including the poop bags,” I said defensively, side-eyeing his easy, unencumbered stride. “Do you have any of those for Opal, or do the women in your world never go number two?”
He snorted. “I’ve got one in my pocket, thanks, and I’m not that squeamish. Nobody asked my opinion on period sex, but I’ll give it to you if you want. The opinion, I mean.”
Oh my god. I didn’t even know what to say to that. If nothing else, Sebastian had a knack for throwing me off my game—but were we even playing still? I realized then, in the midst of our fencing, that I’d completely forgotten to fret over whether to be George or Georgina today. What did it mean if I was actually comfortable with Sebastian?
We turned onto a busier street, parting for a throng of rosy-cheeked young women who looked as if they were either coming from or going to brunch. The hipsters, in muted scarves, retro sunglasses, and leather backpacks, fussed over Opal while I stood at the corner, waiting to cross. I was jealous. How could I not be? Usually Bruno was the one getting fawned over. Opal zigzagged around Sebastian’s legs until she’d wrapped him up in her leash. He turned in a circle, detangling himself as if he did it all the time.
With a little more swagger in his step, he sauntered toward me. “I could get used to being a dog owner.”
“It entails a lot more than just picking up women and going on fake dates,” I said.
“Enlighten me, buns.”
Buns. Only Sebastian could get away with that nickname. He said it with a knowing grin, probably as he thought about cinnamon, and almost made it sound flattering. “Dogs need to be exercised every day, not just when it’s convenient,” I said. “Rain or shine, even if the weather could melt or cryopreserve us, I have to walk him. Some days, I get my ten thousand steps in before most people have had their morning coffees.”
“Huh,” Sebastian said as we stopped at an intersection. “Have to say, I took you for a late riser. Maybe it’s the way you suck down caffeine.”
As we neared the water, trees made canopies of green lace against the cloudless sky. I sighed. “I was, and I am, but that was mostly B.B.”
“Before Bruno?”
“Yep.”
“Is he from a shelter?” Sebastian asked.
“I adopted him from friends of my ex. They were going to put him down because they weren’t sure how long he’d live.” We crossed the street to the East River, walking along a promenade that wound along the water, separating Brooklyn from the city. “My neighbor growing up had a Great Dane, and I’d always thought they were so elegant.”
“Bruno was sick when you got him?”
“Yes.” Even though I’d always known what was to come, it was never easy to say aloud. “It’ll eventually lead to congestive heart failure.”
“I’m sorry. I’m assuming there’s no cure.”
“No, it’s progressive.” Absentmindedly, I ran my fingernails through Bruno’s fur. “I took him to one of the best veterinary heart specialists—in Boston, actually,” I said, glancing up. “All we can do is manage it.”
“Does your ex still see him?”
“He wasn’t really a dog person.” We parted as two young boys in matching sweaters ran between us. “My decision to adopt was actually a point of contention for us.”
“How come?”
“Neal didn’t want a dog at all, let alone Bruno. He thought he was weak.” At least, that’s what my therapist and I had worked out. Neal had a penchant for zoning in on a person’s failings—and sometimes exploiting them. Sebastian and I paused at a cart of books the park had set up along with bright green bistro tables and chairs for reading. “Then there was the process, costs, shorter lifespan. The fact that he wasn’t a puppy. It didn’t make sense to Neal, and I guess it wouldn’t to most people, but . . .”
Across the water, the shimmering Financial District skyline rose tall behind Sebastian. “But?”
“It didn’t seem fair to put down a dog because he was going to die anyway. He could still live a fulfilling life.” I traced a couple book spines. “It’s not the reason Neal and I broke up, but looking back, I always resented him for trying to talk me out of it. And I’m glad I didn’t let him, because Bruno’s still here, years later.”
Sebastian held open a copy of 1776, but his eyes remained on me. “Why’d you break up?”
My weaknesses. I’d boiled it down to that through therapy, and Sebastian would eventually make the connection too. For now, it was too embarrassing to admit.
Sensing my hesitation, he added, “I’ll tell you why I broke up with my last girlfriend.”
My first reaction was to make a joke, but as soon as the temptation passed, curiosity took its place. “I’m not sure that’s a fair trade. Your last girlfriend was probably in and out in a week.”
“Believe me, it’s a fair trade.”
It was something I never would’ve shared with Sebastian before today. Maybe even before this moment, so I gave him the easy answer. “He left me for someone else.”
His eyebrows cinched as if I’d responded in Greek. “Did he cheat?”
“Not according to him.” I hoped I could blame my reddening cheeks on the sunny day. “She was his study partner. He fell for her ‘spirit.’ I think that just means she knew how to say no to him.”
Sebastian caught Opal gnawing on a bottom shelf book spine and tugged her away. “He might like that now, but he won’t forever.”
It gave me some comfort to have Sebastian side with me for once. “He didn’t. They weren’t even together two months. What was your reason for breaking up with . . . ?”
“Wendy,” he said as we continued walking. “My mom didn’t like her.”
I refrained from laughing. After the battle of the sexes we’d been through, I wouldn’t have pegged him as a mama’s boy. While it was noble, I wondered why her approval meant that much to him. “That was the only reason?”
“Nah, it’s a bit more complicated than that.”
“I had a feeling,” I said.
“I have a feeling there’s more to your story too.”
Tit for tat. I wouldn’t get an explanation if I didn’t give one. And I wasn’t sure how I felt about confessing how weak I’d been—all the reasons Neal hadn’t seemed to think I had spirit.
Ahead of us, a crowd cheered. Docked between piers, a boat with a yellow-and-white striped awning was full of people our age in coats and sunglasses, all holding cocktails. Some gathered at the bow, looking over the side, and others crowded around the bar in the center. “It’s a boat that’s a bar,” I said.
“Up for a drink?”
We headed for a grassy hill under a tree. “There’s no way they’ll allow dogs.”
“Then we’ll tie them up for a few minutes.”
I smiled. “Over my dead body. Bruno has separation anxiety.”
“Bruno? Or you?” Sebastian squatted to tie Opal’s leash around a trunk. “It’ll be good for Bruno,” he said. “It’s like that thing new moms do where they let the baby cry in their crib to toughen them up.”
“It’s nothing like that,” I said, “and that’s cruel.”
“My sister said the same thing until she had a newborn. Now she swears by it.”
“You guys are
twins, right?”
“Yep.” Sebastian knotted the leash and stood. “So, what do you say?”
“I’m pretty sure the shelter would have your head if you left Opal unaccompanied,” I said.
“She’s not, though. She’s with Bruno.” He grinned. “Fine. How about if I bring the bar to you? What’s the maritime equivalent to a lemon drop?”
“I . . .” I cleared my throat. “I have a confession to make.”
He arched a dark brow. “You’re not really a baseball fan.”
“No—”
“You do shower with other women.”
I swatted his arm, and Opal whined. “No.”
“Hmm.” Sebastian pinched his chin, dropping only his eyes to me. “You hate lemon drops?”
“How’d you know?” I exclaimed.
“Call it an inkling. Why’d you order one at happy hour then?”
“The truth?” I nudged the toe of my boot into the grass. “Everyone was looking at me, and I blanked.”
“Who would’ve ever suspected George Keller might be susceptible to stage fright?” He laughed. “So what’s your poison?”
“Guinness,” I said, “but I don’t suppose they’ve got that on the boat.”
He looked impressed as he got out his wallet. “Nice poison. Is it the Irish in you?”
I nodded, going for my purse. “My dad’s side of the family.”
“How about your mom?”
“Italian. It can get heated in our house when both families visit for the holidays.”
“Sounds nice.” He smiled to himself as if lost in a memory. “I take it your parents are still together.”
“Twenty-seven years next spring.”
He closed one eye, pretending to count. “Either you’re younger than I thought, or . . .”
“They had me out of wedlock. Both sides of the family are Catholic, so their outrage united them against my parents.” I grinned. “It made everyone closer, so it worked out pretty well. Are your parents still married?”
“Never were in the first place,” he said, eyeing my wallet. “Put your money away.”
“I want to get the drinks,” I said, unzipping it. “You already picked up two of my coffees.”
“Don’t bother.” He covered my hand with his to stop me, and the suddenness of it made me freeze. I hoped he didn’t notice the way the hairs on my arm rose from his touch. “I took petty cash from the office since the date is research,” he said, taking his hand back to tug at his collar. “So, whatever I spend now comes out of your share of dinner.”
I couldn’t help a small laugh. “Won’t it be awkward for you to eat while your hungry date watches?”
“Good point.” He smirked. “Nothing worse than feeling awkward on the first date.”
“I think you’re lying about the petty cash.” At happy hour, Justin had claimed Sebastian had a tell. Thanks to the tip, I’d been watching closely and had figured out that when Sebastian wasn’t being forthcoming, he usually touched his neck or the knot of his tie. I held up a twenty. “So let me get this round.”
“Naw. I’ll cover it. I wouldn’t look good in the write-up otherwise.”
I rolled my eyes as he walked away. Of course, this was meant to be all about the magazine, even if it was starting to feel like more . . .
I stopped the thought in its tracks. Wondering if this could be something other than make-believe was just asking for trouble. And danger. And disappointment.
I refocused on the piece we were working on. No doubt Sebastian would make himself look like an angel. Should I have been taking notes? Using a rating system? Would he need pull-quotes for the piece? As I watched him walk away, I thought, Four out of five doctors recommend that ass.
Sebastian stopped to talk to the boat’s very pretty hostess.
And the one doctor thinks he is an ass.
I pretended not to watch Sebastian lay on the charm as I unfurled a linen throw onto a park bench and sat.
Opal sniffed the base of a tree trunk, then squatted and peed.
“Don’t worry,” I said, as Bruno lay at my feet. “I wouldn’t leave either of you alone for a cocktail.”
Bruno didn’t seem to care. He kept his eyes glued to Opal as she explored the immediate area, then finally settled a few feet from him.
Had Sebastian actually planned anything beyond a walk outdoors? What more could we do with dogs in tow?
If he really was keeping me out until dinner, then we still had plenty of time together—and topics to cover. I realized then how effectively he’d cut off our conversations once they turned to his family. Either he wasn’t ready or wasn’t willing to share that part of himself with me. If only he knew that the mystery around them made me even more curious about how he’d grown up. Because the more I uncovered about Sebastian Quinn, the less I believed what I’d read about him.
And the more I wanted the truth.
17
GEORGINA
Sebastian returned from the boat—after flashing the hostess a panty-dropping smile—gripping two paper bags in one hand and a large cup in the other. “I think Bruno’s found himself a girlfriend,” he said, nodding at the dogs. “He might like Opal better than you.”
I scowled. Bruno had been noticeably distracted since she’d come on the scene. “He’s just blinded by a pretty face. You know how that is.”
He set down the cup—full of water—between the two dogs and passed me one of the paper bags. “You mean the crew member?” he asked.
“Here’s a tip for your article,” I said, peering in the paper bag at a can of Coors. “Don’t hit on other women while you’re on a date.”
Sebastian sat on the bench next to me. “I wasn’t hitting on her.”
“Deny it all you want. I saw it with my own eyes, and I’m afraid I’ll have to dock you for it in the article.”
“I was smoothing the way to sneak our beers out.” Sebastian rolled the bag down enough to expose the lip. He took a sip, then sat quietly a moment. “That girlfriend I mentioned? It was about a year ago that we broke up. Before her, I dated casually, like any other person my age.” He shifted on the bench to face me a little more. “I had a certain type, and maybe they photographed well, and maybe their attitudes allowed me to keep them at arm’s length, but you should know . . . I’m not the womanizer I’ve been made out to be. I don’t sleep with every woman I go out with. I’ve never broken someone’s heart on purpose.”
I stared straight ahead, shocked into silence. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I’ve certainly never set out to make a woman feel anything less than cherished when we’re together. I wasn’t hitting on her.”
I studied the paper bag, slightly ashamed I’d jumped to conclusions. “I’m sorry,” I said, “but you can’t blame me for thinking that. You don’t have the cleanest record.”
“I should’ve explained all this your first day, but I have an image to uphold. People think I’m capable of running a men’s lifestyle magazine because they envy my lifestyle, and I let them because of my career. But that has its downfalls.”
“Such as?”
“People also think I’m an ass. People like you.”
People like me. Someone like me. It always sounded like an accusation, even when it wasn’t. I tried not to let the words take me back to Neal.
“You made a comment earlier about how I keep all the women straight, but I’ve never had that problem. I’m not the player you think I am—I only play one in the media.”
“Why do you care what I think?” I asked.
“I always have, Georgina. You have power over me.”
That Sebastian ever gave me a second thought both surprised and flattered me. “I do?”
“Of course. What you say and do influences my team and my boss. In a way, my career is in your hands.”
My heart dropped.
More than he knows.
“You underestimate others and yourself,” I told him. “You don�
�t need all that to be good at your job.”
He rubbed his nose. “Years ago, when I’d still been a style editor, I went to a party in the Hamptons. A friend of mine from college was there, and she’d recently married some bigwig producer. She drank way too much and I’d barely had one, so I took the keys to her Ferrari and drove her home.”
“I read about this,” I said.
“Everyone did. Leaving the party, I swerved into a ditch to avoid a drunk driver and totaled the car. The headlines ran wild. According to the press, I was having an affair with a married woman. I was a drunk and off to rehab. One gossip columnist even speculated my friend and I were conspiring to get her husband’s money.”
It was one of the first stories that’d come up when I’d searched Sebastian Quinn. “What happened when you set them straight?”
“I didn’t. My name was everywhere. Vance noticed. My coworkers started high-fiving me in the halls. Social media took an interest in my love life. It was natural for me to run with it because I’d already been putting on a persona since college. Within a year, I was promoted to creative director-at-large.”
Hearing him use his full title, one that might be mine soon, formed a pit in my stomach. “You believe your rep got you to where you are.”
“I know it did. And now it’s threatening all of that.”
I shifted on the bench. Vance had sworn me to secrecy, and technically, I owed him my loyalty, but having this conversation was beyond uncomfortable. “It doesn’t have to,” I said. “Drop the bad boy act. You don’t need it, and I don’t believe you ever did.”
“You don’t know that, Georgina.”
“You’ve got to let go of the notion that some stupid gossip item got you here instead of the truth—it was your talent.”
“I’m not doubting my talent,” he said. “I’m saying a fuckload of people in this city have that. You need more to get noticed.”
“Sebastian.” I sighed. “You’re already at the top.”
“That doesn’t mean I’ll stay there.”
Vance’s warning rang through my thoughts. If he storms in here one more time making demands, he’ll get an unwelcome reality check. I wasn’t sure I could keep Sebastian from reacting impulsively to the information I had, but I could open his eyes to the fact that the persona he’d crafted was hurting more than it was helping.
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