“Always happy to be a source of validation,” Sebastian drawled. He retrieved something from his pocket and tossed it at me. I caught it a split second before it smacked me in the face. “You’re welcome.”
I heard a glimmer of laughter as he left the conservatory and disappeared into the depths of the house.
I waited until he was well and truly gone before I unclenched my fingers. An orange-foil-wrapped candy sat in my palm.
It was a chocolate bonbon.
Of course, I didn’t eat the chocolate.
I wouldn’t put it past Sebastian to give me expired candy, and the bonbon was clearly a power play. A subtle way to indicate he knew things about me that he had no business knowing, and a sneaky reminder that I needed the stress relief because I was caught up in a public relations shitstorm.
Meanwhile, he was riding high on a wave of glowing publicity, including two newly minted Michelin-starred restaurants in theLaurent Restaurant Group’s portfolio and a fawning profile in theNew York Times.
My family didn’t own restaurants. Our money came from frozen foods, and there was no Michelin star equivalent for frozen foods.
I knew that, but it didn’t stop me from wanting one.
I think that was the real reason Sebastian grated on my nerves. No matter how hard I worked or how much I accomplished—personally, professionally, academically—he always made me feel like I was behind.
I got straight A’s by studying my ass off; he got straight As just by waltzing into the classroom after rolling out of bed.
I was salutatorian; he was valedictorian.
I won the International Marketing Excellence Award; he won it firstandgot more press coverage for it.
It was infuriating.
I glanced at him across the dining table. He was busy chatting with my younger sister Neha and pretending to be a normal human being.
Dinner started half an hour ago, and both the Singh and Laurent clans were gathered in my parents’ formal dining room. My father sat at the head of the table, with my mother on his left and Sebastian’s father, Michel, on his right. Michel’s wife, Yvonne, gossiped with my mom about the latest society scandal while Neha’s husband gulped down his wine like this was his last supper. My grandmother sat at the other end of the table, her expression serene as she took everything in. She wore a plain white linen shirt that contrasted with the enormous emerald earrings dripping from her earlobes.
The only person missing was my youngest sister Priya, who was vacationing in Bali with her boyfriend. It was their six-month anniversary, which was why my mother let her absence slide.
Everyone seemed to be having a grand time except for me andSebastian, who was seated directly across from me. Although he was laughing and smiling, I could tell it was fake.
When hereallysmiled, his eyes would crinkle at the corners, and the pitch of his laugh would be a decibel or two lower than it currently was. He wouldn’t be gripping his wineglass that tightly or focusing that intently on Neha, like he had something to prove.
“Before we get to the main course, I want to thank everyone for coming tonight.” My father’s booming voice drew everyone’s attention to the head of the table.
The room quieted.
My stomach twisted in anticipation. My father had hinted at some “big news” he wanted to share tonight, but I had no idea what it might be or how the Laurents were involved.
I glanced at Sebastian again. My heartbeat stumbled—he was already looking at me, his expression inscrutable.
He arched an eyebrow and raised his wineglass with a sardonic smirk.
I pressed my lips together and refocused on my dad.
At age sixty-one, Neal Singh remained an indomitable force in any room he walked into. His hair had gone full gray, but his eyes and mind were as sharp as ever.
“I know you’re all busy, but I have some news I’d like to share that is relevant to both our families.” Despite his jovial tone, tension strained his smile. The press release had gone over well, but the recall crisis still hung over us like a thundercloud. “As you obviously know, Michel and I have been good friends for many, many years, but we’ve never gone into business together.”
“We’ve thought about it,” Michel added. “But the opportunity never came up. Until now.”
The nape of my neck prickled with foreboding. Across from me, Sebastian frowned, his smirk gone.
“Let’s cut to the chase since I’m sure everyone would like toeat their dinner before it gets cold,” my father said. “I’m happy to announce that Singh Foods and the Laurent Restaurant Group will be collaborating on a special line of frozen food products. The expertise of…”