Chapter Sixteen
Now
I stared unwaveringly at the red voicemail icon on my cellphone screen.
The phone was sitting on my coffee table, propped against a jar candle five feet from my spot on the couch, where I sat with my arms crossed and my wary eyes narrowed in indecision. The little round alert symbol was taunting me.
Play me,it whispered.You know you want to hear what he has to say.
I reached out a hand to grab the phone, but pulled back at the last second. I wasn’t ready for this. Maybe I needed another glass — or three — of wine. Or maybe I could get Fae to come over and hold my hand so we could listen together.
Though the number wasn’t registered to any of my phone contacts, I recognized it from the business card Jeanine had handed me Friday afternoon. As to why I had a missed call from that number now, well after dinner hours on a Saturday night, I could only speculate.
You know you’re curious,the phone beckoned.
Damn. I’d been locked in limbo staring at my phone for so long, I’d begun to hear the voice of an inanimate object calling out to me. When hallucinations began, it was officially time to put on my big girl panties and deal with the matters at hand.
I reached forward and grabbed the phone, took a healthy swig of my wine, and hit a button to play the queued message. It took everything in my power not to flinch when his voice filled the room, echoing loudly off the walls of my small studio and seeming to bounce back at me from all directions. I dropped my phone onto the coffee table, as if holding it might sear the flesh from my hand.
“Ms. Kincaid.” There was a marked pause, as though he were weighing which words to use. “It’s Sebastian…Covington,” he tacked on hastily, either as an afterthought or an unnecessary reaffirmation of the formality that now existed between us. As if I wouldn’t have recognized his voice from the way every hair on my body had stood at attention at the sound of it.
“This call is in regard to your new work arrangements, which I’m sure by now you’ve discussed with Jeanine.” His tone was brisk. “I’m not sure what you’re accustomed to atLuster, but I expect my employees to arrive at eight-thirty sharp for the morning meeting.”
I rolled my eyes. Apparently, I washispersonal employee now. And, from the sound of it, he was going to be a real pain-in-the-ass about the whole thing.
The sound of his throat clearingechoed over the line. “We meet in the offices on the fourteenth floor, directly below the studio. I’ll give you your daily instructions then.”
There was a long pause, then a muffled sound I couldn’t quite make out. If he were anyone else, I might’ve thought he’d a held a hand over the receiver and cursed. But that wasn’t possible with Sebastian — he’d illustrated just how unaffected he was by me.
“Well,” he finally said, breaking what had become an uncomfortably long silence. “Until Monday, then.”
The message clicked off.
I stared at the phone like it would offer up something else — some kind of cypher key that might decode his message and explain what it all meant. Perhaps I was reading into things a bit too much, but something didn’t really add up here. On the one hand, he’d called me to issue orders and had sounded like a total jackass. That refined articulation and careful word choice reminded me of the people he’d once so strongly detested — his parents.
Yet, on the other hand, there was the fact that he’dcalled.
Not an email — which would’ve been the most professional form of communication.
Not a text message — even that might’ve better maintained his aloof conduct.
No, he’d picked up the phone and called me — at eight in the evening no less, and not even on a work night. I couldn’t help but feel therewas something strange about that.
One thing was certain: Monday was going to be interesting.
I wished I could say I wasn’t terrified.
I also wished I could say that before the night was through, I wouldn’t re-listen to his message countless times, finish my bottle of wine, and put myself to bed before midnight.
Oh, well. I never claimed to be perfect.
***
Sunday morning, I awoke with a headache and a hangover. My cellphone still clutched in one hand, I turned bleary eyes up to the ceiling and cursed myself for not just deleting the damn message. Not that it would’ve helped — I’d pretty much memorized it by now.
I’d tossed and turned for most of the night, unable to think of anything besides Sebastian and what Monday morning would bring. Though we’d seen one another twice now, we’d barely spoken a single word. And each time, it had taken everything in me not to reach out for his hand, or throw myself at his feet and beg forgiveness.
Not that I would — or could — ever do such a thing.