Maybe you could bring him back, a small, insane portion of my cerebrum — probably my hypothalamus, that sex-driven little slut — countered.
Thankfully, before I could address the fact that my brain wires were severely crossed, the elevator chimed, the doors slid open, and the moment was shattered. I felt Sebastian step away and the breath I’d been holding slipped from my lips in a relieved whoosh. Stepping from the elevator, Ihurried for the bathroom across the room, not once looking back at him. To my relief, when I emerged ten minutes later Angela was there with a group of assistants, firing off orders at hyper-speed, and Sebastian was on the opposite side of the room by the conference table, staring out the windows in deep thought. His right hand rubbed at the back of his neck in a familiar gesture.
Some things never change, I suppose.
I tore my eyes from him, headed for Angela and, from that moment on, I’d fully committed to our non-staring contest. Or tried to, anyway. I couldn’t speak for Sebastian, but I was having an extraordinarily hard time keeping my eyes off him. Especially when Cara arrived just before noon.
“Baby!” she squealed, sauntering from the elevator with long-legged strides and crossing the room to where he stood with a group of designers. Disregarding the fact that he was in a conversation with his colleagues, Cara sashayed her way to his side and wrapped her abnormally long arms around him from behind. I cursed myself as I broke my own rules and turned to watch their encounter.
“Take me to lunch,” Cara whined loudly, leaning in to kiss his neck.
I felt my eyebrows go up.
“Cara.” Sebastian reached up and took light hold of her wrists, removing them from where they’d locked around his middle. “I’m working.” His tone wasn’t playful in the least and, though his back was to me, I could only imagine what his face looked like.
“But I want to go to lunch!” Cara began to pout, jutting out one hip and crossing her arms across her chest. I saw Sebastian’s shoulders heave upward in a deep sigh, before he turned to face her. “You have to take me,” she carried on in a childish tone. Reaching out one manicured finger, she poked Sebastian in the chest to further emphasize her words.
“Right.” Poke. “Now.” Poke.
Oh my god.I winced as Sebastian’s expression clouded over with annoyance.
The entire office held its breath in silence, waiting to see the fallout from Cara’s actions, and I could feel the beginnings of a laugh building in my chest. This girl was ridiculous. If I’d liked her at all, maybe I’d have warned her to quit while she was ahead, before she completely embarrassed herself. As it was, though, I’d happily watch her dig her own grave with Sebastian.
“Cara, I’m not going to lunch with you. Look around. What do you see?” Sebastian’s tone was cool, dismissive. “People are working. I am working. Andyouare causing a disturbance.”
“But—” Cara protested.
“And, for the last time,” Sebastian cut her off. “Don’t come here again until we need you for test shots next week.” With that, he turned his back on her and resumed his conversation, as though she didn’t exist. Cara huffed in outrage, whirled around on her heels, and stormed out in a Prada-patterned blur, leaving nothing in her wake but the faint, lingering scent of Chanel No. 5. I had to hand it to the girl, though — on her way to the elevators, she somehow managed to simultaneously throw a severe glare in my direction and mouth “bitch” at me as she trounced her way to the exit.
A solitary giggleescaped my lips as the elevator doors closed at Cara’s back.
My boring, bland life had somehow become a telenovela in the space of a week.
I’d reached my drama limit for the day — for the year, actually — and I could feel the hysteria coming on. My lips twitched until I could no longer contain myself. My giggles turned to full out laughter, then erupted into gasps. As tears gathered in my eyes, the two Jennys made identical concerned faces — no doubt worried I’d had some kind of psychotic break — which really only made me laugh harder.
I reached up to wipe my tears away and in the process locked gazes with a set of hazel eyes that were staring hard across the room in my direction. The laugh caught in my throat and I nearly choked, but not before noticing that Sebastian’s lips were upturned just the slightest bit around the corners.
He was almost smiling at me.
Of course, as soon as we made eye contact, his expression shuttered and his lips pressed into an uncompromising frown of disapproval. If not for the idiotic flare of hope that had erupted within me at the sight of his smile — which was still burning an uncomfortably optimistic hole in my chest cavity — I’d have thought maybe I’d imagined that expression on his face, or that it was some kind of deluded product of wishful thinking.
Delusions notwithstanding, I had to turn my face away to hide the private smile twisting my lips. Maybe my Sebastian was still in there after all, buried somewhere so deep down he’d been forgotten entirely. Perhaps I hadn’t destroyed him all those years ago and, somehow, he could be redeemed.
And that gave me hope.
Not for myself, not for my own future — but for his.
***
After work, I hopped on the subway and took the F train down through Manhattan and over into Brooklyn. I didn’t text Simon or Fae, knowing they’d either want to come with me or try to talk me out of going altogether. I would’ve been better off in a car, of course, but this was something I needed to do alone, without drawing unwanted attention.
I’d changed into my well-worn black UGA sweatshirt, flats, and a pair of dark skinny jeans in the lobby bathroom before leaving work. I had a feeling that I’d stick out like a sore thumb in my freshly pressed skirt, blouse, and heels on the streets of Red Hook, so I’d stuffed my work attire deep down in the small canvas backpack I’d slung over my shoulder. Plus, I’d be walking and, if I’d learned anything at all since moving tothe city, it was to never risk ruining designer footwear if it could be avoided.
The Point was a dead zone — meaning that the subways didn’t run there and cellphone reception was spotty, at best. I rode theF as close as possible, hopping off at the Carroll Street station and hailing a cab to bring me the rest of the way.
“Red Hook, please,” I directed the driver, settling into the backseatand rattling off the cross street we’d tracked Santos to last night. “By the old waterfront.”
The gray-haired cabbie glanced over his shoulder at me, his thick Brooklyn accent booming through the plastic and metal partition dividing our seats. “You sure, lady?”