Page 21 of BounBound By Scars

A strangled cough escaped me. “No!”Behenchod. “I was just joking…fuck!”

Zane chuckled, eyes still glued to his screen, unbothered.

A beat of silence, and then, because I was a fucking idiot, I mumbled petulantly, “I don’t need a promotion, anyway.”

Zane’s head lifted, dramatically slow.

“You’re also straight, not my type, and in love with Amelia.”

I groaned. “Keep decoding, asshole.”

But even as I sat there, watching Zane work, I knew it. I was in love with Amelia and I’d probably already lost her.

SIX

Amelia

The lockdown was easy enough. What wasn’t easy? Keeping tabs on Sebastian, whose sneaky ass had somehow roped Kent—the Lounge Bar Manager—into a covert alcohol operation straight to his apartment.

Every time I tried getting a hold of Kent, he was conveniently “busy.” I was getting seriously pissed off.

In just one week of us ‘fake-dating,’ I’d already disposed of three bottles of scotch, two crates of beer, and a couple bottles of gin. And yet, here I was, knocking on Seb’s door, and hestillmanaged to be drunk.

He looked rough. Not his usual suave, charming rough—no, this was real. The kind with the heavy bags under the eyes and a thousand-yard stare.

“Seb, I told you to call me when the urge hits.”

He gave me a tired smile, stepping aside wordlessly to let me in. I headed straight for the kitchen and began opening cabinets. Two more whiskey bottles. Jesus.

I dumped them down the sink and joined him on the couch. He was slouched back, eyes closed, head tilted.

“Seb.” I placed a hand on his knee. “What’s going on?”

He jolted, groaning and rubbing his temples. “He sat down.”

I blinked, confused. “What?”

“During our meeting yesterday,” he explained, eyes still closed. “Everyone was standing. Then, twenty minutes in, Logan’s legs gave out and he sat down.”

I sighed. “You’re tying yourself too much to his recovery. He’s healing, Seb. That’s not a failure.”

He shrugged. “I know. I just—”

“Have you talked to him?”

“Yeah. Usually, he’s just scolding me”

I shifted closer, the smell of alcohol hitting me instantly. “It’s just after breakfast. How are you even drunk right now?”

He gave me a sheepish, lopsided grin. “You asking because you care, or because you’re cutting off my supply?”

I gave him a look that said both.

“Fine,” he said, hands up in mock surrender. “Kent spikes my morning ‘tea’ sometimes. And he leaves a few bottles hidden around here when we’re in meetings.”

“So, he has access to your apartment?” I nodded to myself. “Noted. He’s done.”

“As for the tea,” I added, “you’re drinking mine from now on.”

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