Page 47 of The Billionaire's Second Chance
“You too, Charlie,” Maws said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Despite the circumstances.” Charlie laughed as he continued, “And you too, Sebastian. You’ll hear from me.” As an afterthought, he turned to me. “It’s a wonderful event, Samantha. Inspired choice of venue–and I’ll have to get the caterer’s name from you later, my wife loves those little cream puffs.”
I smiled, my teeth clenched together so tightly I thought my jaw might snap.
I hadn’t eaten any cream puffs. I’d been too busy networking.
But of course, as soon as Sebastian showed up…
Despite its emptiness my stomach felt as if it was filled with lead.
My sister, Samantha.
I waited until the two of them had disappeared into the sea of tuxes before turning back to my brother. “Sebastian,” I started, but he interrupted me.
“Samantha,” he said, smiling. “Arthur’s right. Great party. I couldn’t miss it.”
I frowned. “You could have told me you were coming.”
“I didn’t know I was going to be coming in until a few days ago–and I didn’t know about the fundraiser until today. I hope you don’t mind I gate-crashed.”
“You travel with a tux, Seb?” Charlie asked.
“And amorning suit, too,” my brother shot back. He said “morning suit” in a posh British accent.
“God, old Hutchins at the Bancroft would think he’s died and gone to heaven.” Charlie clutched his chest dramatically, and Sebastian smiled. “You look good, though. It’s been a while.”
“It has. Too long.”
“Damn right.”
“Sebastian,” I said again. “This little reunion has been lovely to witness, but what are you doing here?”
“Supporting…” he said, “what was it? Dual literacy? And they got you two to do it. Fascinating.” He looked between us, and I had the counterproductive urge to step away from Charlie. “Print and tech, together at last. The old and the new.”
“I’m sure you’re not calling youryoungersisterold,” Charlie said, arching a brow. His hand landed on my lower back once again, and I forced myself not to step away–or lean into the touch. “I’d hate to know what that makesus.”
“Of course not. She’s…” Sebastian said, and I could feel him looking at where Charlie’s hand touched me. The warmth of it disappeared. “She seems just the same as the day I left.”
I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, straightening my spine. Yes. That was the problem. He did see me as the same little sister he’d always known. The nineteen-year-old he’d introduced to friend after friend at endless family dinners, my mother sitting silently beside me, glass after glass of white wine disappearing from in front of her, the men talking at each other, rarely to me. They always asked the same questions.A literature major? Who’s your favorite writer?As if they cared. Jane Austen, I’d told them, over prime rib and lamb shank and seared scallops made by the private chef my father had hired, and they’d all smiled condescendingly.Pride and Prejudice. A classic.
“Yes, well, a lot can change in ten years,” I said. Snapped, if the look of amused surprise on Sebastian’s face was anything to go by. Then his eyes slid from me to Charlie.
“If you say so. But… perhaps not as much as you might think,” he said.
“We should, ah,” Charlie started. He lifted his hand in an aborted movement, clenching his fist and dropping it to his side again. “We should make the rounds,” he finished. “Right, Sam?” I nodded. Anything to get away from Sebastian, from his darting eyes. “How long are you in town for? Will I see you at the Bankworth tomorrow night?”
“A couple of weeks, at least, I think. And you’ll see me at your office tomorrow, if you’re not busy,” Sebastian said.
“Sure,” Charlie said. “But–”
“Tomorrow, Charlie,” Sebastian interrupted. “I won’t keep you from your fundraising. Good night, Samantha.”
He turned, walking away into the crowd. I exhaled.
“What is he doing here?” Charlie said, speaking my question aloud.
I clenched my teeth together to stop myself from saying something I would regret. “I don’t know,” I said once I was sure that was all that would come out.
“Fuck, I’m glad we… Well, I’m glad we’re onlypretending to work together, not pretending to date,” Charlie said, echoing me. His smile was small, almost apologetic; I knew just what he meant. I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, but the silk dress I wore–that I’d picked out knowing it would be Charlie at my side tonight, that it would be his green eyes tracing the lines of my body–felt damp and clammy, too revealing.
