Page 11 of Mr. Aster
Without thinking, I grabbed his arm to stop him from leaving and instantly regretted it when his darkened gaze fell on me in a way that could’ve turned me to stone.
“Wait,” I said, trying to hold my own against this man’s stare of disgust and repulsion as he pulled his arm away from my touch. “And don’t look at me like that. You can chase me down and demand answers, but I can’t do the same with you?”
“I just gave you my answers,” he said, wholly removed from the conversation.
“No,” I said, “you just gave me a dickhead response after I insinuated that you’re here for punishment.”
“I gave you an answer I truly feel is accurate. I owe you no more than that.”
“Well, while you’re here serving your prison sentence, you can at least be nice enough not to push that punishment onto the rest of us.”
“That is not my intention, I assure you.”
“Well, it feels like it,” I said, somehow feeling bad for this miserable asshole and not knowing why.
“Is that all?” he questioned with impatience. “I need to get back to your parents to review how I’ll proceed with business starting tomorrow morning.”
“God,” I shook my head. “I feel sorry for everyone who’s ruled by money.”
“Most don’t require your sympathies.”
“You’re a complete dick, you know that?”
“I’ve been called worse. Good night,” he said, then turned to leave.
The Aster family was renowned for staring down their noses at people, even ones who shared their status, so I couldn’t imagine what this guy was thinking about my family. Sebastian was a nasty, soulless creature, and Antonio nailed it when he called him the devil. I’d been around the upper class a lot, but I’d never experienced this side of who they were until now.
Part of me wanted to pass it off as his grief and being a widower, but I couldn’t excuse his wretched behavior. He honestly thought he was some kind of extraordinary human when there was nothing special about him, although it was clear he didn’t feel that way.
Chapter Six
Sebastian
Iwoke up sweating profusely, as I always did when dreams of Melissa’s tragic death came back to haunt me. It was a curse that I couldn’t break free from.
The dream was a loop of the day I got the fateful call. I nearly fired my assistant, Kari, on the spot when she burst into my meeting and announced I had an urgent phone call. At that moment, nothing was more urgent than closing the Kirkstein deal, which was expected to bring in hundreds of millions and a distribution pipeline for our fine wines that would’ve made my ancestors’ heads spin.
I roared at Kari to leave at once. I told her I would be out after I’d wrapped up the meeting and not to bother me again. She dared to argue with me, vehemently objecting to what I’d said, but I didn’t listen to her and shut the door on her instead. I swore I would fire her after the meeting for embarrassing me in such a way, shouting at me, and causing a scene.
That was the single biggest regret of my life because if I’d listened to her as she nearly shrieked at me from behind the door, I would’ve heard her say that Melissa had been in a horrible accident. She was trying to tell me that the phone call was from my wife, who was being flown to a trauma hospital and had been given the chance to say goodbye to me because the paramedic knew she wasn’t going to make it, and she didn’t have long to live. The paramedic was right. Because of her severe internal injuries, Melissa died before the helicopter made it to the hospital.
The cruelest irony was that Melissa had spent most of our marriage trying to pull my attention from work and onto her, and I disappointed her until her last breath.
My gut wrenched in pain and agony after waking from the recurring nightmare, and I ran to the disgusting en-suite bathroom and threw up all the contents in my stomach. After flushing it away, I slumped down around the toilet and broke down in tears. I was heartbroken, sick, and constantly in a state of wanting to run away and never be found again. The problem was that I could never outrun my guilt for not being there when Melissa needed me the most. She’d always deserved better, and I’d been selfish to the end.
Miss California said earlier that she didn’t think I had a soul, and I might’ve agreed with her before, given my actions that horrible day. Unfortunately for me, I had a soul, and it was in a constant state of torment for what I’d done to my wife.
The woman had also claimed to pity people who allowed money to govern them. I knew the kind of people she spoke about because I was one of them. Only now, money no longer governed me. It punished me.
After a quick cold shower, I snapped out of my traumatized daze. I quickly threw on some running pants, a t-shirt, and shoes and did what I always did to get rid of weak emotionsthreatening to control my mood. I had way too much ahead of me today, and I wouldn’t start it off crippled by a nightmare.
I did a couple of small stretches before I set off, following a trail that led through the green hills surrounding this home where it sat isolated, surrounded only by vineyards in this valley.
Running was one of my favorite stress relievers; in fact, running did a lot for me in every aspect of life. It was when I came up with my best ideas, plans, and strategies, and it was where I could think.
As soon as I reached the top of the winding dirt path, I found myself needing to stop and breathe in the fresh air of Saratoga. Daybreak was just falling on the land, and the stars were becoming muted by the light of the sun, which was preparing to rise in the east. There was a lush fragrance that filled the air, reminding me of many visits overseas to our vineyards in France.
Finally, something nice about this place, I thought, enjoying the view from this spot. I stood there, feeling a sense of peace wash over me. The green rolling hills, acres of vines in their tidy rows, rolling majestically throughout the landscape, and the sun’s rays shooting up in spheres into the pink hue of the morning skies were mesmerizing.
