CHAPTER ONE
Sebastian
Luke Hawthorne’s face flashes before me on the large video monitor, and my heart stops.
Tousled blond hair sits over golden sun-kissed skin. Even in Massachusetts, Luke always managed to have a tan. It was a quality he shared with his older brother.
My legs bounce under the table.
I think I know what’s coming.
I hope it’s not what I think.
God, I really hope it isn’t.
My boss, Clark Peters, flourishes a hand at the screen, as if he’s a magician and not a Hollywood executive in a salmon polo popping into the studio before his tee time. “And so, I recommend we move forward with Luke Hawthorne as the lead onSeeking Mr. Right: Christmas Edition.”
“No!” The word explodes from my mouth before I can stop it, and four pairs of eyes sweep toward me. My heart skitters, bouncing against my ribs. Coolness used to come easily to me.
But now I feel as awkward as in high school. My breath stutters, and I inhale. And even though I know the air conditioner sends cool, crisp, clean air throughout this sky rise, the only things I can smell are the sweat and damp clothes of a high school locker room, and the only things I can hear are the taunting words of teenagers.
I spread my fingers below the desk, willing myself to emanate professional calm.
I am Sebastian Archer, not Seth from Ashcove. I am Sebastian Archer, not Seth from Ashcove. I am—
Ella clears her throat. She scrunches her red power lip, and the sharp line of her thick blonde bangs is temporarily marred as she shakes her head.
Normally, Ella is one of my best friends. Normally, working with her onSeeking Mr. Rightis a dream come true. Normally, she knows what I’m thinking.
That’s why we work well together.
I’ve said the wrong thing, I’ve spoken back to my boss, and I know better.
Pushback is not one of Clark Peters’ favorite things, and my stomach tumbles, like we’re on a rocky section of a cruise, and not on the 20thfloor of a gleaming, modern studio building.
I jerk my head away from Clark, and my gaze shifts to the view. Hundreds of modern mansions squeeze beside one another. Their floor-to-ceiling windows and infinity pools glint in the Californian pastel haze.
One day, I’ll be in one of those houses.
Normally, I loveSeeking Mr. Right: Christmas Edition. I’ve hosted it for three seasons. We’ve gone to Montana, Vermont, and Solvang, California.
Sadly, this year the crew is filming in Boston. Apparently, audiences like cities from time to time, and worse, they like New England.
Even worse, our Mr. Right dropped out at the last moment.
I slide my gaze toward Luke’s face. It’s still there. Even in a photograph his smile is soft and sympathetic and his green eyes sparkle. I know why Clark wants him on our show.
God, why did he apply? Is he trolling me? Did Bryce put him up to it?
But then, he probably doesn’t remember me. I’ve changed, and he was always younger anyway.
I try to channel my inner unpanicking person, but the task doesn’t come easily to me.
“We can do better,” I say, but I only receive stony glances.
Clark raises an eyebrow, an impressive feat given his commitment to Botox. “This is not a flat organizational structure, Sebastian.”
Ella frowns. Mateo’s eyes widen, and his fingers tap against the conference table, as if battling the instinct to pick up his phone and record everything.
