Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“Me.” Trent drizzled syrup over a pancake. “I’m ready when you are.”
“These look great. Did you eat?” Seb asked.
“I ate two while I was cooking.” Oliver patted his dad’s shoulder and lifted his chin my way, holding his knuckles up for our customary fist bump. “Later, Pierce.”
“Later, man. Thanks for breakfast.”
Trent, Seb, and I ate in relative quiet till Trent scraped his barstool from the island and declared it was time to go just as Oliver barreled downstairs again. Once we were alone, Seb returned to the reason I’d been unofficially invited over in the first place. Operation Cleanup. Part two.
“Let’s recap: The firefighters posted the selfies they took with you all over social media. Some forensic weirdo paparazzi did some digging, found out where you’d been, and constructed a whole new story based on our long-lost-cousins puff piece. There’s speculation that the meeting didn’t go well, the old man keeled over, and you left him to his caretaker…not bothering to go to the hospital, even though they now think you’re the next of kin. And yes, they’re camped outside the hospital.”
“That sucks,” I huffed. “And we’re not related.”
“You told me. That’s not something we’re going to disclose now. We’ll look like idiots. This is why all PR is left to professionals,” he scolded.
“That second visit wasn’t PR, it was personal.”
Seb pursed his lips. “You should have told me what you were up to.”
He was right, but if I’d played by the books, last night might never have happened, so…no regrets here.
“You would have sent a team with me, and that wasn’t what I wanted.”
Seb studied me for a moment over the rim of his mug and set it down without taking a sip. “Is this about your mom?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
His paternal tone caught me off guard. This was the confusing part about us that we hadn’t really worked out. Seb and I were never going to be lovers again, but we weren’t really friends either. He was my boss, my mentor, and sometimes, my conscience. And Seb was the first to admit he’d made more than his share of mistakes over the years, which made him the world’s wonkiest moral compass.
But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and I literally didn’t have anyone else.
No one I trusted anyway. In my experience, the people who wanted to get to know me also wanted something from me. I was leery of casual invitations from “friends” to meet at exclusive bars and parties. Exclusive didn’t mean shit in this town. Being seen with the so-called “right people” could help skyrocket businesses and social media platforms.
Seb might have his faults, but I felt comfortable here, hanging out in his kitchen enjoying coffee his husband made and chowing on Oliver’s tasty blueberry pancakes.
“Your son could be a chef. These are fantastic,” I enthused around a bite.
He cocked his head, his long fingers wrapped around his mug. “Mmhm. So…?”
“I don’t know what I was looking for, to be honest. But he met her two years ago. I saw a picture of them together.”
Seb lifted his thick brows. “Ohh. A mystery.”
“I didn’t get a chance to ask about it, though.”
“And you want to,” he supplied.
“I do. Just…one more conversation to try and jog his memory.”
“Hmm. Let me know when so we can be ready for damage control if needed. And after that, let’s be done, eh? The cousin could accidentally turn into a PR predicament instead of the ‘feel good’ sound bite we were counting on, and you’re about to get busy. We have a few production meetings coming up, and check this out—we’re looking into some cool stunts and special effects with Baxter leaping from a bridge onto a moving truck.”
“That’s been done,” I deadpanned.
“Not like this!”
I rounded the island to pour myself a third cup of coffee and refill Seb’s, grunting occasionally to let him know I was listening.
“That’s cool,” I said when Seb finally slowed down long enough to take a breath.
“Yep. We’ll start filming in Toronto in May, and hopefully be in Romania by June or July. I might be able to move Europe up a week or so. It depends on when Oliver gets out of school. He’s taking Driver’s Ed this summer. Can you believe it?”
“No. I can’t believe he’s sixteen. I feel old.”
Seb stood abruptly. “And get this. Charlie and Ky are talking to a surrogate. I may be a fucking grandfather next year. Shoot me now.”
I laughed. “You don’t mind at all.”
The twinkle in his eyes gave Seb away. A few years ago, milestones like his youngest kid learning to drive and impending grandparenthood would have either depressed him or sent him into a mental tailspin. Now, he welcomed them with humor and grace. I was truly happy for him, but in my current state, it emphasized the fact that I was very much alone.