Page 9 of So I'll Know
Starlight.
I dreamed about him all weekend and woke up horny every morning, hardly rested at all. He’s stuck in my head, his warm mouth shoving me into pleasurable oblivion. I thought it was the booze that gave me all those unwanted feelings, but they still linger in the sober light of day. Obviously, my brain and my dick are really fucking confused. It’s making me extra grumpy.
My phone buzzes on my desk, startling me.
Sebastian’s face flashes on my phone screen. I stare at it for a moment, wondering— irrationally, of course—if he’ll be able to read my thoughts.
Why am I acting so guilty?
I take a breath and answer his FaceTime. “Hey,” I say, going for nonchalant and probably failing.
Sebastian gives me an appraising look. “What’s wrong?”
Yup, I failed.
I give him a faint smile. “I’m looking at paint swatches. That’s what’s wrong.”
“Wow, your life is so hard,” Seb quips. “You’re making me do fucking payroll over here. Payroll, Marcus. I’m a chef. I wasn’t built for this shit. It takes me forever. I’m too dumb.”
I frown. “You’re not dumb.”
“I barely graduated high school,” he deadpans.
“You’re not dumb,” I say tolerantly. “That’s Dad talking.”
Sebastian scoffs. “Like I care what that asshole thinks.”
“We both do, and you know it.”
After every shitty thing our father has done, he’s still in our heads: Seb thinks he’ll never be good enough, and I feel like I have to be Dad’s version of perfect.
My gut twists. What would Martin Conner think about you now that you let a man suck you off?
Sebastian purses his lips in annoyance. “Tell me more about the paint.”
“I have a meeting today with the interior decorator Tristan recommended. The guy designed Tris’s apartment, and it’s the most beautiful space I’ve ever seen.” I look down at the swatches again. “The fuck is the difference betweenstormy grayandgray storm?” I squint between the two and hold them under my lamp. “They’re literally the same color.” I blow out a breath. My eyes ache, and my head feels fuzzy. “Did you FaceTime for a reason?”
“I just . . .” Seb’s body seems to deflate. “I might need to hire help.”
I scratch the stubble on my chin. “I told you that I didn’t care if you hired an admin, Seb.”
“I know. I thought I could do it, and I know I joke around, but all this manager bullshit is really getting to me.” He gives me a pointed look. “Sometimes, I dream about spreadsheets, and it’s terrifying.”
I study him, noting the dark smudges under his eyes. “Findsomeone. It’s not worth your mental health. You’re not a machine, Sebastian.”
He grins. “A machine like you?”
“Obviously,” I say with a smug smirk.
“Whatever, Marcus. You need a break sometimes, too. You don’t have to be so fucking perfect all the time.”
Except I do. For you and for Charlie.
I can handle it.
Ialwayshandle it.
I glare at the swatches again. “Definitelystormy gray.”
