Page 61 of Secret Offer
“Give me. The drink.” My voice is a barely contained growl.
“Not happening until you talk,” he says. “I’m your friend, Sebastian. You know that, right?”
“Dammit, it’s a woman!” I blurt before I can stop myself. “Now give me the fucking drink.”
He obliges, and I brood as I sip at it. That’s when I realize my vision is going hazy at the edges. Maybe I really am as drunk as Becker says. It would explain my loose lips.
“Okay. So now that we’ve established the source of your discomposure…what happened?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I…fell for someone I can’t have.” I don’t elaborate. There’s no amount of alcohol that could incapacitate me to the point where I’d admit who thewoman in question is. Becker might be understanding, but that understanding has its limits. Blair Tisdale is still forbidden.
“It happens.” Becker takes a breath, seems to consider, and then adds, “Hell, I did it once.”
Drinking steadily for the past few hours has done a number on my brain. There’s no way I heard Becker admit what I think he just did. He glances at me quickly and then looks away. Suddenly, I wish I hadn’t drank so much. I need to sober up. I don’t want to be so inebriated when I pry Becker’s story out of him that I can’t remember the details later.
I grab the glass of water that I haven’t touched since we got here and take a few swallows.
“You’re a cipher,” I tell him. “I wasn’t even sure you knew what love is, and now you’re telling me there’s one that got away?”
Becker grows quiet as he watches the dancing bodies around us. The gorgeous women in their scanty club outfits and the men reeking of cologne and testosterone. The boisterous bachelorette party. The music seems louder all of a sudden, and I lean closer so I don’t miss a word from Becker.
“Here’s what I know,” he says, tracing the rim of his glass. “Power and money trump love every time. And I never want to be on the wrong side of that equation again.”
Flashing a grin with no humor in it, he takes a deep drink and then falls broody and silent again.
His confession is a shock to me. Becker has always struck me as the kind of person who gets what he wants, when he wants it. He’s got all the wealth and power a person could ever dream of, and I’ve seen how easily he moves through the world—because people look at him and they see the ruthlessness. I’ve seen it firsthand myself in our business dealings, and he’s never given me reason to think that merciless attitude doesn’t also extend beyond his professional life.
It never occurred to me that the guy wasn’t born that ruthless, wasn’t destined to become the person he is now. So what happened in his past to change him? And who is this mystery woman? And is it possible that Becker will ever get the hell over it and live his life?
I’m one to talk, aren’t I? When exactly did I decide that I was destined to be alone forever, as evidenced by the fact that I’ve self-sabotaged so spectacularly? I’m just as bad as Becker, building up walls to keep people out. Maybe worse. Because it sounds to me like he got rejected, but Blair never rejected me. I was the one who fucking walked away from what I wanted.
No. Iran. I did this to myself.
Focusing on my grief over Rachel and my fear of being emotionally annihilated again has kept me shut down for years. But when I met Blair on the beach that day, something shifted. The light began to peek through the clouds. And ever since then, a part of me has wondered if she could be the sunshine that might help pull me out of my own darkness. Because when I’m with her, I feel…alive again.
I realize Becker’s expression has gone stony, and I bet he’s hoping like hell that I don’t pry into what he just told me. But I’ve had way too much scotch to mind my own business.
“Maybe you could still get the girl,” I tell him.
“There is zero chance of that.”
Immediately, I think of Rachel. “She passed away, then?”
Becker slaps his fist on the bar. “Jesus, Sebastian. Drop it. Look, I’m going to assume the woman who broke your heart is still very much alive and breathing and you’re here killing your liver instead of doing something about it. So why don’t you remedy that?”
He wouldn’t be so encouraging if he knew who I’d been fucking on that island, would he?
Raising my glass, I say, “Killing my liver has less repercussions.”
“Sounds like you got yourself into a mess.”
If he only knew.
The music gets louder and beats more aggressively in my head. The noise and chaos have me on edge, and when a douche in a shiny silver shirt jostles me from behind, it takes Becker’s hand on my shoulder to keep me from blowing up and starting something. Shoving his hand off, I stand up and turn toward the exit.
“Where you going?” he asks.
“I need air.”
