Don Bowed To Me Chapter 20
Sebastian draped his suit jacket over my shoulders.
Then he leaned down to meet my eyes.
Sebastian：”Hazel.”
I nodded and looked up at him.
Sebastian：”Let’s go.”
I glanced at Chiara one last time.
She sat on the sidewalk, hollow-eyed, as the soldiers lifted her toward the car.
She wasn’t a Barone anymore. And she was about to pay in full for every ounce of that arrogance.
I turned and fell into step beside Sebastian, heading toward my apartment.
Half a block in, his voice came from beside me.
Sebastian：”Hazel. I’m sorry.”
I stopped.
Hazel：”Sorry for what?”
Sebastian：”Because I knew she’d come at you. I used you as bait.”
Sebastian：”I knew the second you walked out of Le Bernardin. I could have driven you home right then.”
Sebastian：”I didn’t. I let you walk alone for twenty full minutes.”
Sebastian：”Because I needed her to make her move. I needed her to go far enough that neither the Marchettis nor the Barones would ever be able to walk it back.”
Sebastian：”If we didn’t end this tonight, I don’t know when she’d come for you next.”
I looked at him and smiled.
Hazel：”Sebastian. I knew what you were doing.”
He paused.
Sebastian：”Since when?”
Hazel：”Since the moment you stood at the door of Le Bernardin and nodded at me.”
Hazel：”If you were really worried about me, you wouldn’t have let me walk home alone.”
The streetlight caught his face. His eyes were bright.
Sebastian：”Hazel Vitale.”
Sebastian：”There’s only one woman in this world I can worry about and trust at the same time—the one woman I know can handle herself.”
I looked at him. And smiled.
Then I reached up, caught the front of his collar, and pulled him down to my eye level.
Hazel：”Sebastian. Has anyone ever told you that kind of trust makes a woman’s heart move?”
He held my gaze and shook his head.
Sebastian：”No. Because I only trust one woman that way.”
I didn’t answer.
I brushed my thumb along the shell of his ear, and I kissed him.
I felt his body go still for half a second.
Then his arms came around me, and he kissed me back.
When we pulled apart, he cupped my face in his hands.
Sebastian：”So. Am I allowed to take this as you liking me back?”
I laughed and ran my hand along his cheek.
Hazel：”That depends on how well you behave from here on.”
The night was cold and clear.
And somehow, I had the perfect evening.
9 PM, Manhattan Midtown, forty-seventh floor of Marchetti National Defense Subsidiary.
The entire office is empty except for me and Sebastian.
Sebastian is sitting on the leather couch across from my desk.
He isn’t wearing his suit jacket. His deep navy shirt is rolled up to the elbows, two buttons undone.
His right hand casually holds half a glass of whiskey. He takes a sip while reading through the file.
I spot an error on the document and call him over to look.
He sets down his glass and comes up behind me, bracing an arm against the back of my chair and boxing me in.
He takes his time fixing the mistake, then sets the pen back down.
But he doesn’t straighten up.
His arm stays braced against the back of my chair.
Neither of us moves.
I break the silence first. My voice comes out a little tight.
“Mr. Marchetti.”
“Mm.”
His breath brushes against my ear, deliberately soft.
“Your arm.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. The corner of his mouth lifts. He echoes my words, but still doesn’t move.
“I know. On the back of your chair.”
Three seconds of silence.
Then he slowly straightens up. Slowly steps back.
He circles back to the other side of the desk and sits down on the couch again.
He picks up the whiskey and takes a sip.
Then, like nothing just happened, his tone perfectly normal.
“Next Saturday, there’s an investor dinner in Newport. The Draghi family owns a piece of land. Marchetti National Defense Subsidiary is looking to build a research facility along Newport Cliff Walk. That plot fits our criteria.”
“You go evaluate it. As the technical shareholder.”
I keep signing the file without looking up.
“You’re not going?”
He shakes his head.
“If I show up, the asking price goes up ten percent minimum.”
“Besides, you handle these situations better than I do.”
My pen pauses for a fraction of a second. I nod.
“Got it. Send the details to Emma later, she’ll put it on my calendar.”
I sign the last page, close the folder, and push the stack to the center of the desk.
Sebastian stands, picks it up, tucks everything neatly into his briefcase, then walks to the door and turns back.
“Hazel. Next Saturday,” he says. “I have meetings in Providence. Forty minutes from Newport.”
“If there’s even a moment during that dinner when you don’t want to be at that table anymore, text me. I’ll be there.”
The door closes behind him.