The Broken One (Corisi Billionaires, #1)(58)

I didn’t know quite what to say in the face of that. “So who do you think is interested in our family history?”

My father stood and placed a hand on my shoulder. “I couldn’t be prouder of my four sons. Sebastian, you have always protected your brothers and done what’s best for the family. For that reason, I will give you a name. What you do with it is up to you.”

“Dad, is the mystery really necessary?”

“I am a man of my word. Age has not changed that.”

I didn’t push my father to say more, because I knew he would say only what he felt he had the right to. Although it meant I wouldn’t receive an easy answer to my questions, it confirmed his loyalty to my mother, and the beauty of that was undeniable. “What is the name you think I should know?”

After giving my shoulder a final squeeze, he said, “Corisi.”

Somewhat in jest, I asked, “Dominic Corisi?”

My father nodded. “That’s the family I’m referring to.”

“The billionaire?” As if there could be two. The Corisi name dominated the news, revered as American royalty, respected predominantly out of fear. His tech companies spanned the globe. When watercooler conversations turned to companies or individuals with so much power they were dangerous, his name headed the list. Anyone with that much money or influence was a potential threat to global welfare. Some said his business holdings were too big to fail—that the economies of many countries would topple if he withdrew from them.

People said that, but the news never did. The positive spin on any and all of his endeavors was a testament to how pervasive his influence was even in the media.

“Why would Dominic Corisi be interested in our family?”

“He may not be. I pray he isn’t. My father used to say that if you turn over enough rocks, something bad will crawl out from under one of them.”

“Dad, you’re not making sense. Did you give me his name because you think I should contact him or not?”

“I can’t tell you what to do, Sebastian. You’re a good boy, though. I know that whatever path you choose, it will be the one that is the best for our family.”

It was a lot of faith to put in me, considering I had no fucking idea what we were talking about.





CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE



* * *



HEATHER

My stomach grumbled, reminding me that I’d skipped breakfast. Even though I was my own boss, I kept myself to a schedule—or at least I had before Sebastian.

Sebastian.

I didn’t know what to do about him. I wish I could go back and stop myself from talking about anything after sex beyond how great it had been. Or when he’d asked me if sleeping with him had anything to do with Rakesh Bhatt, I wish I hadn’t gotten so defensive. I knew the two were completely unrelated. How differently it might have gone had I brushed off his comment or asked him why my question upset him.

After leaving Erica’s, I’d gone home, given Ava a bath, read to her, put her to bed, then done something I hadn’t done in years—I’d called my father. Our conversation might have been strained and short, but I closed by asking him if he’d like to meet Ava, and he’d said he would.

Erica was right; everything we did taught our children something. I lectured Ava about forgiveness and talking things out, but that wasn’t how I lived. How would she ever believe that forgiveness was important if she didn’t witness me forgiving anyone?

How could I justify calling out Sebastian for not being kind, when I slammed the door on him each time there was a hint that things might not go well with us? How kind was that?

I took out my phone, pulled up his last message to me, and texted: Sorry about yesterday.

His answer was immediate: I’m sorry too. I want to see you again.

I’d like that. When?

Five seconds? Open your office door.

I dropped my phone to my desk, sprinted across my office, and threw my door open. “Sebastian.” I didn’t even try to hide how happy I was to see him.

He held out a bag from a local sandwich shop. “Hungry?”

I wove my arms around his neck and let desire sweep me away. He held me to him and kissed me back with the same fervor.

When he raised his head, we were both breathing heavily. He glanced at Teri’s desk and said, “We may have scared her out of here.”

“I don’t care,” I said, feeling giddy from head to toe. “Yesterday I said a lot of things about you without thinking about the baggage I was bringing to this. I care about your feelings. You were trying to tell me your junk itches, and all I could think about was that I wanted to be asked.”

“Huh? I am not itchy,” he said with an arched eyebrow. “Are you . . . itchy?”

As I replayed what I’d said, I realized out of the context with Erica, the analogy didn’t sound as good. “No. No. What I’m trying to say is that I may have issues left over from the way my mother left. Sometimes that makes me defensive, and instead of asking someone for clarification, I assume the worst and bolt. It’s easier to leave someone than to wait for them to leave me.”

“But nothing that requires an ointment is bothering you.” He cocked his head.

I smacked his shoulder. “Are you listening? This is me apologizing.”