Say the Word(13)

“Did you not hear me, bitch?” she snarled, her voice close now.

I turned slowly to face her.

“You spilled my salad all over the ground!” Cara stomped one heeled foot indignantly.

I hated girls like Cara on principle – perhaps unfairly, but I never claimed to be perfect. She was exactly like the girls who’d bullied and belittled me through my high school years because I didn’t wear the right clothes or live in the right zip code. She called other women “bitch” and “skank” because it made her feel better about herself – it was classic mean-girl strategy, and I had zero tolerance for it after four years at Jackson High. I may have traded my ripped jeans and holey sweaters for designer shoes and a $100 haircut, but I’d never quite shaken the white-trash girl I’d grown up as. She was still there, beneath the refined veneer I’d meticulously crafted during my years of city living.

And, if provoked, she’d rise to the surface quicker than Cara could say “Botox injection.”

There was also the small, insignificant fact that she was sleeping with my Sebastian. I may or may not have been holding that against her as well.

“You were just going to throw it up anyway,” I muttered under my breath, low enough that she couldn’t make out my words.

“What did you say? Speak up, bitch!”

My insult tolerance had just about expired for the day. I cocked one eyebrow and stared up at Cara.

“What is it about women like you, that think it’s all right to call other women bitches? You’re a freaking model for god’s sake.” I snorted. “Your legs go on for miles, you have a team of professionals to make you beautiful every day, and men all over the world whack-off to your picture every night – what could you possibly gain by putting other women down? Is it because, in spite of all the glamour and fame, you’re still overcompensating for the gawky, insecure girl you were in middle school?”

I’d been guessing about her ugly-duckling complex but, judging from the way the smile dropped off her face at my words, I’d hit the nail on the head. She stopped breathing and her face began to turn purple as she stared at me, visibly shaking with rage. Her expression told me she was about three seconds away from clawing my eyes out – though I admit, it was a little hard to take her seriously when she was covered in flour and clad only in a sheer red apron.

“Breathe, sweetie, or you’ll pass out.” I smiled condescendingly.

“You…you bitch!” she shrieked again.

“Original. Ten points for creativity.” I clapped three times to applaud her before casting a glance over my shoulder to check the elevator’s progress. It was stopped on the ninth floor – close, but no cigar.

“Baby! Come over here!” Cara called in a shrill tone. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared down at me. Though we were both wearing heels, our height difference was absurd – she towered a full foot taller than me, well over six feet.

When I heard the sound of a man’s approaching footsteps, I turned my back on her to face the elevators once more. I hadn’t seen his face except in profile yet, and I was pretty sure I didn’t want to. This way, I could pretend he’d grown a snaggletooth or maybe a really bad porn-stache in the years since I’d last seen him.

“What is it, Cara?” Sebastian asked, a note of frustration in his tone.

God, that voice. It was the same – a little huskier now, maybe. Deep and gravelly, but somehow soft at the same time. A rough caress, like melted chocolate over gravel. And, was it me, or did he sound just the teensiest bit exasperated by Cara?

It was probably me.

“This intern is a little bitch,” Cara nagged. “She spilled my salad and was rude to me. I want her fired.”

“Cara, cut the shit,” Sebastian said, his voice closer now. Only a few feet separated us. “I’m sure it was an accident.”

The elevator was on the thirteenth floor now. There was no escaping this unseen. Sighing resignedly, I braced myself for what was sure to be an utter catastrophe.

“Bitch! Don’t just ignore me! Tell me your name so I can call your supervisor and report you,” Cara sneered.

“Cara—” Sebastian began, clearly embarrassed by his girlfriend’s actions.

I spun around before he could finish speaking.

Our eyes locked immediately, and an involuntary gasp slipped from my lips as I took in his face. He was gorgeous – more stunning than any of the male models that frequently graced Luster’s pages – but he wore his beauty like a disguise to conceal the harshness that lay beneath.

One glance was enough to tell me – this was a man who lived with demons.

Time had lent both maturity and hardness to his features, and I knew that Sebastian the boy was long gone. In his place was a man – one who seemed electrically charged with a caged intensity, his harsh beauty both terrifying and enthralling. As a boy, he’d been full of charm, ease, and good humor; before me now, I saw a man who rarely laughed and who chose his words with care, a man with walls so high no one could scale them to see inside his heart or mind.

When we’d first met eight years ago, he’d been somewhat guarded – it had taken months for him to really open up to me. Yet I had a distinct feeling that this older Sebastian wasn’t only guarded, he was an impenetrable fortress of solitude and self-containment.