Say the Word(30)

Good call, Lux.

My mental congratulations came to a halt when, to my horror, I sidestepped right to pass by him at the exact moment he stepped left to do the same. What followed can only be described as the most awkward, uncoordinated, sidestep-shuffle ever to occur in the history of such collisions.

I immediately corrected my course, stepping left.

At the same time, Sebastian took a hasty step right.

“Sorry,” I muttered, bobbing.

“Pardon me,” he murmured, weaving.

This was completely ridiculous. Why me? I cast my eyes heavenward.

An uncontrollable, semi-hysterical laugh slipped through my lips as I admitted defeat and stopped moving altogether. At the sound, Sebastian froze and his eyes flew to my face, riveted on my lips, as though he was fascinated they’d just produced such a noise. We were face to face, frozen in time for a brief moment, and all I could do was stare at him.

There were faint shadows under his eyes, as if he hadn’t been sleeping well. A light growth of blond stubble covered his chiseled jawline, which I knew meant he probably hadn’t shaved this morning. He had a tan, so he either sunned regularly on his rooftop — doubtful — or he was still an avid fan of the outdoors, as he’d been as a teen.

I wondered what he saw when he looked at me.

In some ways, I was still the same girl I’d always been. But the stylish clothes were new, as were the expensive accessories and high profile job. I had more confidence now than I’d had as a girl, in part because of my career but also because I’d come into my own once I graduated college and moved to the city. But I was still the first to laugh at a good joke, and the first to cry at a sad movie scene. Still the girl clumsily tripping over her own feet as she rushed from one task to the next, and still in the habit of leaving dishes in the sink and laundry unfolded if it meant not missing out on something better.

Different, yet the same.

“Hi,” I whispered, not knowing what else to say. I wasn’t exactly familiar with the protocol for what one said to her ex after seven years of distance.

“Ms. Kincaid,” Sebastian said, nodding in acknowledgement. I felt chills break out across my skin at the sound of my name on his lips, something I thought I’d never hear again. I stared unblinking at him, in that moment utterly unconcerned with the fact that he hated me and had likely just gotten me fired. His eyes roamed my face and hair as mine drank in the sight of him in turn. The air between us grew charged, practically crackling with electricity as the seconds passed and neither of us made a move to leave.

The moment was broken when Sebastian’s mind seemed to clear of whatever spell had fallen over us, his face darkening to an expression of anger — whether at himself or at me, I wasn’t sure. He extended his arms into my space, each of his hands forming a light grip around my biceps, and moved me two feet to the his left so our paths were finally clear of one another. I allowed him to steer me, my befuddled feet moving at his command.

His touch was perfunctory, in no way lingering or intimate; in the space of an instant, we’d slipped back into being strangers. Before I could say another word, he’d moved past me and was headed for the elevators. I didn’t care what my nosy coworkers might read on my face as I watched him go. Never had I felt more keenly the sting of regret at the way our lives had played out, at the hand we’d been dealt by fate. Wondering if I’d ever see him again, my eyes followed his departure until he boarded the elevator and its gleaming gold doors slid shut behind him. Only when he’d disappeared from view did I turn to face Jeanine’s door.

With a deep inhale and a bolstering roll of my shoulders, I grasped the handle and walked inside.





***


“You’re not serious,” I said, just shy of scoffing.

Jeanine stared impassively, her expression unchanged but for the subtle lift of her brow.

“Sorry,” I recovered. “But Jeanine, that’s just absurd. I can’t be Sebastian Covington’s… what would you even call it? Personal assistant? Errand girl? Slave?”

“Listen, Lux, I like you,” Jeanine announced, crossing her arms across her chest and leaning back in her leather chair.

Could’ve fooled me.

“You do consistently good work, you don’t make waves, and you don’t bother me with inane complaints like so many of your coworkers,” she continued.

I sensed the impending but coming.

“But,” she said, confirming my prediction. “You messed up on this one. I don’t know what you did to piss off Mr. Covington and frankly I don’t care. The bottom line is, his shots of Cara are a huge part of the September issue — which, as you may or may not have put together at some point during your three years here, is our most important edition of the year. So I don’t care if we have to jump through hoops or tame dragons or run marathons to make him happy. Mr. Covington gets whatever he requests. And he specifically requested you.”

He was going to derail my life, just like I’d done to him all those years ago. This was it: the moment karma bit me in the ass. The ghost of boyfriends past, come back to haunt me.

I nodded, at a loss for words.

“More importantly, though, Luster is celebrating its 100th birthday in a few short weeks,” Jeanine went on. “The Centennial. It’s going to be huge. Big party, media coverage, the whole package. Mr. Harding himself will be attending.” She leaned forward and stared at me intently, pressing her hands against the edge of her desk. “Then we have the December issue, which will be a tribute to 100 years of Luster. We’ll be doing a slew of special features and photo shoots to commemorate and recreate the magazine’s history.”