A heavy feeling settles in my gut but I try to shrug it off.
He’s just busy.
Even though it’s eleven at night where he is, I know that Sebastian often pulls long, unpredictable hours. So this must be one of those nights.
When I’m prompted to leave a message after the tone, I sigh and start speaking. “Hi, Bash. I know you’re probably busy working but I just wanted to hear your voice. It’s been a rough day. Give me a call when you get this. Bye for now.”
After leaving the message, I decide to try to get some sleep. I’m mentally and physically worn out.
However, my overactive mind is whirling from the day’s events and I sit up on my phone clicking through different apps.
Suddenly, an alert sounds and my hopes are quickly crushed when I realize that instead of a text from Sebastian, the sound is from the stupid Google alerts Winnie set up on my phone when I first returned from vacation.
She claims that because of who I’m dating, I should always be privy to what people are posting about me. I haven’t used it once, always ignoring the notifications. Until tonight.
Blame it on the wine, but I find myself in a rather inquisitive mood. I open the notification and wait for my phone to load the landing page.
From the heading on the website, I can see that it’s clearly a gossip blog covering pop culture.
What the hell could they be posting about me? Sebastian and I haven’t been seen out together since Turks and Caicos. His visit here last week was too brief to garner any real attention. At least I thought so.
It doesn’t take me long to get my answer and I feel like the bottom has just dropped out of me.
There, on the screen in full color, is a picture of Sebastian and some blonde woman with legs that stretch on for miles.
What strikes me is that the woman is holding a colorful bouquet of flowers, smiling radiantly with her arm looped through Sebastian’s. His smile isn’t as wide as hers but it’s there and it cracks my heart in half.
For the first time, I allow my eyes to wander to the caption under the photograph:
“Just weeks after enjoying an island getaway with contest winner Olivia King, tech tycoon Bash Downs seems to have moved on from the fling. Today he was pictured out with his ex, supermodel Maya Levi. Have these two rekindled an old flame? YOU be the judge. Swipe through the photos and leave us your take below.”
His ex? The gravity of that information hits me with the force of ten-thousand bricks. Sebastian outright told me that he never dated anyone because of his demanding career.
And judging from the photos, they were very familiar with one another. The photos screamed intimacy. Their entwined arms, their smiles and their searing eye contact. Everything about it was nauseating.
My unanswered calls suddenly make sense. He wasn’t working late after all.
But he’d been busy all right.
An eerie sense of déjà vu settles over me, twisting the knife in my gut that much more. This is Jordan all over again, except more people get to witness my humiliation.
But there was no blog post to point out Jordan’s betrayal. This was worse.
What I thought was love for Jordan dims in comparison to what I feel for Sebastian. And he’d just stomped all over my heart.
I can’t believe I made myself vulnerable to him and believed the bullshit about him being “all in.”
My chest is constricting from the pain and I want to scream at the top of my lungs but I refuse to wake Winnie.
Why had he led me to believe we were more than we actually were? He’d snatched away my right to choose whether or not I wanted to be a part of his sick little lineup of women.
The screen blurs in front of me before I feel wetness on my cheek. But he isn’t worth my tears. Foolishly, I’d opened my heart up to someone who wasn’t worthy and now I have to face the repercussions.
Silly me.
With shaking hands, I quickly type out a text.
Message received loud and clear. I won’t bother you again.
My finger punches “send” as more tears threaten to fall. Refusing to feel sorry for myself, I swipe the moisture from my face and toss my phone across the bed.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SEBASTIAN DOWNS
I fucked up.
When I pulled out my phone tonight and saw those three missed calls from Olivia my stomach dropped to my shoes because I just knew she was calling to confront me about the pictures that surfaced with me and Maya.
Instead, I’d heard her tired but cheerful voice lamenting about a rough day and urging me to call her back.
Thinking I had time to warn her about what she may see later, I saved the voicemail just as a text message from her came through.
Message received loud and clear. I won’t bother you again.
Swearing under my breath, I immediately call her to set the record straight, already realizing that my chances are pretty slim. She’s had time to form her own idea of what happened. On my fourth attempt, Olivia finally picks up the phone sounding groggy.