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“Do you really think I don’t walk around the city? Or walk to get a coffee when I need a break?”

I’m sweating, but somehow Sebastian looks cool as a cucumber, as though the sun and humidity can’t touch him.

“I’ve never seen you do it.”

He glances at me sideways. “And how long have you known me? I’m not going out for a leisurely lunch when the future of my company is on the line.”

I glance up at him. “You really do care for the company, don’t you?”

“Why do you doubt that I want to save it?”

“I don’t doubt you want to save it,” I clarify. “What I doubt—what the people watching will doubt—is whether you're doing it for yourself and your fortune, or because you actually care.”

We walk in silence for half a block, both of us lost in our own thoughts as we keep up with the foot traffic on the sidewalk.

“I know you live a different life,” I begin. “I know you don't understand what it's like to⁠—”

“We may not have grown up the same way,” Sebastian interrupts, “but it’s not like I haven’t had to make my own way through life.”

I look askance at him, wondering what out-of-touch story he’s going to come up with to clarify that.

“After Stanford, I finally got fed up with my father and I left. No money, no contact, nothing.”

“But you had family money, right? Accounts that belonged to you?”

Sebastian shakes his head. “Nothing. I didn't want anything to do with my father or the company. I was determined to make it on my own, to be someone other than the person my parents expected me to be.”

I don't quite believe him. I’ve dated men who claimed to be self-made but used connections to get seed money. They don't know what it’s like to live paycheck to paycheck, to live on ramen noodles, or rice and beans for every meal.

“I moved to another country where no one knew me,” he continues. “A country where I didn't even know the language. I lived in a hostel for five years. I bussed tables, worked on a chartered yacht and in a beach bar. There were a few times I almost didn't make it. I ended up in the hospital once because I hadn’t eaten anything but bread for three weeks.”

I’m not sure what to say. It’s a compelling story. Even if he could have gone home at any time, he stayed. At least now I know he got a taste of what it’s like to have next to nothing.

“I finally found an entry-level job and worked my way up,” he continues, holding up a hand before I can refute him.

“I know what you're going to say. I still had the background, the schooling, the privilege, and a lifetime of learning how to command a room. But I did get a chance to understand what it’s like not to know where you’re going to sleep at night or where your next meal is coming from.

“But it wasn't until I came to King Corp that I understood what it meant to have people relying on me.”

We wait as heavy traffic blocks the crosswalk. When Sebastian looks at me, there's sincerity in his expression. I want to believe it’s real.

“The people who work for us are more than numbers, Isabella. I know who’s gone on medical leave. I send support myself, anonymously. Nobody knows. Not even Aaron. I listen to what the middle managers are saying. It’s not always about the bottom line. At least it isn’t for me.”

We cross the street, weaving through cars. I want to believe him, but I’ve known too many people who are far too good at manipulation. Yet he sounds so damn believable.

The café is busy, and we have to wait fifteen minutes before being led to a table on a shaded terrace. It’s warm, but in the shade, it's perfect. I’m a little surprised when Sebastian pushes in my chair before taking a seat opposite me.

“See?” I say as we get settled, “that right there. That’s what I mean about being human, looking relatable and real.”

The expression on his face tells me it wasn't an act.

“So, you grew up in Spanish Harlem?”

“Yes. I’m the first one in my family to go to college.”

“I get that I sound like a bratty little rich boy,” Sebastian says, “but my father had expectations for me before I could even walk. It affected everything: whom I was allowed to be friends with, what I did outside of school, how I spent the rare downtime I was allowed to have. I didn't play sports, except for polo and lacrosse, and only when it was allowed.”

He watches me for a long moment. “You’re very good at assuming things about me, Isabella. Should I assume that you want to be like other women?” He nods toward a group of women, Upper East Side moms in fashionable exercise outfits carrying designer handbags worth thousands.