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The billionaire COO mask is back on: hard, cold, detached.
“This is over. Let’s go,” he says, and walks away, leaving me standing there, watching him stride back to Aaron’s SUV.
36
SEBASTIAN
Thunder rumbles above the restaurant on the top floor of the Midtown building.
Rain pelts the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, the rhythmic sound mixing with the din of conversation and the clinking of silverware on fine porcelain.
I sit at the bar with my whiskey on the rocks, sipping it slowly and enjoying the smooth burn.
A woman with blonde hair swept into a low bun wearing a power suit slips in next to me. I barely glance her way as she orders a vodka soda, minus the vodka.
“You’re drinking soda water?” I ask without turning.
“I’m working, but I want it to look like I’m drinking.” The woman is attractive and has a smooth, silky voice, but none of that affects me.
The woman I want beside me isn’t here. She’s made it clear this is just a job now, and nothing more.
It’s beyond what I deserve.
“Remember what I said, don’t give up anything. You’re trying to make him talk, give information we can follow. Don’t be too direct.”
“I’m not worried.” Another slide of the liquid fire goes down my throat. “If there’s one thing Oliver Thorne loves, it’s to gloat.”
“Maybe he has a reason to gloat.”
“Only because he found a way to use my idiot brother against us,” I mutter into my glass.
“He still almost took you guys down.” Agent Mercer flashes me a wolfish smile, and I snort my amusement, raising my glass to her in a salute.
“Touché.”
Oddly enough, I’ve come to appreciate the FBI agent who almost took me away in handcuffs. She’s bright, quick, sarcastic, and one hell of a ballbuster. I’m not surprised she and Isabella have become, if not close friends, at least conspirators in this game of chess with my freedom and the future of my company.
“Just remember to stay calm, Sebastian,” she says before sipping her glass of soda water just as her phone lights up with a text. “He’s arrogant, and he thinks he’s won. Just make sure to push the right buttons. I know your brother is willing to testify, but if we get this confession from Oliver Thorne, we can really nail him. And that will go a long way toward keeping your brother out of prison.”
“I am calm.”
I’m more than calm. I’m numb.
Mercer picks up her phone, checks the message, then places it back on the bar. “He’s here and on his way up. You ready for this? You have my permission to do whatever it takes to get the information: corporate chess, being an asshole, whatever you think will get what we need.”
“Permission to be myself, you mean?” I put my glass down and finally look at Agent Mercer. “I was born to do this.”
I am good at being the corporate asshole, the blue-blooded prince.
I leave my empty glass on the counter, along with enough cash to more than pay for it, plus a tip. “See you on the other side.”
I find my way to my usual table in the back corner by the window. It affords me a view of the restaurant and the elevator doors, so I always know who’s coming and going. It’s a position of power, a move I most certainly inherited from my father.
I stand as Oliver reaches the table. He’s the picture of corporate perfection dressed in a three-piece suit. He looks spry and confident, a cocky smirk on his lips.
“Sebastian,” he says, extending his hand, “I was surprised to get your message. I thought you’d be halfway to a non-extradition country by now, given the news about the FBI sniffing around King Corp.”
I grin politely, then gesture for him to sit.
