She liked seeing him like this. It was . . .
Bad. Very, very bad.
And the more she told herself how stupid she was, the more she melted inside when he grabbed the guy’s hand and they did that weird shoulder-bump thing guys did.
This was a side of Sebastian she never got to see.
Because you’re a stuck-up priss with a God complex.
Fuck you, Violet.
He caught her gaze then, eyes narrowing as he checked out her expression.
Since she needed to hide way too many feelings, she forced what she hoped was a cool, pleasant smile and turned toward the restaurant.
And nearly walked straight into another parking attendant coming up behind her.
“I’m so sor—”
Sebastian’s hands landed on her hips from behind as she tilted a little to the side. “Guess we’re gonna have to cut you off early tonight.”
She froze, the heat of his hands seeping into her skin through the thin silk of her dress.
“Not used to these heels.”
The lie sounded muted to her ears, but Sebastian must have heard her because his gaze flashed down. The dress hem hit at least two inches above her knees and the heels were at least three inches high. Combined, they made her legs look . . . well, pretty fantastic. Her daily workouts in the gym Greg had installed in the warehouse kept her sane while her yoga class three times a week kept her toned. The result being: She had pretty awesome legs.
At which Sebastian was now staring.
He seemed to realize what he was doing a split second later and practically shook himself before removing his hands and waving her toward the entrance.
Okay. Yeah. Business dinner.
Pushing through the front door, she knew Sebastian was close at her heels. She could feel him. Wanted to feel him pressed up against her again.
Shaking her head, she approached the maître d. At the mention of Greg’s name, the man whisked them to a secluded section of the bustling restaurant, an Old City institution that wasn’t the stuffy, stuck-up place she’d expected.
She loved this section of the city, loved the architecture and the history, all of the little art galleries and shops and restaurants and bars. There was an energy in Old City at night that buzzed. She’d been exploring Philadelphia as best she could when she had the time. Which was practically never. She had been to see the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall, at least.
South Street was only a block from her apartment, and she and Sabrina had spent a few Saturday afternoons cruising the shops and chowing down cheesesteaks.
But even though she’d lived in the city for several months, Tru still felt like she really didn’t know much about it.
What would Sebastian say if she asked him to show her around? And why would she even consider asking him?
As she took a seat, she thought back to this morning when they’d been at each other’s throats.
What the hell had happened? What had set her off? Could she even remember? Why—
He pulled out the chair next to her and sat, pushing out all other thoughts from her brain. She’d expected him to sit across the table, not directly to her left and so close she could feel the heat of his body against her side.
Confusion made her lungs heavy and her stomach tight.
Alright, maybe it wasn’t all confusion, but she wasn’t about to consider any other causes right now.
Because Greg and Sabrina walked into the room, followed by two more couples. That explained the eight chairs at the table.
“Hey, Baz, Tru. Sorry we’re late.”
Sebastian stood, shaking Greg’s hand, then wrapping Sabrina in a big hug, which she returned just as tightly.
Making Tru’s jaw clench.
Tru knew Sebastian had a huge crush on Sabrina. She simply refused to believe the emotion she felt now was jealousy. Absolutely refused.
Turning, she smiled and took the hand of the man who stood at the seat next to hers.
“Hi, I’m Trudeau. I’m the managing director of ManDown Studio.”
“Cory Shirk. Nice to meet you. I know we haven’t met, but I’ve heard a hell of a lot about you from Greg. He can’t say enough good things.”
She blushed. Couldn’t help it. And she released his hand as soon as she could so he couldn’t tell her palms were about to start sweating.
Because this guy was hot. Like, “Holy hell, I’m gonna melt” hot. From the square jaw and strong, straight nose to the neon-blue eyes and the cheekbones of a cover model, the term ruggedly handsome might’ve been coined just for him.
He was a redhead. Not strawberry blond but true auburn with waves that just reached just to his chin.
Was she drooling? God, she hoped not.
But she totally didn’t have to force a smile. “That’s nice to hear, thank you. How do you know Greg?”
“Tyler and Jared Golden are good friends. We have several mutual interests.”
Now, why did that sound way more interesting than it had any right being? Maybe it was just the way he smiled at her that made her brain react in strange ways.
Or maybe it was the way Sebastian tensed beside her when he mentioned the Golden brothers. Something Cory either ignored or didn’t notice as they shook hands.
“Tyler says you’re a great musician. Coming from him, that’s high praise.”
Sebastian nodded, his expression softening a little when Cory mentioned Tyler. “Tyler’s a great guy and a pretty damn good musician himself.”
“If you’ve heard him play, he must consider you a good friend. I’ve only heard him a handful of times, and I’ve known him for twenty years.”
Tru couldn’t hear the rest of their conversation as she was being introduced to the other people in the party.
She shook hands with Blake Grantham, who’d arrived with Cory, and the money man, Joe Duplass, and his daughter, “Call me JoJo,” who clearly wanted to eat Sebastian with a spoon, if she could have stopped fawning all over him for two seconds to stuff her tits back in her blouse.
If she wasn’t careful those monstrosities were going to pop right outta there and announce themselves to the world.
Then again, they’d probably made their appearances all over the city by now.
Damn good thing no one here was a mind reader.
Tru had honed her “I’m so sincerely thrilled to meet you, you wonderful person. Let me be your best friend forever and ever” face.
If people only knew how sarcastic her brain became when faced with women with unusually huge boobs who used them like weapons in their arsenal. Usually, they expected men to fall at their feet when they aimed those puppies at a target.
Of course, men typically obliged because they were generally horny.
Greg didn’t. He wasn’t rude, but he didn’t pay JoJo any special attention or surreptitiously check out her rack. Then again, Greg had probably met her before and quite possibly had seen her tits up close and personal in previous dealings. The man had certainly been no saint before Sabrina.
Sebastian didn’t seem overly interested in JoJo’s assets, either. Actually, he looked almost uncomfortable. Like he was trapped and wanted to run.
Which was stupid. He hadn’t had any trouble talking to the parking attendant who’d practically gushed over him earlier.
But, as they all took their seats—Sebastian still to her left, JoJo to his left, and Cory on Tru’s right—she couldn’t help but notice how tense he became.
After they’d ordered drinks, Greg kept the conversation rolling: talking about local sports, the economy, and the risks of sinking any kind of money into the film industry at the moment.
When the appetizers arrived, Tru caught Greg watching Sebastian a couple of times. It wasn’t obvious, but she knew Greg well enough to know what he was doing.
Had Sebastian noticed? She couldn’t tell. Mainly because he seemed to be fighting off the urge to run. And she only knew that because she’d spent so much time with him lately.
He must have been holding it together well enough because no one but her and Greg, and of course Sabrina, seemed to notice.