Say the Word (10 page)

“Contraband?” Bash asked, his brows lifting amusedly.

“Maybe you don’t deserve it,” I told Jamie.

“Give it up, sis, or I tell Sebastian the fish food story.”

“You wouldn’t!” I cried indignantly.

“Oh, I would,” he promised, a gleeful grin spreading across his face.

“I want to hear the fish food story,” Sebastian chimed in.

“Fine, you devil,” I said to Jamie, unzipping my backpack and handing over three Cadbury chocolate bars. “Not a
word
about fish food, or that will be the last candy you get from the outside world.”

“Like you’re my only source,” he snorted, making light of my threat. But I knew he’d keep his mouth shut. Jamie might tease me, he might do his best to drive me up the wall with his antics and practical jokes, but he’d never do something that would
genuinely hurt me.

“Chocolate?” he offered around a mouthful of candy, extending the half-wrapped bar in Sebastian’s direction.

“Nah, I’m good,” Bash replied, dragging one of the stiff-backed wooden chairs away from the wall and positioning it next to Jamie’s bed. He promptly flopped down in it, turned to my twin, and struck up a conversation about the Bulldogs’ postseason performance. Jamie’s eyes lit up instantly — it’d been a long time since someone talked football with him.

While Jamie was a
full-fledged Auburn-hating, UGA-loving “dawg,” I shunned my Georgian roots with my total lack of interest in our state sports teams. Once terms like NCAA and SEC started floating around, I was more liable to nod off than join in the conversation — not exactly an ideal chatting partner when it came to discussing the Deep South’s Oldest Rivalry.

All things considered, it was pretty remarkable we’d shared a womb for nine months.

Within minutes, as was inevitable whenever boys talked football, a heated debate had broken out concerning next season’s new recruits. Sebastian was confident they’d have the sheer talent to take us all the way through the bowl games with certain victory, while Jamie contended that their inexperience would make for an uncoordinated, unsuccessful performance on the field.

I looked at
the two of them, sensing already that this budding friendship did not bode well for me. Leaning back against the wall, I let my eyes drift closed and released an extended, unladylike snore loud enough that both their heads snapped in my direction and their conversation instantly came to a halt.

“Sorry,” I said, lifting my hand to cover the large faux yawn splitting my face. “Fell asleep for a minute there.”

“Cute,” Bash commented, grinning across the room at me and throwing in a wink for good measure. I fought off a blush, but couldn’t stop my answering smile.

“Dude, that’s my sister,” Jamie complained. “You seem like a good guy, and you hate the Crimson Tide almost as much as I do…but boundaries, my friend.
Boundaries
.”

“Jamie,” I protested, feeling my cheeks heat.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry.” Sebastian laughed, turning back to Jamie. “How about I get us into my father’s private box next season for a game? Will all be forgiven?”

“Dude,” Jamie said, eyes wide. “You make it a championship game, you can call my sister whatever you want. Seriously.
Whatever
you want.”

“Standing
right
here,” I noted, glaring at my traitorous twin. “I can hear you, you know.”

“I know, sis,” Jamie said, laughing lightly when he caught sight of my expression. “But we’re talking box seats. Prime real estate. You know I love you, but…
don’t make me choose between you and football.” He grimaced at the thought.

“Listen to the man, Lux. That’s a real
Sophie’s Choice
you’re giving him,” Sebastian added, shaking his head in feigned sadness.

“I hate you both,” I told them, trying very hard not to smile at their teasing.

In actuality, I was thrilled.

Jamie hadn’t looked this happy in a long, long time. I knew a big part of that was due to Sebastian’s presence. Jamie always perked up when he had visitors other than his lame, boring sister, as he so affectionately referred to me. His spirits were high, there was a healthy dose of color in his cheeks, and for a minute I let myself be overtaken by dangerous hopes.

Hopes that he’d recover fully.

Hopes that this latest surgery would also be his last.

Hopes that he’d walk again.

Hopes that he’d be well enough to enjoy those box seats next season with Sebastian.

And, finally, hopes that there’d be more afternoons like this one. That Bash wouldn’t stop visiting. That he’d continue to use that inner light he carried around to ward off the shadows clinging to my life. Because I was pretty sure that Jamie liked him. 

And I knew for certain that I did.

“Lux!” Jeanine’s voice
clipped out, her order cutting through the air like an arrow aimed straight for my heart. “My office. Now.”

My head snapped away from the computer screen on my desk, turning automatically toward the sound of her voice. The harbinger of my doom. I caught sight of her for only a brief moment before the opaque door closed at her back.

This was it — I was definitely getting fired. Cara would be so pleased.

I didn’t allow myself to think about the fact that Sebastian had made a special trip down to Harding headquarters to report me to my supervisor. That would only make this harder. He’d been in there for less than fifteen minutes — more like fourteen minutes, thirty-seven seconds, but who was counting? — but I figured that was ample time to describe yesterday’s incident in enough detail to justify my dismissal.

I cringed inwardly as I wove through the labyrinth of cubicles toward Jeanine’s office. Outwardly, though, I kept my brow unmarred by worry lines, my shoulders back, and my head held high. I felt the weight of my coworkers’ eyes on me; there was blood in the water, and the sharks were excited. They all watched my journey — some with sympathy, but most with a poorly concealed anticipatory glee at my impending demise. 

“Good luck, girlie,” Sasha murmured with practiced solicitude, her forced frown rendered unconvincing by the excited gleam in her eyes. My gaze shot past her to Fae, who rolled her eyes and proceeded to make ridiculous faces and inappropriate hand gestures in Sasha’s direction.

I felt my lips twitch in repressed laughter as I walked the final steps toward my destiny.

The faint smile died when the glass door slid open and Sebastian stepped out of the office. I froze like a startled doe caught in someone’s high-beams, unsure whether I should acknowledge him or walk past without so much as a
hi-how’ve-you-been-for-the-last-seven-years-since-I-ripped-your-heart-to-shreds-like-an-old-grocery-list
.

Maybe I could just do something casual.

A wave? No. Too friendly.

A smile? Definitely not. Too fake.

A wink? HA! Who was I freaking kidding?

A nod? Hmm.

Actually, a nod sounded perfect. A nod was casual. Indifferent, yet polite. Neutral but direct.

So I nodded at him — just a slight bob of my head to show t
hat I wasn’t being rude, but remained as unruffled by his presence as he evidently was mine. If only.

To my surprise, Sebastian nodded back — and he didn’t even glare at me while he did it! Not that he smiled or anything. But I was going to consider Operation Nod a success.

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 100
th
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.”

I nodded again — the entire staff had been briefed on t
he Centennial celebration months ago, and preparations were well underway for the event. It was going to, quite literally, be the party of the century. Fae had already purchased her dress on special order — designer, of course — and was nearly incapacitated by distress when I told her I’d yet to purchase mine.

“I’m sorry Jeanine, but I just don’t understand what the Centennial has to do with Sebastian Covington.”

“Dear, it has
everything
to do with Sebastian Covington. He is one of the most exclusive, well-respected photographers in the industry. The projects he agrees to are few and far between, and he doesn’t typically do fashion. We’re lucky to have him and, if we’re being candid, we probably wouldn’t if Cara Stein hadn’t convinced him. Apparently, they have a…personal connection.”

I’ll bet they do.

“He’ll be doing ten different themed spreads for us, recreating famous
Luster
shoots through the ages. One shoot per decade. Cara will pose for several of them. And you’ll be the
Luster
liaison assisting him,” she told me. “With
whatever
he needs. I don’t care if he wants you fetching dry-cleaning and coffee. You’re at his disposal. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal.” My saccharine smile was far from sincere.

“Wonderful,” she said, clapping her hands twice in quick succession. “You’ll report to the ArtLust studio bright and early Monday morning. Mr. Covington has your contact information.” Her smile was vaguely amused as she glanced pointedly from me to the door. Apparently, I’d been dismissed; I stood to leave.

“Oh, and Lux?” Jeanine called when I’d reached the exit. “I’d suggest doing some preliminary research on Mr. Covington. Get familiar with his background, his past, his likes and dislikes…
it may be useful.”

His past
. I turned to face her and nodded, forcing the bubbling hysteria down.

“I’ll be sure to do that, Jeanine. Have a good weekend.”

I exited her office in a stupor, not exactly sure how it had happened but knowing full well that in the last five minutes, everything had changed irrevocably. When the door closed at my back, Fae was there by my side almost instantly. She took one look at my shell-shocked expression, looped an arm through mine, and guided me through the gauntlet of curious stares and gossip back toward our desks. 

“So, we’re going to that new sushi place for lunch. The one with the spicy
tuna roll I’d sell my soul for,” Fae prattled loudly, filling the silence with a cheerful tone meant to fend off the unwanted attention of our onlookers. “I remember you said you wanted to get salads but I’m really craving sushi. I know you Georgia girls get nervous about anything that hasn’t been fried or smothered with Crisco first, but just trust me on this one. You’ll love it.”

I kept my eyes focused for
ward, not meeting anyone’s gaze and pretending I didn’t hear the speculative murmurs about my meeting with Jeanine and my halting interaction with Sebastian. My face was carefully blank, my posture rigid with self-containment.

Once we were out of earshot, Fae dropped her ruse, falling silent with a reassuring arm squeeze.

“You gonna make it through the morning meeting? ‘Cause if you need to ditch, I’ll come with you. Or I can stay here and cover for you. Whatever you need, love,” Fae offered quietly when we’d reached the semi-privacy of my cubicle.

“I’ll be fine,” I told her. “But thanks.”

“Want to talk about it?” she asked. I glanced at my watch. The daily staff briefing began in five minutes — not enough time to even scratch the surface of my past with Sebastian.

“Later,” I said. “Over margaritas. With double tequila.”

“That bad, huh?” She grimaced in sympathy.

“You have no idea.”

“Well, if what I saw earlier is any indication, there’s definitely some unresolved tension between you two. I mean, Jesus, your little stare down in front of Jeanine’s office? Talk about intense.”

I nodded.

“Well, time to go face down the devils,” Fae announced, looping her arm through mine once more.

“…in Prada,” I added with a wry smile.

Fae laughed as we made our way to the conference room, the final two to straggle in behind the other twenty people in our department — nineteen catty women and one fabulous gay man named Simon who often tagged along with Fae and me for post-work cocktails or girl’s night out.

After moving to the city
at eighteen from a small, über-conservative town in Ohio, Simon had attended Parsons, where he liked to say he’d majored in fashion design and a minored in celebrity stalking. His talents were put to good use here at
Luster
, as he managed the “Who Wore It Better,” “Hot or Not,” and “Trendy Today” sections. He and Fae could talk fashion for hours on end, which would’ve been nauseating except they were so genuinely obsessed I couldn’t help but listen in — even though I didn’t have a firm opinion on whether high-waisted shorts were a
do
or a
don’t
, or whether color-block maxi dresses were glam or gauche.