Chapter 3
I was squatting in a cramped supply closet, staring at mops and buckets and rethinking every single one of my life choices.
If I stepped out now, Jonathan would probably catch me on the spot. But hiding in here forever wasn't an option, either. The cleaning lady would find me eventually, and I would be hauled out by security as some kind of weirdo.
Just as my panic was reaching a fever pitch, the doorknob began to turn.
My soul nearly left my body. I threw my full weight against the door, holding it shut for dear life.
From the other side, a lazy, playful male voice drifted through. "Well, well. Looks like there's a little wildcat hiding in here, huh?"
It was Sebastian.
How the hell did he find me here?
"Come on, gorgeous, open up," he cooed, his tone full of mischief, like he was toying with a spooked kitten. "The reporters have the main entrance completely blocked. You're not getting out that way."
I bit my lip and held my ground.
"Not opening?" he teased. "Alright then. I guess I'll just give Jonathan a call and let him know his runaway little bird is hiding in the cleaning closet."
The bastard had me.
I took a deep breath, yanked the door open, and was met with the sight of Sebastian himself.
He was rocking a flashy pink shirt, collar unbuttoned, leaning against the opposite wall with a grin that said he had caught me red-handed.
He dangled his phone in the air, with Jonathan's contact photo displayed prominently on the screen.
"Mr. Hayes. What a coincidence! Fancy seeing you here," I said, forcing a stiff smile.
"Not a coincidence. I came looking for you," he shot back.
His eyes raked over me, pausing for a moment on my bare feet. "What a mess. Come on, I'll get you out of here," he promised.
I eyed him warily, arguing, "The lobby is crawling with reporters."
"Relax," he said, his confidence bordering on arrogance. "With me here, what's there to be afraid of?"
He raised an eyebrow, warning, "Or would you rather wait for Jonathan or Lucas to come and rescue you?"
The thought of Jonathan's bone-chilling glare and Lucas' cold, detached demeanor was enough. Sebastian might be a wildcard, but in that moment, he was my safest bet.
"I guess I'm counting on you, Mr. Hayes," I replied, forcing a grateful smile.
He nodded, pleased, and shrugged off his designer suit jacket to drape it over my shoulders. He slung an arm around me firmly, demanding, "Stick close and keep your head down."
Just as he had said, the lobby was pure chaos.
The moment we stepped out, flashbulbs erupted, and reporters swarmed us like sharks that had scented blood.
"Mr. Hayes! What's your relationship with this lady?"
"Aren't you and Mr. Reed friends? Why are you with his companion?"
"Miss, can you clarify your relationship with Mr. Reed and Mr. Ford?"
The questions grew sharper by the second, each one cutting through the air like a knife.
Sebastian maintained his usual air of reckless indifference, but his arm was like iron as he jerked me closer. He tucked me against him, successfully shading me from the relentless flash of the cameras.
"Alright. Guys, give me a break," he said.
His voice was casual, but it carried an authority that silenced the chaos.
"Ms. Grant is a friend of mine. I ran into her, and I'm giving her a ride. As for anything else, no comment."
One reporter refused to back down, arguing, "A friend? What kind of friend sneaks out of a hotel in her nightgown?"
I glanced down, and my stomach dropped. In my haste, I had forgotten I was only wearing a silk nightgown. With Sebastian's jacket, my bare feet, and my undoubtedly messy hair, the whole scene screamed scandal.
Sebastian scoffed, ready to fire back a witty retort, when a sharp, angry female voice cut through the noise.
"Sebastian!"
The crowd whipped around.
Standing at the lobby entrance was a tall, slender girl in dance practice gear. Her expression was a mask of icy disbelief, her forehead glistening with sweat as if she had run straight from a rehearsal.
My eyes widened in horror.
It was Natalie Quinn, the legendary ballerina and the only woman Sebastian had ever truly worshipped. She was supposed to be overseas.
How was she back so early? How had she tracked us down to this exact spot?
Natalie strode toward us, her gaze like ice picks stabbing right at me. "Who is she?"
Sebastian's grin faltered as he asked, "Natalie, what are you doing here?"
"Shouldn't I be?" she shot back with a cold laugh. "Looks like you've been having fun while I was away, Mr. Hayes. Now you're even moving on to your friend's women?"
Inside, I was giving her a standing ovation. Sebastian was the villain of this story, and I was nothing but a blameless victim, tragically swept up in his mess.
"It's not what you think," Sebastian muttered, frowning.
"Then what is it?" Natalie demanded, her eyes landing on me with a look of pure contempt.
"You," she spat, "stroll out of a hotel in another man's clothes, not even batting an eye at this circus. You've got some nerve."
I lowered my head, channeling all my energy into playing the role of a terrified, pathetic victim. "Mr. Hayes and I... we're just friends..." I whispered.
"Just friends?" she scoffed, clearly not buying it.
The scene had reached a stalemate, the reporters snapping pictures furiously, when the elevator doors chimed open with a polite ding.
Out stepped Jonathan. Dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, he marched out, flanked by a team of bodyguards. His face was a thundercloud of rage.
His eyes scanned the crowd and locked onto me, still tucked under Sebastian's arm.
I was so screwed.
These thoughts played on a loop in my head.