“See you in a week.”
Chapter Seventeen
Ava
I thought concentrating with Sebastian nearby was hard, but concentrating without him proves to be impossible. On Monday, I have a dopey grin on my face the entire morning. I try to look as professional as possible during the weekly meeting with the marketing department, but I’m not sure I’m fooling everyone. When I return to my office, I make a promise to myself that I won’t think about Sebastian for the remainder of the day. Then I discover a box of chocolates on my desk, and I squeal like a high school girl, of course. There is also a typed note on top of the box, with five words on it.
Enjoy your day.
Love,
Sebastian
Something I haven’t felt since college blooms inside me. Butterflies. My smile gets dopier.
I set the box aside and start working, telling myself that I’ll only allow myself to eat a chocolate if I go an entire hour without thinking about Sebastian. I break that rule within five minutes, opening the box and swallowing not one, but three of the tiny little bastards. They taste amazing. God, I need him back like, right away. He’s barely gone and I miss him already.
Tuesday is better, and worse. It’s better because I manage to control my smile and worse because I miss Sebastian even more. At eleven o’clock, I receive a huge bouquet of flowers. This time the card says,
I’d do anything to see your smile now.
Sebastian
Aaaaand behold the return of the out-of-control grin. Surprisingly, I do put in some solid hours of work afterward, skipping lunch. I end up staying at the office until seven, when Pippa bursts in.
“Pippa, this is a nice surprise.”
“Wanna grab dinner?”
“Oh, yes. I’m starving.”
She eyes the flowers on my desk, and then turns her attention to me, an expectant expression taking hold of her features. I pretend not to notice it.
We take a cab to a restaurant downtown that Pippa swears has the best pizza. The place is packed, so there must be some merit to it. We wait for half an hour before the waiter finds us a table.
“Bring us two margaritas,” Pippa instructs him. She leans over to me. “They make some kick-ass margaritas.”
“I thought they were known for the pizza?”
Pippa blushes. “That too. And hot waiters.”
“Oh.”
As I look around, I get what she means. Every single waiter could grace the cover of GQ.
“You were really oblivious to all the hotties running around here until I mentioned them?” She narrows her eyes triumphantly, as if she proved something to herself.
The margarita really is kick-ass. We order seconds, munching on our pizza.
“What’s the deal with you and my brother?” Pippa asks.
“What do you mean?” I ask, a little too quickly.
“Oh, don’t give me that I-have-no-idea-what-you’re-talking-about look. You’ve been drooling over him since he showed you around.”
“I have,” I admit in defeat. “Why are you feeding me carbs? I can never lie when I eat carbs.”
“I thought that was the margarita’s job.”