Filed to story: Watch Out, I’m The Lady Boss (Eleanor & Sebastian) Book PDF Free
But I caught it.
“Let LGH’s legal team handle it,” he said.
“They’ve got more experience with this kind of thing.”I stopped chewing and looked up slowly.
“Isn’t that overkill?”The LGH legal team handled mergers that shook stock markets.
Using them to drag Daniel’s sorry ass through court over a defamation case felt like bringing a bazooka to a pillow fight.
“Finn said the evidence is solid. He won’t guarantee a win, but there’s a good chance-“Sebastian cut me off, “You’re Mrs Laurent. My company’s legal team exists to protect our interests, and that now includes you. If Daniel thinks he can drag your name through the mud, he’s picking a fight with me. LGH is getting involved whenever a Laurent’s involved, that’s protocol.”
“Fine. I’ll talk to Finn.” I wasn’t sure if Finn would appreciate the extra legal muscle or resent the intrusion.
“He’s already put a lot of effort into the case, though. Can he still run point?”
“Sure.”We dropped the subject.
And with it, every last scrap of conversation.
“x and Chill, in Roverse Order The silence didn’t just settle; it took up residence, moved in with suitcase, and made itself at home between us.
When I finished eating, I set my fork down and stared at my plate)
What now?
Was I supposed to wait obediently like some Victorian housewife, or just stand up and leave like this was a public restaurant?
Geoffrey was loitering nearby like a very polite ghost, another waiter flanking him.
Not exactly the people I could ask about post-dinner etiquette in a situationship.
I racked my brain for a way to fill the silence Small talk was a dead end-I’d already burned through the classic how was your day” the moment Sebastian sat down, and something told me he wouldn’t be thrilled with a thirty-minute monologue of tnicro-pav? settings or the ethics of synthetic diamonds in haute joaillerie.
There was something I wanted to ask, though.
Was he sleeping here tonight?
And more pressingly-where?
When Carmen and Geoffrey staged a surprise boutique explosion in my room that morning, there were no men’s clothes in sight.
But that didn’t mean anything.
Maybe Sebastian had his own dressing room.
Or maybe he didn’t need sleep.
Maybe he hung upside down in a hyperbaric chamber like some Armani-wrapped bat.
But if I asked… would it come off wrong?
It was his house, after all.
He didn’t need my permission to stay.
If I sounded like I didn’t want him here, that might be rude.
On the other hand, if I sounded too curious, would it read like an invitation?
Because let’s be real, “Are you sleeping here tonight?” sounds like a question only a hotel manager could pull off.
Or a mistress checking her sugar daddy’s schedule.
I internally facepalmed.
“It’s a yes or no question, dumbass,” I hissed at myself.
“Ask it. Use your mouth. You’re not twelve.”But a snarkier voice in my head rolled her eyes.
“It’s Sebastian Laurent. You don’t casually ask him about his sleeping arrangements. If you had dinner with JP Morgan, you wouldn’t ask if his hotel had turndown service. You’d ask about interest rates. Or the future of the country’s financial system.”I risked a peek across the table.
He was sitting there like the ghost of European nobility, sipping wine.
His fingers, long, elegant, dusted with calluses, wrapped around the glass stem with effortless control.
And when he swallowed, his Adam’s apple shifted ever so slightly.
I had the strongest, dumbest urge to lean over and lick it.
Jesus.
“Look away, you thirsty gremlin,” 1 barked at myself.
“Stop leering ke a perv.”No wonder people always say “movie, dinner, then sex.”Or, in Gen Z speak, “N*****x and chill”, with the heavy emphasis on the “chill”.
There’s a rhythm to it. A build-up.
Dinner after sex just felt… off.
Like watching the end credits first, then hitting play.
I’d done it all backwards, jumped Sebastian’s bones before even learning his first name, married him after, and now here we were, eating risotto in weird, loaded silence like a couple on a first date who’d already seen each other naked.
It was just… awkward.
I didn’t know what the hell the next move was supposed to be.
“You don’t have to wait for me,” Sebastian said, not looking up.
“You can go do your thing.”
“Great,” I said, already halfway to the stairs.
Sebastian watched Eleanor flee the dining room without a backwards glance.
He set his wine glass down.
“How’s she settling in?”Geoffrey stepped forward.
“Mrs Laurent mostly stayed in her room and worked on her sketches. She dropped by a law firm earlier today. Came back right after..
“Stayed in? She didn’t go to the office?”He remembered her telling him last week about some big campaign Nyx Collective was prepping.
A career-defining launch, apparently.
He pulled out his phone.
“Find out what’s going on at Nyx,” he said the second Cassian picked up.
“Ask Yvaine Carlisle. Don’t make it obvious.”Cassian groaned.
“Mate, I’m your bloody best man, not your PA. Nor your wife’s. Why don’t you just ask Eleanor yourself? Or are you two not on speaking terms?”
“Do it.” Sebastian hung up.
He stared at the screen.
Then at his untouched plate.
The steak tasted like cardboard.
The wine like vinegar.
Cassian’s words pissed him off more than he cared to admit.
He’d married her.
She’d moved in.
That was already a win, considering how allergic she was to commitment, post-Daniel.
But that was about it.
They lived in the same damn house, ate at the same table, and somehow she still looked at him like he was her boss during a performance review.
Earlier, at dinner, her smile had been a dead giveaway.
It was the same kind customer service reps gave-polite, bland, entirely devoid of meaning.
Still, he hadn’t missed the way her eyes kept darting over him when she thought he wasn’t looking.
Over his jaw, his hands, his throat.
She didn’t know what it did to him.
Maybe she didn’t realise her gaze had weight, like a touch he could feel without being touched, soft and slow and impossible to ignore, dragging heat across his skin wherever it landed.
So yeah. She was into his body.
At least there was that.
But it was a transient, superficial, Chippendales-level interest-she was all in for the show, front row, drooling over the abs and hip thrusts… but she’d never take the dancer home.
Not when the lights came up.
Not when real life started.
Sebastian ran a hand through his hair, annoyed with himself, with his lack of progress.
He didn’t want to be her temporary obsession, some aesthetic she played with until the next whim took over.
He wanted in.
Into her thoughts, her trust, her fucking life.